My Writing Process Blog Tour – Jenna Fox

The post is live! My Writing Process Blog Tour

Check out the newest author to join the #mywritingprocessblogtour

Jenna Fox is the author of erotic horror and suspense. She has several stories out now and one on the way that I can’t wait to get my hands on! Get to know her at: 

Other participating authors include:

Theresa Hissong

Anita Cox

Penelope Syn

And me!

Lola White


A post came through my Tumblr feed recently about fantasies, and how some seem pretty… well, deviant. Sometimes scarily so. And I thought to myself, I understand why some things crank the chain and why some just don’t do it for lots of people. And then I thought I’d share my thoughts.

This is entirely without any formal knowledge of psychology or any research into the matter, just opinion. Please don’t take any of this as fact.

Everybody has fantasies. Some we’ll try to act out, some we’ll be too chicken to consider anywhere other than our deepest imaginings in the darkest hour of the night with the lights off and our eyes squeezed tight and our rational brain telling us that’s not really what we want.

And that’s kind of true. There are some easy ones – restraints, flogs, threesomes, swinging, voyeurism. Things like that, which require trust and daring but they’re fairly doable and even accepted nowadays by tons of moderately adventurous people.

Threesomes, swinging, multiple partners and voyeurism are probably about the attention. There’s an undeniable heat factor there. Yup, that’s kind of my thing and it goes into a lot of my stories. All eyes on you, all the attention focused on your pleasure…Whew, excuse me while I get a cold drink.

As for floggers, restraints, etc… Well, that’s about bringing sensation to its extreme and having someone else make the decisions. You just have to sit back and feel good. Let the pleasure blend with the pain and leave it for someone else to worry about how the two should mix together. Yeah, that takes trust, but it’s a brand of safety that’s easier for most of us to swallow. There are, of course, some hardcore BDSM practitioners that go beyond what vanilla-style lovers prefer – but in the end it always comes down to trust.

And then there’s darker things. Golden showers, scat – I can’t claim to understand these as well because it’s not my thing. I know several people, however, who get turned on by feeling worthless or degraded, so maybe it ties in to that. (If you have another opinion on the matter, please feel free to share.) Degradation but in the care of someone who still finds you worthy and valuable. Safe.

So, when I think ‘darker’ I think really dark. Not something that a hot shower will clean up or a little ointment around the wrists will heal. I’m talking about things that strike at the root of human fears, and demand total trust to go through with. Psychological stuff that touches on a bunch of flash-points concerning humans’ sense of security.

And in the end, I think that’s the real turn-on.

There are two that come to mind right away.

Knife play. So scary authors can’t even write about it without having their book banned by publishers for the rest of Ever. Hasn’t stopped some brave authors, and Lora Leigh even included it one of her books without censure. There are a few Indies out there putting it in their stuff, too. Mostly self-published authors with full control over their stories.

For my money, I think it’s hot. It takes total trust, and for me there is nothing sexier than trusting your partner to the point where you will risk physical harm (but know it won’t come down to that). That’s the definition of security, to me. Odd, I know, because I’m not into BDSM, so that’s one of those fantasies that gets held back while my brain screams NEVER!

Will I ever have the nerve? To be honest, probably not. But I love reading knife play scenes. It’s much safer to read about fictional characters doing those things than gather the gumption to do it myself.

Rape fantasies. A tricky subject. I think it’s down the same dark alley as BDSM, but a little farther along. It’s not about being forced, and it may not even be about lust because most of us know by now that rape is not a lust-filled crime. It’s about power and dominance, not desire.

I think rape fantasies are about letting go in a safe environment. Again, it takes total trust. It’s about wanting a hard edge of violence, a fight sometimes, but with someone you know will stop if you want them to, or even if you need them to while unable to recognize the need in yourself. It’s about creating a scene where your will is completely overridden but in a way that won’t leave you damaged mentally, physically or emotionally.

I don’t think it means you want to be raped. I think it’s kind of the opposite, because in a twisted way, the victim gains the control. They have chosen the scenario. One word and it all stops.

I suppose some women who have been raped also have rape fantasies. Same reasons above – safe environment, making a choice when it was previously taken from them. Trust. Sometimes victims need to act out their victimization to heal, and I say do what you need. I’m not judging and I’m not about to tell someone what they’re supposed to feel or how they’re supposed to go about fixing things.

I don’t have rape fantasies, per se, but I do have a thing for a big, strong man behind me where I can’t see him. Unpredictable, unknown though I know him enough to trust he’ll take care of me. That I won’t be hurt. Every once in a while, it’s nice to have everything taken out of your hands.

But fantasies don’t always translate to real life. I’m never going to have sex on a stage. I don’t want my man beating welts into my butt with a flogger. I have no desire to get to know my neighbors so well I start swinging. I’ll never let a knife intentionally come at my lady bits, and if I’m ever cornered in a dark alley by a guy with evil intentions I will not be enjoying myself.

The point here is that fantasies are just that. Not real. Not even necessarily wanted – just a hot, dirty little secret our imagination tells our brains in the middle of the night. (Or whatever, you get the point, right?)

So relax, and fantasize and let others fantasize without making them feel bad about it. If you aren’t into it, that’s fine, but just because they are doesn’t mean something is wrong with them.

(And feel free to check out my Tumblog by clicking the link above.)

Masquerade Pleasures

“Watch them,” my man ordered. “Are you watching?”

With his arms locked around me and his right hand diving beneath the gauzy layers of my scandalous gown, I could only to manage to answer with a breath of sound. But my eyes caught fast on the tableau before me, looking past the edges of my mask and over the shoulder of the couple standing in front of me. I stared helplessly at another couple entertaining the selectively-invited crowd on a small dais in the center of the ballroom.

They were nude but for the elaborate masks obscuring the top halves of their faces.

“Do you see them?” he whispered in my ear. “How he licks her nipple, how she arches her back for him?”

“Yes. Yes, I see.”

Between my legs, his hand frothed the cleverly designed skirt. It wasn’t a full piece of fabric – no, it was a hundred pieces grouped together so it only looked like a single fall of pleated gauze. But there were a hundred access points, the material parting easily for his intrusion.

He timed it perfectly. The man on stage licked and kissed his way down his partner’s body until he settled between her legs. A flash of his tongue corresponded to a soft touch on my clit. I caught my breath, lust a flash-fire in my veins forcing me to lean back against my man for balance.

“Watch,” he insisted.

And I did. I watched as the pair on the dais grew damp, skin shining under the well-placed lights. I watched as the man stroked his tongue through his partner’s folds, circled her clit, lifted her leg higher so their audience had a better view. I watched as the woman arched and moaned and spread before her lover, inviting more.

Her man moved back, my man moved closer. His fingers drifted over my clit in a teasing caress, stroking too softly for any sort of relief. Not this early in the night – my man would make me wait, giving me just a hint of release, touches designed to send my senses soaring higher, my need shooting toward the moon.

We’d been to these parties before, I knew what to expect. It only heightened my awareness, my excitement. Surrounded by anonymous guests, many we probably knew in our real lives but unable to identify with the scrolled and gilded masks hiding their features. Maybe one day, I’d even be bold enough to let my man lead me up to the dais and perform for the crowd. But tonight we were only part of the audience.

The pair on the platform put on quite a show. I groaned as the man stroked his cock, fisting and squeezing, until he angled it toward his partner’s pink pussy. She was waxed, as I was. The better to show every last detail, every last drop of cream shining against her sex.

“Do you like his cock?” my man whispered. His fingers trailed over my delicate flesh. “Thick and long, flushed with need.”

“I like yours better,” I gasped as his fingertip dipped into my pussy. An incomplete touch that left me needing so much more.

“Look at his long strokes. The way he pushes all the way in, drags his dick all the way back out. His shaft is glistening with her cream.”

The man on the dais pulled back, leaving only the head of his cock inside his partner. He was wet with her need. She writhed, her knees drawing up to her chest as she tried to lever her pussy back up his shaft. Her hips were wild, desperate to draw him deep again. I stood close enough to see her entrance clench around her partner, and the sight had my body mimicking hers.

My lower belly pulsed in sympathy with her plight. With my man’s fingers tracing my damp sex, I knew exactly how the woman felt – empty and aching, needing a hot, hard cock to fill me up. Needing the push and pull, the drag of flesh through pleasure-soaked flesh. The hard pounding of a quick fuck or the forceful thrust of a long, slow loving.

Though with their show and my man’s touch, only a hard fuck would me bring satiation.

My man flicked my clit and my entire body jerked. His breath drifted against my ear. “Look at him drive all that thick cock into her. Look at how her pussy stretches, taking him beautifully. What do you think he feels like inside her?”

My imagination took off. Sight and sensation fired my nerves, flinched through my muscles. My legs shook as I widened my stance and my man tucked his hand more firmly between my thighs. Relentlessly, he began to circle my flesh – from my clit to my pussy’s entrance – wide, rough strokes that did nothing to ease my need. I only grew hotter, wetter.

“Look at how he speeds up. Look at his cock shoving into her, fucking her harder. Watch as they pleasure each other. Is that what you want? You want my cock fucking into you, filling your pussy?”

“Yes,” I moaned. “I want that.”

My man’s fingers slipped just inside me, barely moving as his palm heated my clit to impossible degrees. I bucked against him but his arm around my ribcage kept me from driving his fingers deeper. I nearly wept and my pussy did weep – great gasping sobs tore through my core, begging for my man’s penetration as honeyed tears slid between his hand and my flesh.

On the dais, the two bodies writhed faster, harder. Moans rose from the woman’s mouth, circling the crowd and rasping against my nerves. My blood boiled, my pussy dripped. My man’s fingers slid deeper, three stretching me while my flesh screamed for more.

I twisted, I rose to my toes, I braced my shoulders against my man’s chest and tightened my inner muscles. He laughed in my ear and demanded I watch the lovers find fulfillment. They were close, their movements losing the fluid rhythm and becoming jerky. Around me, the heat of the crowd rose, others cried out in pleasure.

“Maybe I’ll bend you over and fuck you from behind,” my man growled. “Maybe I’ll bury my dick in your ass and find you another cock to fill your pussy. Would you like that? Maybe I’ll find three more men, two to suck your nipples, one to fill your mouth.”

I shivered with lust, excitement, need. The thought of all that attention on me and my pleasure sent my heart surging, spiking into my throat as my core melted completely. My pussy rippled around my man’s knuckles, sucking hard and creaming harder. Electricity tingled up my spine.

His fingers shoved another inch. It still wasn’t what I wanted. On the platform, the woman climaxed with a wail that shook the chandelier overhead. Her partner grunted and fucked her harder, his hips jerking against her as if he were burying his cock in her soul, digging down deep to fill her completely. He threw his head back and roared at the ceiling.

My man’s fingers drove deeper, almost deep enough. The man on the dais pulled out, the last of his cum shooting across the woman’s clit as he wrenched back, showing us all the grand finale. I had a perfect view of his semen splashing the woman’s flesh, a perfect view of the thick white fluid leaking from her reddened pussy.

Mine clenched in response. My man pushed ever deeper and his fingertip stroked over a spot I doubt he meant to find so early in the evening. It was enough to send rockets shooting through my belly, starting at that sensitive spot and exploding just under my breastbone.

I moaned as heat spread through me in a quick tide that still only managed to drive my need higher. A momentary ease, a wicked tease. A hard pulse of pleasure and cream against his fingers.

He caught me close and I felt his cock against my ass, still tucked away in his pants. That was fine because his fingers still worked my pussy through the small convulsions wracking my inner flesh. Easing them and feeding them, keeping me on the edge so that my need was not sated.

Already I wanted more.

My man laughed quietly. “Yes, five men tonight, love. We’ll see just how much pleasure you can take. Me and four strangers, making you come, over and over. Would you like that?”

I shivered with the delicious thought. “Yes.”

My rant

I’m typically a fairly easy-going kind of girl. But when I run up against what I feel is an injustice, I speak up. I try to be positive and diplomatic, especially on social media. I’m not out here to rabble-rouse or start wars and I don’t particularly care for drama, but I saw something today that makes me want to rant.

So, diplomatic or not, I have something to say.

I was looking up reviewers because I need some reviews. I am a self-published author of erotica, for those who don’t know me, and let me tell those of you not writing the genre, it’s a hard world out there. People have the perception that erotica sells itself, but that’s not true. On top of our genre being just as difficult as others to make a name for yourself in, lots of sites won’t take your story for promotion, marketing or review.

That’s okay, I get it. A lot of people don’t like erotica, a lot of reviewers even say they don’t review it because it’s difficult to rate due to the inclusion of sex scenes. Just because I personally love it doesn’t mean you have to. But most of those sites and reviewers at least have the decency to leave it at NO.

But today I ran across a site where the reviewer said he doesn’t review erotica because it’s nothing but porn. Erotica author shouldn’t even be allowed to call themselves authors – and maybe not even writers – because all we’re doing is slamming out a string of sex scenes with no rhyme or reason and calling it a story, which it clearly isn’t. He feels it takes absolutely no talent to write erotica and we are disgusting for even thinking in such terms, let alone putting it all down in a readable format.

Yeah, okay, maybe that’s some paraphrasing and inference, but his point was pretty clear.

You know why I write erotica? Because the inclusion of sex and sexual tension brings the emotions of my characters to their highest highs and their lowest lows. Because sex is a natural human function and need. Because humans need touch and contact and comfort. Sex is not a deviant thing, and even deviance isn’t necessarily wrong. It provides something to us – we have sex not just to make babies, but because we are lonely or sad or scared or happy or in love or like the way it feels.

That’s right, I said it. Sex is fun. It feels good. It gives us a moment where we are not alone, but connected to another living human who also has desires and thoughts and emotions.

I am an author. I will shout it to the rooftops and there is no opinion another can hold of me that will change my mind. I plot, write, know my characters and their backstories. I develop a story and create dialogue that is natural, sexy, tense and funny. I craft a story, I bring it to life on the pages and my readers can immerse themselves in a world I bring alive for them.

That is why I write. That is why I read. Because I love to disappear into the pages of a book and follow characters on whatever journey they are on. I read widely, every genre including non-fiction. I love to learn, I love to imagine, I love to feel. And I love to read sex, but so do lots of people.

So how dare somebody say I’m not an author, but a low-rate porn peddler. And if I was a porn peddler, well there’s a need for that too. There can be no supply without a demand, right?

Really, I’m not trying to attack this guy on a personal level, though it seems as if I am. But I feel attacked. Not that his opinion means much to me, but why not have the decency to simply say you don’t review erotica, it’s not a genre you enjoy – hell, it would have been fine for him to express his opinion on the genre itself. One or two sentences about how he doesn’t believe the addition of sex scenes could be classified as true literature. (He’s wrong, but opinion doesn’t have to be proven true.) I would have respected that opinion, but when you call out hard-working AUTHORS who meticulously plot, develop, get critiqued, proof-read and edited as throwing a bunch of dirty words together and calling it a story, well we’ve got problems. Or at least I have a problem with it.

I moved out of the kiddie section in the library when I was 11 years old. My mother supported me, figuring it was better I read something than stop altogether. I chose Stephen King. When I was thirteen, my mother handed me LaVyrle Spencer’s Morning Glory and told me it was a good book. She was right – and I was off and running on a romance jag that persists to this day. There was sex in that book, not as graphic as erotica, but there were emotions I just didn’t experience in Mr. Popper’s Penguins. It took the emotions I found in Mr. King’s book to a new place, taking fear and loneliness to the bedroom where the characters were motivated by a need for touch and human connection in a world that had been torn apart through death, war and murder.

Does that mean Ms. Spencer’s not a ‘real’ author? I bet her and her agent would disagree. I bet the millions of books she’s sold would prove that theory false.

This reviewer? He sounds like all he has to offer is sour grapes, which is probably why his blog only has a single follower. As for how he thought he could spew such vitriol about real people, real authors, of an entire genre and still have other authors from other genres trust him enough to review their books is beyond me. So, if he didn’t like your story, does that mean you’re nothing but a hack trying to sell a paperbound pile of crap to unsuspecting citizens?

Your guess is as good as mine. But reading is subjective, and that’s one of the greatest things about it. No two people read the same story. No two people get the same emotional ride out of the same story. A part that speaks to me might not be a part that speaks to you – and that’s okay. I will never put down an author whose story doesn’t come alive for me. Because I know they worked their ass off on it even if I don’t like it. I know someone out there will love that story, and it will touch them in ways I can’t imagine.

A novel/novella/short story is there for entertainment. It makes you laugh, cry, scream, or get horny. It’s an escape from the pressures of life or an immersion into a real situation that requires deep thought. A book is what you make of it and no one has the right to say a genre is worthless, or that a group of people are worthless for enjoying it. Erotic fiction is nothing to be ashamed of – not to write it and not to read it. Most stories in the genre take a real hard look at human interactions, more than any other genre, and point out flaws in humanity, our relationships, and our psyches. There are emotional hurdles the characters must overcome, and those things (fear, suspicion, mistrust, vulnerability, love, etc.) are things real-live people must also deal with. We relate to the characters.

So I’m proud to peddle porn. I’m proud to write erotica. I’m proud to read it. If you don’t like it, don’t buy it, but don’t knock the fabulous men and women who understand the depths even the smuttiest story can achieve.

Don’t dare pretend we’re not real authors.

Hot Zippy

The last week of May 2014, I ran a promotion for Demon’s Bond  which I put on sale for 99 cents to celebrate the release of the second novel in my psychic trilogy, Monster’s Chains

Now I’ve had Demon’s Bond out since January 2014 with extremely moderate sales. (I’ve had Lured From the Path out since December 2013 with just a handful of sales on Amazon, though on Smashwords, Apple ibooks, Barnes & Noble and Kobo the book is free and has done pretty well without any promotion or marketing at all.)

But this is about Demon’s Bond. I was hoping to increase my sales, and I have to say I did. I rose in the Amazon ranks about 250,000 places in 2 days. Those were the days I promoted the sale on the Hot Zippy sites, and

Later in the week I promoted on World Literary Café and did not get a single sale from it. Maybe it was the placement of the promo (they seem to hide erotica – big surprise there), maybe it was the day of the week (Thursday and Friday versus a Wednesday) or maybe it’s just a lack of interest, though I’ve gotten a handful of sales before I ever promoted Demon’s Bond at all, so it’s hard for me to say.

But I wanted to give Pixelscroll and Bargain ebook Hunter a shout-out for helping my sales. Other authors – make use of them. They take all genres, including erotica so long as your cover is tasteful and not covered with words like gangbang, pussy or cock. Readers – go like them on Facebook or go directly to their websites and let them show you the free books, books on sale or priced as a bargain. We indie/self-published authors could use your support, and so could these promo sites. Helping them grow is a win-win, they get more books to promote and readers get more books to read.

So, if you’re looking for a place to promote your books or find books on sale, I know two great places to start…