Because I Can…My Sexy Guest Christian Jensen

You have no idea how lucky I feel being able to write with another author who is not only prolific but quite frankly as twisted as I am. Our collaborations are in my opinion some of the best I have seen. He’s sexy, dark and dangerous, and his persona larger than life. I am proud to bring you a devious taste of…

CHRISTIAN JENSEN

She choked when I pulled the leash, her eyes growing wide as blood and oxygen were deprived from her brain. She looked up at me with wide, dark eyes, tears streaking the corners. Her lipstick was smeared, the little bit of eye shadow she wore at my request running in dark streams from the corners of almond shaped eyes.  She was shorter then me, which isn’t preferable but her attitude and the cocky looks were delicious. Breaking her was proving to be more fun than I had thought.

I normally shy away from Asians, especially the petite ones. Where is the challenge in breaking someone with an ancestry that basically invented subservience? Her culture was one of male dominance and I thought she would be ingrained with those ideals. I was wrong.

We met through a mutual friend and the attraction was immediate. Her small body had delicate curves, her face alive with large, bright eyes. There was an air of dominance about her and when she responded to me she looked me directly in the eyes. Immediately my cock shifted and began to grow as I thought about teaching her HER PLACE.

After the initial meeting we agreed to find a more private place and ended up in a local bar three nights later. We spoke about her job and her family and where life had been leading her up until that moment. The conversations were easy and we laughed frequently. I could smell the want coming off her and the wetness of her pussy.

“You’re obviously a bad girl,” My voice was low, the bass turned way up as I Toxic-Leash-covergrowled the words. “And I think you need to be disciplined.”

It was a huge risk. Although I knew, I mean I absolutely KNEW what she needed it was a big chance to verbalize it. She could smack me and leave, or throw her drink in my face and call me a pervert. She did none of these things. Instead a sly smile crossed full lips and the light in her dark eyes intensified.

“Do you think you can handle me?” Why did all women say that?

 I made her wipe all the makeup up off her face and apply only what I wanted. Bright red lipstick put on too thick, the better to smear, dark eyes shadow and mascara that highlighted the blackness of her eyes. I made her put her hair down.  Without her even realizing she was already obeying.

I placed the collar around her throat. The skin was flawless and beige. I could see her heart rate increase as the leash was applied to the collar.

“On your knees.” She faltered and my hand arced through the air and struck her on the ass. She was still wearing the tight skirt and expensive blouse from the bar. I could smell alcohol wafting off her sweat. “On your knees.” She lowered herself slowly. I tugged the leash. She choked. When her eyes met mine I shook my head and reached for the switch. This one wasn’t ready for the whip just yet.

This is what I do.

My name is Christian Jensen and I write erotica. I don’t have any interest in writing about vanilla sex, about two people who simply find an attraction to each other, get naked, insert tab A into slot B and repeat until orgasm. I like to write about boundaries, limitations, lines in the sand. I like to cross all of those, to make my characters sweat and feel the pulsing of their heartbeat as adrenaline courses through their veins. I like to make them nervous and uncomfortable and take away the things that make them feel safe.

Every character, just like every person, has some things they just won’t do. Some women won’t put a cock in their mouth. For others their ass is off limits. Some would never consider a threesome or invite a friend over to play. Some men won’t let a woman lick their balls or stick a finger (or anything else) inside of them. People have limits. I myself have certain lines drawn in the sand, no matter how shallow they may be dug, and even though they change and move farther back and sometimes get washed away by the tide of passion there are still some things that I as a person won’t do.

That isn’t the case of me as a writer.

For example; I have never had sex with another man. Never kissed one or sucked a cock. I’ve never been romantically attracted to another guy and yet I write gay erotica. Why? Why would a straight man write something so out of his league?

I’ve had people ask me why I wrote my first Male/Male erotic novel, Cocking Bo. How could I write about gay sex if I’ve never actually engaged in it? The answer is simple; I wrote it because I could. I’ve never killed anyone either (not that I’ll admit to in a public forum anyway) and yet I write about murder and death. I’ve never had the pleasure of seeing a zombie rip a screaming victim to pieces either, and yet I have an entire series out called Zombies!…The Beginning of the END.

In an upcoming book I wrote with the stunning and immensely talented Cassandre Dayne, we have two seriously fucked up characters. They do things to each other, both emotionally and physically, that are simply repulsive. Their lascivious needs are the only driving factor they understand, pain the only emotion they seem to share.  How is it that I can write something so diabolical without ever actually capturing and torturing another human being?

Because I can.

like-to-watch2I embrace the darkness within myself. I let it enrapture me. I give in to it so completely that I get lost on a daily basis to it. I submit myself to the Demons inside my head and the shouting voices that urge me on to deeper and darker things. I ask myself “What do you covet”, and I answer it honestly with my whole heart. I take the visions and put them down on paper, tweak them and turn them inside out. I study them and hone in on what makes them so horrible, and then I rewrite them until they are better and even more disgusting. I push my own limits and cross my own lines so that I can get to the crux of the matter and taste the marrow at its very center. I feast upon the corpulence of my own mind and gorge myself on the insidious desires.

And then I deliver them to you, my dear readers.

To give you a taste of the darkness and depravity of which I speak, I offer the following excerpt of Cassandre’s and my first collaboration, available very, very soon. It’s called Toxic Leash;

Tommy and Joe were still on duty when the call came in. It was only half an hour before shift change, but with the chief’s nephew running roughshod over everyone, they knew enough to stay on patrol until Noon exactly less they have to hear about it later. Joe recognized the address immediately and pushed the toggle in the center console for the lights and sirens.

“That’s Bobby’s house,” Joe pushed the heavy car to its limits as he sliced expertly through the lax Sunday traffic. “What the fuck now?”

He drove as fast as he dared. He needed to get there before Chaz Summers, the Chief’s nephew. Joe didn’t want the super cop messing with his friend. He rounded the last turn and slammed on the brakes, his stomach lurching immediately when he saw Unit 3 sitting at the curb.

Chaz was already pushing Bobby to the ground and pulling the cuffs off his belt. While Joe and Tommy jumped out of the car and headed over, Chaz got a little too rough and slammed Bobby’s head into the cement walkway. Bobby struggled and Chaz immediately pulled the expandable baton from his belt and snapped it to full extension. He slammed it down on Bobby’s leg three times in rapid succession.

Obviously in pain and trying to get away Bobby bucked and planted his hands on the cement breaking Chaz’s grip on him. Bobby was a star wrestler in high school and used a rapid succession of moves to get away from the painful blows of the baton. All the while, Amy, Bobby’s wife, held her swollen belly and screamed for the cop to stop.

“Stop!” Joe rushed up the lawn, but it was too late. Chaz got to his feet a split second before Bobby and swung the baton with all his strength. The heavy plastic tip struck Bobby in the face and he collapsed into a heap.

“Bobby!” Amy screamed and rushed forward but Chaz wasn’t going to have any of it. He spun around and caught her by the arm and spun her away, throwing her to the ground. She landed on her face and belly, sliding down the grass as the momentum carried her.

“You asshole,” Joe rushed past Amy just as his partner knelt at her side and eased her onto her back. Without thinking, Joe swung and caught the other officer directly in the nose. Blood exploded on his face as he snapped backwards, his head rolling around weakly on thin shoulders. “You just hit a pregnant woman with no provocation. I don’t give a fuck who your uncle is, I’ll have your goddamned badge.”

Chaz didn’t look like he knew what the hell was going on. He looked from his bloody shirt to the crying woman on the ground and then over to Joe who stood a few feet away, fists clenched and chest heaving.

“Joe,” Tommy called from beside Amy.

“I’ll go to the union with this,” Joe didn’t hear his partner.

“Joe!” Tommy screamed the word and when he finally got the younger cops attention he motioned to Bobby who was convulsing on the hard ground.

“Shit,” Joe rushed to his friend and moved to help, but he couldn’t remember what to do. Bobby suffered from epilepsy when he was a kid but by the time he got into high school he had the fits under control. Once, during a particularly tough wrestling match Bobby was dumped on his head when the other wrestler worked off his back and got Bobby in a suplex. The force of the blow sent him immediately into a seizure.

Bobby twitched spastically on the ground, foam and spittle flying from between teeth clenched so hard they began to crack. Nothing but the whites of his eyes were visible as the color drained completely from his face. As his head rolled from side to side, Joe saw a perfect indentation on Bobby’s right temple from where the baton had struck him.

“Unit seven requesting immediate medical assistance,” Tommy was talking calmly into the handset at his shoulder. “Code four, repeat code four.” Dispatch repeated the call and verified the address before asking if further back up was needed. “Negative.” Tommy was trying to remain calm, one hand hold Amy’s while the other stroked her hair. Her lips and nose were bloody and there were long scratches along the side of her face. She suddenly gripped her stomach and screamed.

“Amy,” Tommy looked down at her with wide, frightened eyes. “Amy, what’s the matter?”

“The baby,” Amy screamed between gasps. “Something…Is… Oooohhh…” She let out a howl of pain as red began to bloom between her legs.

“Code nine, repeat code nine. Need additional medical units. We have an injured pregnant woman. I think she’s going into labor.”

Joe could hear everything through his own radio but it seemed too far away to be real. Bobby was floundering around on the ground, his spasms growing weaker, his The-Darkness-WIthin_cover2pulse faltering. The respiration of his chest were slowing and growing more lethargic. Joe knew his friend was dying while a few feet away Amy was loosing her baby.

“What the hell is going on?” A woman’s voice coming from too close. Joe should have told her to back away, to wait by the street, but he couldn’t make his mouth form the words. “Jesus Christ, Chaz, I didn’t want you to hurt anyone.”

“I…I didn’t,” Chaz was standing ten feet away, his face ashen and covered in sweat. “I just wanted to lump him up a little, like you said. I just…”

“You threw a pregnant woman. She hit her head. What…the…hell did you do that for?”

Joe looked up and immediately recognized Danielle Rivers. He knew her father was some big shot rich fuck, but none of that mattered now. He got to his feet and approached them with hatred burning out of his eyes.

“What are you talking about?” Joe closed in on the woman first. She was more coherent and would break easier.

“I came here to talk to Bobby and he attacked me.” Danielle straightened her dress out with a shaking hand and tried to look in control. “He choked me and I…”

“Bullshit. Bobby wouldn’t hurt anyone.” Joe moved closer until his nose was less than an inch from hers. She smelt like fear and expensive perfume.

“I swear it. We had words and he choked me,” Danielle looked down at Bobby as he lay there slack and lifeless. “Is he going to be alright?”

“What did Chaz mean when he said you told him to hurt Bobby?” Joe ignored her question and interjected one of his own. The breeze shifted and Joe picked up the coppery smell of blood. Behind him, Amy screamed in pain and Tommy offered soothing words. Sirens wailed in the distance growing ever closer.

“I called him to report the assault. Nothing more.” She tried to keep her air of superiority, but the veneer was cracking away. She had gone too far with one of her famous games and couldn’t stand it. She couldn’t even look in Amy’s direction.

“Why did you call him, and not 911?” A sudden light went on in Joe’s eyes. Darkness enshrouded them and his body began to shake, his hands turning to fists as he looked from Danielle to Chaz. “You called that piece of shit so he could come here and beat on Bobby for a little. That’s why he didn’t call it in until he was already here, isn’t it?” Joe turned from Danielle and stalked towards Chaz, “She called you and sent you here like the fucking errand boy you are. You thought you could be a hero to this fucking bitch and get into her overpriced panties, didn’t you? You went above and beyond and hurt a good man and an innocent woman…an innocent PREGNANT woman just so you could get a turn fucking her, didn’t you?” Joe was nearly screaming, his finger stabbing the shocked officer in the chest. The padding of his bullet resistant vest indenting until he hit the metal plate underneath. “Didn’t you?” Joe screamed the words, his face pushed into Chaz’s.

“I… didn’t mean to hurt her. She ran at me, I was defending myself. I…”

Joe pulled out his own baton and snapped it out. He stepped back and swung it directly into Chaz’s knee. There was an audible pop as the other cop screamed and crashed to the ground. Joe jumped on him immediately and twisted his hands behind his back, placing the cuffs with practiced ease. He tightened them painfully and then quickly removed the gun from Chaz’s holster. “You’re uncle can’t save you from this one you fucking piece of shit.”

What do you think kids? HOT eh? The man and the piece…

Kisses   xxx

Cassandre

 

 

About Cassandre Dayne

Cassandre Dayne is the pseudo for the best selling author of romantic suspense and thrillers
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4 Responses to Because I Can…My Sexy Guest Christian Jensen

  1. Great interview and good to get to know a little about the man and his writing Cass

    Like

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