Taking Innocence - 12 Erotic Tales of Lost Innocence Read online

  Taking Innocence

  An Erotic Story Collection

  Compiled By: Jade K. Scott

  Stories By:

  Jade K. Scott

  Lexi Lane

  Carl East

  Cheri Verset

  Saffron Sands

  Polly J. Adams

  Jenevieve DeBeers

  © Copyright 2013, Jade K. Scott and other respective authors, All Rights Reserved

  My First Time

  By Jade K. Scott

  Copyright 2013 by Jade K. Scott

  Chapter One

  I had just turned eighteen when my father married Susan Wells. She was nice enough, but she had a son named Chris who would go on to change my life irrevocably.

  Chris was nineteen years old. He had long hair, wore a leather jacket everywhere, even in the summer, and rode a motorcycle. I’d never met anyone like him. Our sleepy little town was full of good ole boys and geeks, but no one like him. He and his mother moved in after the wedding, and my life was never the same.

  At first, Chris was distant. He spent most of his time in his room, the skunk-like scent of marijuana wafting underneath the door. He was belligerent to my father, and he mostly ignored me.

  One evening, our parents had gone out to dinner. I heard a terrible racket in Chris’s room, so I knocked softly on the door.

  “Chris?” I called gently.

  I heard the rustling and crunching of objects under his boots as he crossed the floor, and he flung the door open. His dark hair fell into his eyes, and he looked down as though the carpet was the most interesting thing on Earth.

  “What do you want?” he snarled.

  “Are you okay?” I asked him. “I heard…”

  I peered past him and into his room. The lamp on his nightstand was overturned, the bulb shattered into shards of glass that scattered across the table top and the floor. Clothing, papers, books, and other items littered the floor, the bed, basically every surface in the room. It looked pretty much like his room normally looked, except there was usually some order amongst the chaos.

  “What happened?” I breathed, my eyes wide with curiosity.

  “None of your God damned business,” he snapped, attempting to slam the door in my face.

  I stuck my hand out and grabbed the edge of the door just as he was pushing it shut. I thought I could manage to keep him from shutting me out, but I only succeeded in getting my hand smashed savagely in the door. I yelped in pain.

  Immediately, the door flew open wide. I recoiled, cradling my throbbing hand against me. A look of shock and concern softened Chris’s face – perhaps even contrition.

  “I’m sorry,” he said quickly, reaching for my hand. “Are you okay?”

  My eyes were stinging, tears threatening to squeeze out from behind my eyelids. I bit my lip and looked away, determined not to let him see me cry.

  “I’m fine,” I lied, though my quavering voice certainly gave away the attempted deceit.

  I shivered as his warm hands took mine. He examined it carefully, noting the redness and swelling. He poked at it gingerly, and I winced, gasping in pain.

  “This doesn’t look fine,” he said.

  “Well, it is,” I said, withdrawing my hand.

  “Come on, I’m taking you to the hospital,” he demanded.

  “No, it’s fine!” I snapped.

  “Don’t argue with me,” he growled. “Go get some clothes on or I’ll throw you over my shoulder and carry you!”

  Not that I would have minded being thrown over his shoulder, but I figured it might be best not to argue with him. I went to my room and changed out of my pajamas and into a t-shirt and jeans. That was difficult, but pulling on my socks proved to be impossible. I was still sitting on my bed struggling with them when Chris walked in.

  “You ready?” he asked.

  Then he spotted me struggling.

  “Here, let me,” Chris said, sitting down on my bed and taking one of my socks.

  Chris lifted my foot and slid the sock gently over it. Then he did the same with the other. His eyes scanned the room and located my shoes, which he brought over, slipped on my feet, and tied neatly.

  “Thank you,” I said meekly.

  I wasn’t used to being treated so delicately. My father lacked such grace under pressure, and my mother hadn’t been around in years. Chris’s mother was friendly, but she never paid much attention to me.

  “Let’s go, kid,” he said.

  I winced at his back when he called me ‘kid.’ I didn’t like to think that’s all I would ever be to him – his kid sister. I was only a year younger than him. Not even that, just a few months, really.

  “Are we taking your bike?” I asked hopefully.

  “Don’t be stupid,” he said. “How are you going to hang on to me with that bad hand? We’ll take my mom’s car.”

  Chris snatched Susan’s keys off the hook in the foyer.

  “Don’t she be mad if you take her car without asking?” I asked him.

  “Nah, this is an emergency,” he said confidently. “Besides, I’ll call her from the hospital.”

  He opened my door for me, and I slid into the front seat. He rolled smoothly over the hood like he was a stuntman in a movie and plopped casually into the driver’s seat.

  When we arrived at the hospital, he pulled up to the sliding doors. I insisted I could walk from the parking lot, but he wouldn’t hear of it. He opened my door and escorted me into the waiting room, and then he left to park the car. I waited patiently for him as he’d requested. When he got back, he ushered me up to the reception desk.

  “May I help you?” asked a smiling nurse.

  “My stepsister hurt her hand,” he explained. “I think it might be broken.”

  “Alright, fill out these forms, please,” the nurse said pleasantly, handing him a clipboard with a pen attached to a chain.

  He took the clipboard and we took a seat in the waiting room. He asked me questions while he filled it out for me, because I couldn’t write in my current condition.

  He handed the form back to her, and she typed for a couple of moments. Then she smiled at him again.

  “Take a seat. They’ll call her when they’re ready for her,” she told him.

  He strolled over and slid into the seat beside me.

  “You holding up okay?” he asked me, and I nodded. “You want anything? Coke? Snack?”

  “No, I’m fine,” I said.

  He sighed heavily and slouched in his seat. He lifted one foot up and onto his knee. He fiddled with the buckle on his boot for a while, and then slouched backward and started bouncing his foot nervously.

  “Look, I’m sorry, okay,” he said suddenly.

  “It’s alright,” I assured him.

  “No, seriously, what I did wasn’t cool,” he said, picking lint off his shirt.

  “It was an accident, Chris,” I told him.

  “Maybe so, but I should have been more careful. It was reckless and stupid, and I’m sorry,” he mumbled.

  “Chris,” I said, putting my good hand on his knee and trying to catch his eye. When he finally looked at me I said, “It’s fine. Really.”

  He gazed into my eyes for a moment, and I noticed how deep and gentle his eyes really were. They were a soft gray-blue with flecks of brown, and I could see a kindness behind them I’d never noticed before.

  He finally nodded, apparently accepting the fact that the whole incident was an accident. Still, he looked trou
bled. He kept glancing at my hand and gnawing on his thumbnail occasionally.

  After an hour had passed, he jumped to his feet.

  “I’m going to see what’s taking so long,” he said.

  Chris strolled over to the reception desk and leaned forward, putting his weight on the counter.

  “Hey!” he called to the nurse behind the counter. “What’s taking so long? My sister’s in pain out here! We’ve been waiting over an hour!”

  “Patients are seen in order of the severity of their conditions,” the nurse explained. “It’s not first come, first served.”

  “Well, how long will it be?” he asked.

  “It shouldn’t be long now, unless someone comes in with a serious condition. They were backed up, but they’re almost caught up,” she told him.

  Chris stormed back over to me with his fists balled up beside him. He slumped back into his seat and sulked, muttering obscenities under his breath.

  “If you want to go home, it’s…” I started to say.

  “No way,” Chris said flatly. “I’ll stay as long as it takes. I just don’t want you sitting here in pain so long.”

  “It’s not so bad,” I lied.

  In truth, my hand was throbbing angrily. I could feel the skin stretching over the back of my hand as it swelled larger and larger, and a huge bruise was spreading out over it, ugly and vicious.

  “It looks bad,” Chris commented.

  “It doesn’t hurt that much,” I told him.

  Chris spotted a vending machine across the room and he made his way over to it. He dropped some coins into it and punched a button. He brought the can over to me.

  “For your hand,” he said, holding it out toward me.

  I took it gratefully and placed it on the back of my hand. A white-hot searing pain shot through my hand and up my arm.

  “Ow!” I shrieked, and he jumped.

  He took the can from me and placed it gently inside my swollen hand. I couldn’t grip it, but it hurt less to have the cold can inside my hand rather than outside it.

  “God, I’m so sorry,” he groaned.

  “I said it’s fine, Chris,” I told him.

  “I’ll never forgive myself for this. Never.”

  “Don’t blame yourself. I told you, it was an accident.”

  “Yeah, but it’s my fault you even came in there. It’s my fault for slamming the door on your hand. Everything’s always my fault,” he muttered.

  “Don’t say that,” I said gently. “Please don’t.”

  “You don’t get it. My whole life, everything’s always been my fault. It was my fault my parents split up. If I hadn’t been such a prick…”

  “Stop it,” I demanded. “You had nothing to do with any of that.”

  He shook his head sadly and rolled his eyes.

  “You just don’t understand, kid,” he told me.

  “Stop calling me kid,” I snapped.

  “Alright, alright, sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”

  He leaned his head back against the wall and stared up at the ceiling. His foot was on his knee again, jiggling wildly.

  “Parker,” a voice called. “Mika Parker!”

  I stood up and followed the voice to a door behind the reception desk. A nurse stood there smiling and waiting patiently.

  “Mika Parker?” she asked pleasantly.

  “That’s me,” I said.

  “You can wait out here,” the nurse said to Chris.

  “No!” I practically shouted.

  “Is he family?” she asked, assuming, I suppose, that he was my boyfriend.

  “He’s my brother,” I told her.

  She raised one eyebrow skeptically.

  “You don’t look alike,” she commented.

  “He’s my stepbrother,” I clarified.

  “Hmm,” she said, thinking for a moment. “Alright, come on back.”

  I had my hand x-rayed, and then I had to wait for the doctor to come analyze the results. It was nearly thirty minutes before she showed up. She told me my hand was broken, and I had to have it set in a cast. When we got home, my father and Susan were waiting.

  “Are you alright?” Dad asked as soon as I walked through the door.

  Dad wrapped me in a tough bear hug, and then he glared accusatorily at Chris.

  “What happened?” Susan asked.

  “I slammed my hand in a door,” I said.

  “What? How?” Susan wanted to know.

  “I was just being clumsy,” I said. “I was lucky Chris was home. The doctor at the hospital said my hand could have been permanently damaged if I hadn’t gone to the hospital. It was Chris who convinced me to go.”

  My dad softened a little.

  “I’m just glad you’re okay,” he said, squeezing my shoulders.

  “I’m going to head to bed,” I told him, and he nodded, kissing me on the forehead.

  I brushed my teeth, and then I went to my room, changed into a pair of shorts and a tank top, and crawled into bed. A little while later, just before I drifted off to sleep, I heard my bedroom door open.

  Chris sat down on the bed beside me. I pretended to be asleep. He brushed a strand of hair away from my face.

  “Mika?” he asked quietly. “You awake?”

  I pretended to stir, turning over and looking at him with a fake yawn.

  “Chris?” I asked, feigning ignorance.

  “Yeah, it’s me,” he acknowledged. “I just wanted to apologize again and see how you’re doing.”

  “I’m fine,” I told him. “It doesn’t hurt that much anymore.”

  “Thanks for not telling them I did it,” he said, staring at my wall. “Your dad already has enough reasons to hate me without thinking I broke your hand.”

  “Why would he hate you?” I asked curiously.

  He shrugged.

  “Everyone does,” he said. “Everyone always has.”

  “I don’t,” I whispered, stroking his cheek with my good hand.

  His eyes looked deeply into mine. I sat up and pressed my lips against his. For a moment, he responded by kissing back. Then he jumped up and backed away.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked him.

  “This isn’t right,” he said. “I can’t.”

  And then he was gone.

  Chapter Two

  The next day, Chris asked me if I wanted to go shopping. He said he was heading into town, and he thought I might like a fun day out. Truthfully, I just wanted to spend time with him. If he’d asked me to tour the sewage treatment with him, I would have gratefully accepted. The first thing he suggested doing was having my hair done.

  “What’s wrong with my hair?” I asked.

  “Nothing, it’s beautiful,” he said, stroking my waist-length blonde hair. “But I thought you might like something a little wilder. You know, just for fun.”

  “Like what?” I asked him.

  “I don’t know, I was thinking dreads,” he said.

  I burst into laughter. “Dreadlocks? Me?” I cackled.

  “Why not?” he asked with a shrug.

  “How about braids? Seems a little less permanent,” I told him.

  “Alright, we’ll give it a try,” he said.

  “Can we take your bike?” I asked.

  “I really don’t think that’s a good idea with your hand and all,” he said. “But I promise I’ll take you for a ride as soon as your hand is better.”

  I sighed. “Fine,” I relented.

  First, we stopped for lunch. We had burgers and fries at my favorite diner, and then we headed to the hair salon. The stylist tried to talk me into getting my hair colored, but I loved my blonde hair. I just had it braided into dozens of tiny braids.

  “Wow, you look a little less dainty,” Chris said when he saw the final result.

  “Dainty?” I chuckled. “Where’d you learn that word?”

  He laughed.

  “Now we should get you some proper clothes,” he told me.

  �
��What’s wrong with these?” I asked, looking down at my t-shirt and jeans.

  “Nothing,” he countered. “You just look a little… innocent.”

  “I am innocent,” I told him.

  “Maybe so, but you don’t have to look it,” he told me, pinching my cheek.

  He took me to a store in town that sold all kinds of slutty clothes. Nothing really seemed my style, and I was just about to suggest we leave when Chris held up a sheer shirt.

  “This,” he said, smiling wickedly. “With a sexy black bra underneath.”

  “This looks positively scandalous,” I told him, leaning over and speaking near him in hushed tones. Then I turned to the sales girl and said, “I’ll take it!”

  I bought a black bra and matching black panties. That, along with a wicked pair of black suede boots went just fine with the jeans I was already wearing. I changed into my new outfit at a gas station.

  “Holy crap,” Chris said as soon as I walked out.

  “Tell me about it, stud,” I said in my best impression of Sandy from Grease.

  Chris laughed.

  “Sandy you are not,” he chuckled. “But I’ll take you over Olivia Newton-John any day!”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment,” I joked. “Although the look isn’t quite so sexy with this huge cast in the way.”

  “I think you look hot,” he said with a shrug.

  I felt my face flush hot.

  The rest of the day, we spent wandering around town. We played games at the arcade, watched a movie, and stopped for pizza on the way home. He did a good job keeping my mind off how much my hand was hurting.

  When we got home, our parents had gone out again. He told me to meet him in the living room if I wanted to watch a DVD, and I went to take a shower. When I got out, I put on my new black panties and I started to put on my bra, but I thought better of it. Instead, I put on the sheer black shirt without it, and headed into the living room.

  Chris had already put a DVD into the player, and he was sitting shirtless in a pair of sweatpants. His eyes glanced up at me, and his mouth fell open.

  “What?” I teased.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “You don’t like it?” I asked him, pouting playfully.