Prom Night

By Huck Pilgrim

Annabelle is sweet and innocent. Before tonight, she'd never even spoken to a black man. Now it's prom night, a tornado has ravaged her hometown, and a pimp named Malik has just sold her to her best friend's dad... 

 

Has Annabelle gone too far?

 

In a wicked night of abandon, Annabelle rides a roller-coaster of shame and lust—the oldest profession in the world, video cameras, and a train of insatiable black guys. When prom night is over, will Annabelle be able to go home? Will those videos come back to haunt her? Will Malik even let her go? Prom Night is action-packed, sexy, and shocking beyond belief.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Huck Pilgrim Presents
• Release date: Oct 10, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393237594

Huck Pilgrim

Huck Pilgrim has lived on the streets of New York City, in a communal home for Christians, and on an American submarine out of San Diego. He has washed dishes, made costumed helium balloon deliveries, and robbed designer jeans from department stores. Huck writes gritty stories about submission, blackmail, and coercion. Occasionally he tosses a hand grenade of action and adventure into the mix. Huck's stories are vivid fantasies, exploring the darker sides of submission and exposure. In Huck's stories, the mousy girl becomes suddenly bold and capable, often discovering the hidden slut inside her. The men are handsome, hard-bitten, and cruel, enjoying all manner of debauchery. Follow Huck Pilgrim's latest releases by joining his mailing list. http://huckpilgrim.com/news Contact Huck at [e-mail]

Book preview

PromNight525x.jpg

Prom Night

By Huck Pilgrim

Huck Pilgrim Presents

Prom Night © October 2020

by

Huck Pilgrim

First Edition, April 2017

Cover design © 2017 by James, GoOnWrite.com

Editing: Huck Pilgrim

Sign up for the newsletter! 

Huck sends out announcements about new work, contests, and prizes and such.

Prom Night

1

Take this off. He slipped his finger under the lacy bodice, tugging it away from Annabelle's tummy. It was a two-piece dress from Nordstrom that had cost her parents a fortune.

Annabelle hugged her forearms to her chest. She wanted to do it, but like everything else tonight, it filled her with trepidation.

Does Malik know? she asked. Her voice was breathless and small. She already knew the answer but wanted the comfort of hearing it again. She could barely meet her handler's eyes, a young black man with a pitiless gaze.

He snorted. Malik know everything.

Annabelle turned her back. Before tonight, she had never even spoken to a black person. Look over her shoulder, she met his eyes.

He tugged down the zipper to her bodice.

Her fingers went to her mouth. She wore lace gloves, a last-minute gift from her grandma on the Promenade. Annabelle and the other students had gathered there with their parents for pictures. That was less than eight hours ago. The sky had been bright blue and fearless. No hint of the tornado that would soon lay waste to everything.

She leaned forward and felt her breasts fall free. Taking a deep breath, she let her lungs empty and the sequined top fall from her frame at the same time. She held the blouse in her hand. Her breasts stood plump and firm on her chest. She didn't like how her breasts looked and was almost afraid to see the handler's reaction. She shouldn't have worried.

He stared at her tits, grinning broadly.

His grin thrilled her as much as it frightened her. She looked for a place to hang her top, but there was nowhere. It was a small room with a narrow bed and not much else. She let the top fall to the floor, at the foot of the bed.

She reached for the zipper that held the big pink chiffon gown on her hips.

The door opened and a man stood in the shadows. Outside the room, there was a television tuned to cable news and the announcer's voice droned on about the storm.

The man in the door spoke. Jamal?

Annabelle felt a wave vertigo pass through her. It was the sound of the man's voice. Hearing him speak gave her a feeling that she had done all of this before, but that was crazy because this was a crack house in an unfamiliar neighborhood in a city an hour away from Carnal.

Yeah, come on. The handler waved his fingers.

The man pulled the door shut and stepped into the small pool of light cast by the bare bulb. He was a thin, wiry man in an expensive suit. He had short steel-grey hair and a stiff, military bearing. Something about him looked familiar. And then it went beyond familiar – Annabelle realized that she knew this man.

It was Hannah Kerry's dad.

Her mouth silently dropped open, her eyebrows rose. She used her arms to cover her tits. She started to suck air into her mouth in little gasps of breath. Turning to the handler, she took two steps toward him and held him, hiding her breasts against his chest.

He put his hand on her cheek, pushing her head back. His eyes narrowed with concern.

Ja– Ja– Jamal, she whimpered. She hadn't even known that was his name was until she'd heard Hannah's dad say it. In her own mouth, the name felt wrong. Foreign.

Look at me, Jamal said. He spoke calmly and with confidence. Look at me.

Her eyes widened.

He took a small vial from his pocket and emptied some powder onto his hand in the little area between his thumb and forefinger. In the dim light, the white powder glowed on his dark skin. Do this, he said.

She hesitated. What was it? What would it do to her?

Mr. Kerry laughed.

If he recognized her, he didn't show it. He said a vulgar word and then he said the streetlights were down for miles in every direction. He said there were fires lit in the streets.

Fires.

Like some third world country.

Jamal kept his eyes on her. He raised his brow.

What could she do? Annabelle lowered her head to his hand. She snorted the powder all into one nostril. Her face erupted in pain. She held her nose with one hand and pinched her face.

He put his hand on the back of her neck, under her hair. She'd gotten a haircut two weeks ago that had left one side of her head bald, the other side featuring a long swoop of blonde hair that hung past her ear. Her mother hated it, which had been the whole point of getting it in the first place.

It burns, she whined.

It's supposed to burn, he said. Lick the rest.

She licked the remaining powder from his hand. It tasted bitter.

He turned from her and found a small glass on an end table. He blew into it, then ran his fingers around the rim. Reaching into his leather jacket, he produced a half-pint bottle. He poured a small amount into the glass and handed it to her.

Drink.

She kept her back to Mr. Kerry. She took the glass and gulped it down. It made a burn in her chest to match the burning in her nose, which only just now was turning into a sort of mild glowing, a tingly sensation behind her eyes.

Jamal took the glass and filled it again. He drank it himself, then refilled it and put it back in her hand. She considered telling him she didn't want this one but then drank it before the thought had fully formed in her mind. Lowering her arms, she heaved a big sigh.

She took a staggering step forward and caught herself.

Jamal laughed. That's a girl.

He took her by the shoulders and guided her to the bed. He sat her down facing the room. Mr. Kerry had already removed his jacket and now he was loosening his tie.

You two know each other? Jamal said.

Mr. Kerry made a low appreciative whistle. He and Jamal laughed together, as if both were privy to a joke that Annabelle couldn't understand.

She turned her head to the wall.

Her tongue felt large and numb in her mouth. She pursed her lips and blew a stream of air from her mouth. The men were talking about the storm but she couldn't make out everything they were saying. She rubbed her palms on the silky chiffon covering her thighs.

Mr. Kerry sat next to her on the bed. She saw the sharp creases in his slacks and felt his hip next to her own. He put his arm around her and then his hands were on each of her shoulders. Annabelle is a great kid, Mr. Kerry said. I've known her for . . .

He was leaning forward, looking into her face.

She avoided his eyes.

He was going to lecture her. As soon as the thought popped into her mind she knew it was true. She took a deep breath. Her counselor at school had done something similar, only a few days ago, right after she had gotten the haircut. Her mother had set up the meeting. The counselor had sat next to her in the plastic chairs in his office and taken her shoulders in his hands. His face had been set with grim determination for the task ahead. He'd spoken of appropriate behavior, consequences, and expectations for a girl Annabelle's age. Her face had burned with the shame of being lectured by a man at her mother's request. Annabelle glared at Jamal. The memory of that afternoon in the counselor's office made her pulse quicken.

. . . long time. Mr. Kerry finished.

He paused, his hands gently squeezing her shoulders. Annabelle heard him take a deep breath. She imagined the look of disappointment on his face. She steeled herself, the muscles in her jaw clenched.

Suddenly Mr. Kerry cupped one of her tits in his hand.

Annabelle gasped.

She looked down at her chest and saw his hand move from one tit to the other. He wore a little smile, his eyes half lidded. He touched his tongue to his upper lip. He still had one of her shoulders in his hand, but the other hand was groping her tits.

It felt . . . good.

She enjoyed his touch, his gentle caress. The warmth of his hand. He was toying with one of her nipples and it stood, erect and plump, like a little blueberry.

Annabelle glanced at Jamal, her mouth open.

Mr. Kerry leaned forward, as if he had dropped something on the floor. He put his hand on the inside of her ankle and then drew his hand up, over her shin and