Prom Night


Author's note: This is my first story for 2017 and my entry for the Valentine's day contest. I hope you like it.

Prom Night


"Take this off." He slipped his finger under the lacy bodice, tugging it away from her tummy. It was a two-piece dress from Nordstrom that had cost Annabelle's 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?" Annabelle 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 to the handler. Before tonight, she had never even spoken to a black person. Looking 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 lay waste to everything.

She leaned forward and felt her breasts fall free of the bodice. 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.

The handler's 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 twisted to reach 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 over 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 thin, a 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 and 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 alarm.

"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.

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 head, 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 pint bottle. He poured a small amount into the glass and handed it to her.


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 she 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 together 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..." His voice trailed off. 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 half 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 her one of 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 under her gown, past her knee and right into her crotch. Annabelle exhaled deeply, her eyelids fluttering shut. She opened her knees and leaned back on her hands.

Mr. Kerry chuckled.

Annabelle opened her eyes and Jamal was grinning. Her panties were wet, from earlier, from the slow dance with Malik. It felt good to finally get stroked. Her body had been revved up sexually practically since she'd first set foot in this house, but this was the first physical contact with her pussy all night. Her breath heaved from her lungs.

Her hips started a little rocking motion, all on their own.

Mr. Kerry withdrew his hand and stood.

Annabelle swallowed. She closed her mouth. She was disappointed but also a little grateful for the respite. Is this what she wanted?

Mr. Kerry was unbuttoning his cuffs. His sleeves hung open at the wrists, and he began unbuttoning his shirt.

Annabelle felt self-conscious for the way she was sitting—tits out, legs spread. She sat up and closed her knees, pressing her thighs together. She wanted to touch herself, but instead she folded her hands on her lap, pressing down.

She hung her head.

Mr. Kerry unbuckled his belt and opened his fly.

Annabelle looked up and his penis hung before her. His pants were still up at his waist, but the fly was open and his shaft and balls were exposed. He had a fat circumcised head and it was a dark color and his balls were reddish and thick. He took her head in his hand. He pressed the head of his penis against her lips, then wiped his penis on the soft skin under her chin. He used the head of his cock to draw her lower lip down.

Annabelle made her mind go blank and opened her mouth. When she'd woken up this morning, she had no idea this is what she'd be doing tonight! He slipped his entire cock into her mouth. It was warm, filling her mouth completely.

She wasn't sure what to do next.

She could smell his musky scent. She sat with his cock in her mouth and her hands folded in her lap. Drawing her shoulders down and raising her chin, she wanted to see the expression on his face. He wasn't even looking at her. He was tugging his shirttails out of his pants and looking at Jamal.

"I'm really going to enjoy this," Mr. Kerry said. He laughed. He let his shirttails hang and took Annabelle's head in both his hands.

"A'ight!" Jamal said, opening the door. "Room's yours for half an hour."

"Hour," Mr. Kerry snapped.

Jamal stopped at the door. His eyes met Annabelle's. The cock swelled in her mouth.

Jamal grinned.

"Hour," he said, pulling the door shut.


Two hours earlier

The Jeep lurched and Annabelle grabbed the roll bar, the lace from her gloves slipping over the textured fiberglass. The rain made a steady drumbeat on the roof. Twisting sideways in the passenger seat, she peered out the driver-side window. A mass of burning tires sat in the middle of Interstate 99. Jimmy navigated onto the berm of the road, keeping the fire at a prudent distance.

Thick black smoke bellowed into the night air. They'd seen it from miles back, after they left Carnal, but the sight of it now, up close, filled Annabelle with awe.

It was the end of the world.

"How is that even burning," Marsha Coleman squeaked from the backseat. She wore a black satin gown with a slit up the side and a leopard lining inside. Her date, sitting next to her, wore a black tux with leopard lapels. Annabelle had already forgotten his name.

"Oil fire," he said, as if this fact explained everything. He had a military-style haircut. Marsha curled her lip and looked at him with utter disgust.

Annabelle laughed.

She felt excited, almost giddy. It really was the end of the world!

She had a feeling like destiny or fate was at play, but it wasn't a feeling she could easily describe and she didn't give it much thought, just enjoyed the sense of gliding forward through a series of events toward some fantastic purpose.

The burning tires disappeared behind them. An oil refinery loomed up on the right. They were on the outskirts of the city, and then they were gliding through dodgy parts of town.

Jimmy shifted gears and accelerated. His hair was a mass of loose blonde curls. His lips were thin and red and wet.

She planned to let him come in her mouth tonight.

Jimmy pulled the Jeep into an abandoned lot. They were in an alley behind some dilapidated rowhomes. He shut down the Jeep and the wipers froze mid-sweep. The rain pattered lightly against the windshield.

"Give me your money," Jimmy said, glancing into the rearview. He undid his bowtie and glanced at Annabelle, giving her an encouraging smile.

The boy in the backseat raised his hips to reach in his front pocket.

Annabelle opened her door and the overhead light flashed on. Jimmy quickly reached past her, grabbing her door and yanking it shut.

"You guys stay here," he said.

He took the money from the boy in the backseat, glanced at the bills, and then slid the cash into his pocket. He pulled his tie from his collar and hung it on the rearview mirror. Slipping out of his jacket, he tossed it into Annabelle's lap. He winked. "This won't take long."

Yanking open his door, he slipped out of the Jeep. Annabelle watched him make his way past a dilapidated gate, through an overgrown backyard, and into one of the rowhomes.

The three of them sat in silence, the rain pattering on the roof.

Annabelle hummed to herself, building her courage. It was a strident rap song with vulgar lyrics about a boy who, on a lark, turned his girlfriend into a whore. A ho, in the popular vernacular. She tapped a silent beat on her knee, bobbing her head. Suddenly she opened the Jeep door, illuminating the cabin again.

"What are you doing?" Marsha asked, her voice high pitched.

"I have to pee," Annabelle lied.

She picked her way through the underbrush, raising her gown to keep it from the mud. At the house, she navigated a dilapidated set of wooden steps onto a small porch, out of the rain.

Collecting herself, Annabelle took a deep breath. Her nipples were swollen with excitement, rubbing against the fabric of the dress.

This was crazy.

She tugged on a screen door and it fell off its hinges. Stepping back, she let the door fall to the porch. She heard the dogs before she saw them, their paws scrabbling on the wooden porch. It was a familiar sound, but she couldn't place it until the dogs rounded the corner of the house, saw her, and began their barking lunges.

Pit bulls.

Annabelle gasped and threw up her hands.

One dog abruptly snapped backwards as it reached the end of its chain. It fell onto its hind quarters, then scrambled to its feet again. The other dog used its chain to rear up on its hind legs, jaws snapping.

Annabelle turned toward the steps and she saw a German Shepard, head hunched low to the ground, a menacing growl on its lips.

She froze.

It put its front paw on the first step.

"Khan!" Someone yelled. Two young black men turned the corner.

One of the men was Jamal, but Annabelle didn't know that yet. Jamal called off Kahn, the German Shepard. The dog continued to eye Annabelle, but raised its head and stopped its growling.

"What the fuck," Jamal said. Looking at her gown, he laughed.

His friend tugged the pit bulls by their chains.

"Jimmy," Annabelle said, barely able to get the word out. "I'm trying to find my boyfriend Jimmy." He wasn't really her boyfriend, and Annabelle knew that, but she didn't feel bad about describing him that way either. It made her feel as if she belonged to someone, and belonging to someone mattered to her, especially out here, in this no man's land behind the crack house.

She shouldn't have worried.

Jamal led her into a narrow place nestled between the houses. He lifted a trap door. They all made their way down a narrow stairwell. The basement was well-lit, but messy. There were a few people sitting in chairs or standing in small groups. Everyone was black. Jimmy sat at a small wooden table, a small pile of powder before him.

He twisted around in his chair to see her, a look of disgust on his face.

Annabelle felt her mouth dry up.

Kahn padded to a tall man with a shock of hair piled atop his head. This was Malik. His loosely curled hair looked like the aftermath of an explosion. He was powerfully built, wearing a black suit, a white shirt, and a narrow black tie. His face was square with whiskers growing thick at the chin and wandering up his jaw. His skin was so black it showed no shadows, giving him a hard, mercenary look that terrified Annabelle.

Malik made a low whistle. "The prom!" He laughed and looked at Jimmy. "You brought your prom date to a crack house?"

Jimmy hung his head.

"Through the aftermath of a motherfucking tornado?" Malik said, his voice rising with contempt and amusement.

He approached Annabelle and she felt a tingly sensation in her head. Raising her chin, she tried to swallow her fear.

He stopped moving toward her and put his hands on his hips.

She trained her eyes on his belt buckle. He could see right through her, she felt certain, but she didn't want him to know she was scared. Annabelle thought of her Uncle Benny, the way he could always tell when she was lying.

Malik circled her, his arms crossed. His eyes traveled up and down her body. His attention produced a fine sheen of sweat at the back of Annabelle's neck.

Jimmy rose from his chair. "We should get out of here," he said.

Malik didn't take his eyes off Annabelle but waved his hand for Jimmy to return to his seat. Jimmy remained standing, glowering silently at the table.

Malik was behind her and then his hands were on her shoulders, his lips near her ear. "Are you ready to go?" His voice was throaty and deep.

Annabelle blushed.

He wasn't really the kind of man she thought of as attractive, but his scrutiny triggered something inside her that made the room feel suddenly warmer. Jimmy stood staring at her, a look of incredulity on his face. It was better than his look of disgust. Biting her lip, Annabelle laid her gloved hand on Malik's fingers and gazed into his face. He had a wide, flat nose. The whites of his eyes were yellowish in the corners.

Something crashed to the floor on the other side of the room.

A beautiful light-skinned black woman glared at Malik, a piece of computer equipment at her feet. She crossed her arms on her chest, tilted her head, and raised one of her brows.

"Pick that shit up," Malik said.

The woman stepped over the equipment that had crashed to the floor, crossed the room, and plopped into a leather arm chair, a petulant expression on her face. Her calves were muscular and toned, her feet bare. Annabelle immediately understood two things. The light-skinned black woman was Malik's woman, and she didn't appreciate his attention for Annabelle. This knowledge produced a satisfying calm inside Annabelle, accompanied by a slight tingling in her tummy and thighs.

"We should go," Jimmy said.

"Sit," Malik said. He glanced at Jamal who turned on some music.

Malik opened his arms.

Annabelle turned to face him. A slow rock song started.

Annabelle looked at Jimmy, who had returned to his seat and refused to look at her. She grinned at Malik, reveling in the power of his attention. She cut her eyes to his woman. Her long black hair was pulled back from her face. She had a sharp nose, high cheekbones, and a body that was athletic and slim. A tank top showed intricate tattoos on her muscled arms.

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byHuckPilgrim© 11 comments/ 69317 views/ 37 favorites

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