Foster's Home: A Forbiden Love Part 1

BY : Wendell Urth
Category: +1 through F > Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends
Dragon prints: 851
Disclaimer: Disclaimer: Foster’s Home For Imaginary Friends and all associated characters belong to their respective creators and owners, not me. I receive no compensation whatsoever for this story.

Disclaimer: Foster’s Home For Imaginary Friends and all associated or other characters belong to their respective creators and owners, not me. I receive no compensation whatsoever for this story. I do not condone sex between adults and minors or the casual use of drugs.


Foster’s Home: A Forbidden Love Part 1


No mind control, no hidden rooms or magical devices. The story of Frankie & Mac.

2:30 AM. Frankie tiptoed to her room. Trying to avoid making any noise, she seemed to step on every loose and creaking floorboard in the mansion (and there were a lot of them). When she was sober, she was pretty good at avoiding them. She had been living with them almost her entire life.

Clutching her high heel sandals, her little purse balanced under her arm. Stumbling in torn stocking stockings (“Damn… well, they were a cheap pair. Like most of the things I own.”), a seam had opened on her favorite little black titty dress (“Need to fix that before the whole seam splits. My best dress…”), she tottered towards her room.

It had been a pretty good party… until her friend Letty had announced her engagement. “Fuck, third one this year!” she thought. Well, she didn’t think much of Letty’s boyfriend, Frankie had dated him a couple of years ago… “Lousy lay… but who am I to throw stones?” she wondered.

Mac was asleep on the cot across the room. Normally Frankie would have changed in the bathroom down the hall, but tonight she was too tired or too drunk or maybe just too depressed for her usual nightly ritual. She had to shimmy out the black dress, it was so tight in all the best places. Then she heard the rest of the seam split and maybe some of the fabric too. “Shit” she muttered, probably too loud as the dress hit the floor. It was the kind of dress you couldn’t wear panties or a bra with. She glanced over to Mac; he hadn’t moved.

Standing there naked in just her torn stockings, she bent over to pick up the dress. It eluded her. It was a sheer fabric and her fingers weren’t working too well. She finally bent over.

Mac had heard her come in, he hadn’t been quite asleep, but when Frankie cursed, he fully woke up. Fully woke up to the most amazing sight in his young life. She was bent over, in the moonlight lit room he saw her naked ass as she bent over, flash of titties as she almost lost her balance. He could see, or almost see her vagina, her “lady parts” in the darkness. She was so close, tiny puckered ass hole maybe a couple of feet from his face. Everything. He saw everything. Nearly. She picked up something, “Her dress” he realized. She turned and held it up in the moonlight, he closed his eyes, squinted and watched.

She held the dress in front of her body, searching for something. He caught glimpses, flashes of her body as she turned the dress over and over. A sudden view of her left breast. It looked so firm, it stood out from her chest, like a giant ripe pear.

Now he could see between her legs. There was a cleft, a line with small lips, skin tightly wrapped and warped. A strip of hair. He was hard and wanted to touch himself, but he didn’t dare move. He couldn’t move, he was frozen!

She held up the dress now and looked ready to cry. It was badly torn, even in the darkness Mac could see that.

Frankie was crying now. Nearly silently. She stumbled over to her bed, still clutching the dress. She stared at it and then threw it across the room. A loud sigh. A hiccup.

Franke pulled on her knee length sleep shirt. She usually wore panties; he knew from the outline under the shirt. She skipped them tonight. He heard her crying, “She must really be upset about the dress” Mac thought. In a little while she was snoring. Not a real snore, more like loud inhaling. It was the way she slept. He thought it was “cute”. It always made him comfortable before.

The dress was only the last straw. She was crying about her life, being alone.

Mac didn’t get much sleep that night

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