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A Foster’s Fantasy. Deep Under The House	By : Wendell Urth Category: +1 through F > Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends Views: 2710 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: 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.

Chapter List
- 4
- 5
- 6
Chapter 5: She was known on the circuit as Wild Red
She was known on the circuit as Wild Red, one of a couple of dozen or so dancers who worked the South Side Club circuit. 30 going on 24. Strobe lights helped the fantasy. She told her clients she was stripping/hooking to pay for college. She’d actually attended… for 3 months when she was 19. Journalism, bored her senseless. Met a guy at a frat party. $500 for a photo session. Money seemed easy; someone always had drugs. Posing, dancing, sucking, fucking. Always music. Seemed like a sweet deal.
‘She was working “Fat Charlie’s” tonight. Business was slow. Seemed like every night lately, was slow.
Her feet hurt, breaking in a new pair of 7-inch rhinestone platforms. She’d planned on missing a few meals to pay for them. Would be missing more than just a few, if business didn’t pick up soon.
She’d removed her G-string, her red pubes freshly trimmed into a little heart. Plus, the glitter, always the glitter. She needn’t have bothered. She teased a fat guy in the front row, draped the G-string over his face. Let him take a sniff. “Don’t lick it!” (disgusting!). All she got was a fiver for her trouble. He tried to grab it back from her!
“No refunds, asshole.” He got a stiletto heel in the face. Tried to lick her toes. “Look buster, this heel is going up your ass next.” He laughed.
For the ten thousandth time Frankie swore, she was getting out of the business… soon as she got a little ahead. But there was rent to pay… and her dealer. Besides, she liked the fucking too much.
She walked off stage before her music was done. Charlie would give her grief over that.
In the dressing room, “Hey Frankie, busy later?”
“Hey Cherie, no plans. Something going on? I get off at midnight.”
“Meet me and Darlene out back. Party back at “Po’boys”, sounds like some high rollers.”
“Thanks hon, I owe you.”
Gravel voice. Ugly face. “Hey you whores, out front now! Start mixing with the clientele.”
“Clientele, you mean the couple of drunks dozing out front?” asked Cherie.
Frankie, painting her nipples, “Hey Charlie, fat guy in the front row, too grabby. Will ya’ do something before he knocks someone off the stage and she sues your fat ass?”
“Don’t even joke about it. Already got more lawsuits than customers.” Frankie stood up just in time to receive a slap on the ass from her boss. He rubbed it a few times. “For luck, now get out there! And be nice! For a change.”
He shook his head, “Dumb cunt. Natural redheads are the worst… after blondes.” Then, “You waitin’ for something, Darlene? Maybe an Uber? An invitation from Prince Charmin’? Get out there.” Then, “I gotta’ get out of this business.”
Later. Frankie met the girls out back. She was wearing her best titty dress. Sheer black fabric that in the right light exposed her areola and nipples. White thigh high stockings, patent leather pumps. Working girl clothes disguised as a party dress.
She was excited to be back at “Po’boys” she had danced there a couple of years ago. High end clients. Mobbed up, of course. Changed owners every few months, but always someone connected to the Carnucci family. Might be a chance to get in good with the new management. She had a new act that was almost ready. She needed a job at a place like this.
Great party, she knew the DJ, some of the players. Was cornered almost immediately by the chief bartender. He was a real gentleman, put a pad down for her to kneel on so she wouldn’t tear her leggings. Freebee blowjob. She owed him, so it was cool. As she stood, he leaned over and wiped her cheek with a bar napkin. “Drop of cum.” As she said, “a real gentleman.”
She danced with a few guys, with a few girls. Showed herself around. Played cards with some of the regulars. Did some blow. Took her tits out for some very important looking people. They had asked nicely. Kisses. Tipped well.
Around 1:00 AM she was invited to a private party, backstage. It was the new owner, Mac Carnucci and his girl.
He was impressive, his shoes cost more that her entire wardrobe. Maybe late 40’s, little silver in his tousled wavy brown hair. Perfect teeth, nice smile. Educated. Clearly not the usual kind of guy who ran these clubs. He kissed her hand and escorted her to the divan.
Then he introduced her to Princess. She was a tall, statuesque black woman in her 30’s? 50’s? Frankie couldn’t tell. Beautiful short dreads, tips dyed blonde. She was sipping champagne from an expensive fluted glass. He offered Frankie some. Frankie crossed her legs and sat between the two. Laughing at their jokes. Princess leaned forward, put her hand on Frankie’s knee. Began squeezing. Small talk. He lifted Frankie’s hair and began nibbling on her ear. All very friendly. Princess began moving her hand up her thigh.
They gave her some pills, “Just to loosen things up,” Mac said. Frankie quipped she was already pretty loose. They didn’t take any. That was probably a warning sign, Frankie knew, but couldn’t refuse. She needed this job too much.
Frankie had few illusions left about herself. She was a cheap whore and she knew it. She also knew class when she saw it. These two were slumming. That was OK, she’d been there before. They didn’t pick her up for her intelligence, wit or charm. They at least seemed nice about it. If she was lucky, she’d make a few bucks on the deal. “A job! Oh God, I need a job here.” Besides, they were the best-looking couple she had partied with in a long time. She already had a crush on them. Frankie wasn’t against mixing business with pleasure.
Her business was pleasure. And she was very good.
“Those pills must be…” she couldn’t finish the sentence. She was feeling very warm and very happy. “Need to get some more…” The room began to spin. Everything became like a snapshot or random scene out of a video. Out takes.
Out take: She is on her back, her long legs in the air, a living V. Mac is between her legs, grunting & thrusting, thrusting and grunting. She is running her fingers through his hair. “I’ve never been so happy, Mac!”
“Shut up, bitch. Just take it”
Out take: Laughter, a woman’s baritone. Sparkly dress hiked up over long black legs. Hairy twat, perfumed. Frankie was suddenly in love. “Suck it, you filthy whore” as the cunt was pressed to her face. Princess leaned forward to kiss Mac. Frankie went to work. She could barely breathe, but that was OK. She felt warm and loved.
Out take: She is dancing on a table. More men, bouncers/security types. Desire is there watching. She stumbles. No one moves to catch her. She gets off the table, hands grab her and throw down belly first back on the table. It hurts but she laughs, hoping Mac and Princess are watching as she is fucked in the ass by… who? Someone. Anyone. She screams. No one hears her. No one pays attention to a whore in pain.
Out take: She is being carried into an alley. Two men. Bouncers. “Where ya’ live?” She is back in her dress, no tights, no panties. No shoes. She stumbles. “I asked, where ya’ live?”
She tries to remember. “Foster’s? Foster’s Home. Yeah. I live there.”
“Where’s that?” The bouncer slaps her a few times. She giggles. “Leave the whore here,” the other bouncer says. Frankie totters out of the alleyway. Looking for a house that may not exist.
Out take: Another alley, sun coming up. She is laying among some trash bags. He dress is torn. There is a young boy, ten? Twelve years old? Beautiful brown hair and eyes.
“Not dead?!?” his eyes go wide as she pulls him in close.
“Oh Mac, I love you!” she kisses him. He turns away, desperately trying to get lose. She is stronger, pulls him to her, cradles him. Her breasts are exposed now. He touches them shyly, then with more feeling. His first titties, probably. They feel good in his hand. Better in his mouth. She pulls his pants down. His young cock is smooth. She hasn’t seen one like that, young and innocent in a while. His hands are shaking. He moans as she strokes him. “Virgin? Not for much longer” she thought. He begins to fuck her. She is crying, she doesn’t know why.
Out take: Her apartment. She is sitting with her back against the empty refrigerator. She smells of the alley and trash. She feels like trash. Her head is pounding, her eyes are burning and her lips are dry, swollen. Her cunt and ass burn. She needs water but is too to tired to stand to get to the sink.
She looks around. No idea how she got home. No idea if any of it was real, though the dirt and the smell say otherwise. Cum is still dripping down her thighs. Her purse and phone are in the hallway. She was sure she lost them, maybe Desire dropped them off? “Good ol’ Desire. My pal!” She crawls to her purse. All her money is gone. “Shit!” Well, Desire is a whore too. Frankie knows that if the situation was revered, she would have done the same.
“I hope I got the job.” She lays on the floor, closes her eyes to sleep. “God, that kid was cute… for a first timer. Wonder where he lives?” and slept for a few hours.
Maybe she’d look for that alley later.
- 4
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- 6
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A Foster’s Fantasy. Deep Under The House