Pre-Murkoff Phyllis Futterman x fem!reader
Tw: drug use. Age gap. Power imbalance.
The noise of the industry goes on like any other busy day at the studio. Arguments, coffee runners, clicks of machinery and frantic footsteps.
Rehearsal begins in forty minutes and it's all hands on deck. There's lighting to do, the sound board to check and cameras need to be guided to a perfect position. The time will fly past fast so she quickens her steps and clutches her clipboard tightly.
People zoom fast to get ready and as she finally reaches the door of their star, it opens and out comes the make-up artist and hair stylist. Finished with fixing up her beehive to a prim polish.
The titular mother Gooseberry, Phyllis, is sitting in a chair in front of a mirror. Gently patting her makeup. The white powder stark against the warmth of her skin. Beautiful pristine smile that she and her father are known for. Ones that parents want their children to emulate. Showcasing pearly white front teeth untouched by her drug use.
She idly stood by. Wanting to ask for the confirmation of her suspicion. Of course she's worried. Phyllis has always had a practiced Hollywood smile to her face even when addressing lowly staffers. To have it replaced with a look of dissatisfaction and mild anxiety is an offence to the very nature of the universe
Phyllis turns to snap at whomever entered but softens when she sees it's her. It's a subtle shift in expression that makes her heart race. What could it mean? She has a lot of admirers from the next channel over, yet that smile must belong to her alone.
Either that or she's finally lost the remaining shreds of sanity since they've begun their illicit activities.
“Ms Futterman? The director said you asked for me?”
The older woman crooks her finger. “Come here, I need to relax.” What kind of relaxing she needs is obvious to her.
Her feet stumble forward as if trapped from a witch's spell. Shutting the dressing room door and locking it to ensure no one, not the producers, director, or other actors, could interrupt these few precious moments where they can unwind.
“Did the guest star say something to upset you?” Today there was a new talent strumming a kids song on his guitar.
The lyrics were childish and sweet, in complete contrast to his arrogant attitude. The worst kind of talent, he couldn't interact with their live audience of children correctly and failed to make them laugh several times.
She had to come in playing the role of a friend of mother Gooseberry to save the shooting from becoming a disaster.
Unprofessional and rude! She can't wait for him to leave.
“He's a whiney cunt.” Phyllis says. A dark flicker overtaking her expression before she composes herself with a smile. “Makes me glad guest stars are just that, guests.”
There's something else bothering her. Her father's health is failing and she dares not ask how he is, she always gets in a peculiar mood after, as if she's somewhere far. Somewhere primal and cruel that lashes out in spitting insults/ insistence.
Phyllis isn't interested in what she's saying or the concern she offers.
“Open your blouse and bend back.” she says, almost cruel in her blunt delivery.
She nods, and begins to unbutton her shirt starting with the collar. Trying to calm down the tremble in her fingers, they've done this before yet her nerves remain,
Her bra is next and that's easy to discard at their feet. Leaving bare chested and breathing heavily.
Phyllis gazes at her expectantly.
She hops onto the makeup table and leans to the side so she's laying down, her smart pencil skirt stretching as she settles into the position.
Phyllis produces a small baggie from her drawer and sprinkles the white powder on her tits. She feels the softness of it. Like gentle falling snow as she directs one long line ending at her belly button. It tickles slightly and her stomach moves in a flinch. Trying to keep from giggling.
“Stay still. Anything I miss will come out of your paycheck.”
The smell is chemical and slightly soapy. Phyllis had offered to share in her bad habit before but she'd always declined. That doesn't stop her from being covered by the powder from time to time.
“Phyllis- I mean… mother-!” her nails bite into her palms.
Then the whisper of her nose and lips as Phyllis snorts the cocaine down to her belly button.
She leans up and groans, tapping her nose. “That's my pretty baby. Thank you, mother really needed that.” she sniffs, clearing her air way.
“One more thing you can do to help me.”
“Of course. Anything.” she breathes, sitting up. This is hardly what her mother and father pictured her doing. A background character in a children's show on tv. Wearing embarrassing costumes and singing slightly off key with Mother Gooseberry.
Nor would her family want to know what happens behind doors when the cameras are distracted. In the dark where polite smiles melt into dark moans and whispered pleading.
They have to keep it secret, as secret as the drug running through Phyllis's system. No one would approve if they were found out to be lovers.
Two women in love? She can already hear the cruel names from ‘polite society’. Though maybe it's only love on her part. Phyllis never responded to her shy attempts to make dinner plans for the both of them.
Phyllis pats her thigh and she gets the message immediately when the older woman opens her legs.
She doesn't need to be told twice.
She remembers their first meeting like this. After she was selected from the casting call, she met Phyllis and fell hard and fast. But it wasn't until the shooting that they connected. The older woman had been so patient. Guiding her on what to do until the nerves of her first time left and were replaced by mounting pleasure. The least she can do is listen and obey.
Her hands bunch up her red skirt to her waist and she's blessed with the delicious sight of her plump glistening lips. Her bush is groomed but still dark. Just the way she likes it.
“Such a sweet dirty girl.” Phyllis sighs, leaning back. The grip on her nape tightens.
She lightly ran the tip of her tongue around between the lips of her pussy and lapping until her eagerness earned her a whimper and the promise of juices from her cunt.
It's the signal to finally delve in and she opens wide. Sliding her tongue down her slit and back up again as Phyllis put her hands on the back of her head to build a rhythm. She slid her tongue forward again and delved in, her well-practised tongue gliding and quickly finding the spots that Phyllis loves.
Back and forward she moved her head as she allowed Phyllis to control where she wants her and how fast she should suck.
“Wonderful whore. Taking care of mother.”
Her knees tremble. She sucks hard and rests her hands on her thighs to allow Phyllis to remain in control.
Her own neglected pussy is literally dripping onto the carpet below. Staining her work garters
Phyllis pulls her hair tightly. Like the reins of a particularly bad behaving horse. Shoving her face hard against her bush, until her nose is buried in her pubic hair
The taste of her bursts on her tongue in a delicate tang of salt and sweetness. Lapping up the juices along with the guttural moans she releases like the hymns of a holy song. Uncaring if the hustling workers outside heard her
“Yes, that's it you filthy whore. K-keep doing that.” the dirty names make her thighs clench and she suppresses a whimper of need.
When the tugging becomes weak petting it's a sign of victory.
She stops sucking and pops off her pussy, wetly panting in front of the glistening flesh. She pulls her head up only to be yanked back. “Ah ah. Lick me clean. You wouldn't want to leave a mess would you?”
“Of course not, mother.” Her work isn't over and she delves back in, the drops leaking from her brown pussy is life itself and she suckles each dollop that leaks, spreading it on her tongue.
She kisses her thigh when she's done. Pulling away with a wet glistening chin which she's in no hurry to clean. Nosing up the sensitive crease of her leg. Phyllis moans as her tongue laps at the mess, twitching and quivering all the way to earth.
“Thank you.” Phyllis opens her eyes. Satisfaction mixing with an ever present need for more. “You always know how to make me feel better, I'm almost suspicious of how good you have gotten.”
As if she needs the reminder of her first pathetic attempts. “It's only you Phyllis.” She swears.
Watching as the older woman places her clothes back.
“Good girl…Now let me see how wet I made that pretty pussy.”
Phyllis reaches under her skirt. Pulling the garter she's wearing away and wiggles two fingers to finally meet the hot aching flesh of her lower lips. The immediate sound of squelching as she thrusts her digits knuckle deep.
She cries out and almost slumps over. Surprised by the rough thrust of digits wiggling in her walls but just as quickly as it was done, Phyllis chuckles, and retreats slowly pulling out her hand.
Displaying her hand between them, forcing her to acknowledge it like a prize
“You're absolutely drenched. Poor thing, you must be aching hmm?”
She examines her glistening fingers and meets her gaze. The knocking on the door is loud and a male voice shouts something about how the rest of the cast is ready.
“But you'll have to wait after the show..”
Phyllis licks her fingers clean and turns away.
The smile on her red lips is a familiar mask but only she knows the hunger beneath it.
She's left in an empty room staring after her swaying hips under the red skirt. Swallowing thickly. “Yes, mother.”
The room stinks of sex, magnolia powder and the clinical hiss of a chemical substance. Phyllis is an enigmatic dame, drawing people to her with a throaty laugh and theater charm, something daughter and father share
And what is she? Background noise.
Phyllis is meant for the camera, meant to be seen and adored by many. Her heart tells her it's stupid to believe a woman like Phyllis Futterman could belong to her alone
