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Is It Scary	By : Idolhands Category: A through F > Charlie and the Chocolate Factory Views: 18205 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 14
- 15
- 16
Please be aware that the volumes/chapters of this tale are out of order. Be sure to pick the NUMBER of the Volume, not the number assigned by Adultfanfiction.net. I cannot control this problem, sorry and thank you for reading.
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Title: Is It Scary, volume XV (Volume Fifteen: Wash Your Hands, Who Knows Where They’ve Been!)
By: IDOL HANDS
Rating: Mature Demented Audiences (Rated: a graphic NC-17)
Warnings: For dramatic and adult themes, alternate Paganism, sex magick, mild bondage undertones, an explicit under-aged/adult slash (“shota” or “chan”) relationship. It’s long and I mean that in more ways than one.
Disclaimer: The characters portrayed are not my property but that of the estate of R. Dahl, Tim Burton, Freddie Highmore and Johnny Depp. Much love to them all. A quick mention of a Disney character & famous cookie elves are also included.
Summary: Look out kids, get ready for lessons you may never forget! It’s difficult to sleep with things that go ‘bump’ in the night lurking about. Many members of the Bucket clan get unexpected surprises, as do those of the Wonka family. Mrs. Bucket seems to be out of sorts. Grandma Josephine is left to sort. And Charlie is sort of caught off guard. Will more secrets be revealed? Sort of.

“Something Wicked this Way Comes.”

It was late. Hours had passed into the time well after night, but well before actual morning, Mr. Bucket’s deep slumber was once again disturbed by the tapping of fingers.
Oh not again, he thought. I can’t stand to look at him again.
The dreams hadn’t improved much.
Instead, A different quirky voice met his ears. In an elfish tone he heard, “Mr. Bucket? Are you awake? Can ya hear me? The oxygen capsule says you’re almost due for another pain killer so I thought maybe you could be roused.”
The Englishmen was barely able to open his eyes, they felt like they had weights attached to them. The slit that he did manage to expose revealed a single Oompa-loompa. He was made visible in the night only by way of his silvery jumpsuit coming into a blurry focus. It was one of the workers from The Reverse Engineering Room!
The twitch of a smile was on the little man’s lips. “Hi there! My name’s Loki and I wanted to offer my deepest gratitude to you for saving my life.”
He crossed his arms and bowed.
The worker stood motionless for a second then whispered, “Gotta go now. Mustn’t get caught.”
And away the lone man scampered back down the main aisle of the room and out the floor-level entrance. If he wasn’t so drugged, Mr. Bucket would have been more surprised, especially since he’d been led to believe that none of his crew spoke English in the first place.

Far away inside another part of the factory, an equally confused person lay. For once, Charlie Bucket thought he knew exactly how it must feel to be Willy Wonka. His mind was racing with wild thoughts and confusing emotions. He had been lying in his bed, awake, staring up at the hole in his ceiling forever, as in “a very long time”.
All the usual noises of his night seemed irritating, overly amplified, instead of comforting: Grandpa George snoring like a bear, in between wheezing breaths of his Grandpa Joe’s nose, the nonsensical mutters of Grandma Georgina. Thank goodness at least Grandma Josephine was such a sound sleeper! From the direction of his mother’s breath, he could tell that she wasn’t in her bed. It must be difficult to spend the night alone after so many snuggled up next to the man she loved. The boy sighed deeply after that thought. He didn’t have a right to think he understood how that felt. He didn’t. But…he was thinking that he felt like he did. Wasn’t it wrong to feel this way? The old books said it wasn’t. Mr. Wonka said it wasn’t. Why did everyone else think so? While he didn’t think it was right to keep secrets from the people you loved, he understood his hero’s argument that it would ‘upset them’. Why though? Why did it have to upset them? He comforted himself with the renewed notion that keeping it secret made it more special. He sighed again, but in a different way. There was something that only he and Willy Wonka knew - nobody else in the entire world; that was special. Besides, hadn’t his family been keeping secrets from him for the same reasons? Buuut…he didn’t love them any less. He didn’t think of them as not being his Mum and Dad. Even though they thought those secrets were SO awful, it didn’t really matter to him. Actually, he hated that they kept the truth from him more than the facts themselves. They had all worried for nothing. Maybe the way he and Mr. Wonka felt about each other was the same sort of a thing?
The crackles and pops of the dying fire sounded like fireworks to his sensitive ears. There also seemed to be more of a chill in the air than usual and his sheets felt itchy. He huffed, uselessly tossing around from one side to the other, than back again trying to find a comfy spot. I already know where the ‘comfy spot’ is, he thought. And it smelled like a man made out of chocolate cologne, where a body and mind lay that was overflowing with secrets that excited, amused, and scared him all at the same time. Maybe he could focus on the memory of that and try to ‘relax’ himself? Mmmn…no, that wasn’t going to work this time. He wanted the real thing. The boy blushed at his own unintentional dirty humor. Great, now he was doing that even when Mr. Wonka wasn’t around. Oh, bugger this! This wasn’t getting him anywhere and that person needed him just as badly.
Stepping down the narrow wooden bars from his loft, in the middle of the night, suddenly seemed terribly risqué. He tiptoed past his mother who had fallen asleep on the job of watchman and lovingly studied her relaxed face in the pale blue light. Looking at her asleep in the chair, still dressed in her new gown, the boy felt great sympathy. She had stopped for a break cleaning up and passed out without even changing out of her clothes. Poor Mum, he thought. The woman had been up really early to make those pastries. It was worth it though, they’d impressed the chocolatier AND his new ‘mini-team’ of Oompa-loompas.
And then he heard it…a soft, melodious whinny.
The child pattered over to the nearly vertical front door and opened it as soundlessly as he could manage. There it was! This is NOT a dream, he insisted to himself. In the so-called ‘witching’ hours of the night, he stepped out into the sugar-dusted swudge, leaving small foot prints as he got closer to his goal, one hand timidly outstretched as before.
Only moments later, Mrs. Bucket felt a terrible draft. She wearily opened her eyes, then sprung to her feet as soon as the sight of the front door left wide open struck her. Charlie! Oh no, she’d fallen asleep! Expecting to see another horrible accident within the factory, instead her vision was filled with her child stroking the most magnificent white horse she had ever seen, real or imaginary. The mane and tail were long and silky, so silky that the strands shone silver in the unnatural moonlight and they moved slowly in some non-existent breeze causing an occasional lingering curl in its texture. And there was a horn…so help her, a singular golden horn curling from the middle of its forehead with eyes that reflected the exact shade in a garden of lavender flowers. It was a creature of sheer poetry and ancient tapestries. Of dreams and legends. It let out a hushed neighing as Mrs. Bucket drew closer.
Charlie turned around with a sleepy gaze in his eyes. He smiled mildly. “Mum. See, I told you the unicorn was real. I told you…”
Mrs. Bucket was without words as she joined her son’s side. The boy reached out and took her arm, pulling her toward where he was petting. If he hadn’t done that, she’d never have found the nerve to do it herself. From the very moment that her fingertips touched the dense, smooth pony fur a glow from the contact began to travel up her form. She looked at the child in concern, but he was staring at the animal; one hand still connected to her, one stroking through the fine hair of the ethereally blowing mane. They were quite the vision: Charlie in his sheer nightgown, Mrs. Bucket in the Victorian ivory dress, the glorious steed, and all of them glowing with a soft white light as sugar snow fell upon them. The magnificent beast tossed its head back and let out a loud, high-pitched song of a whinny. It stomped one hoof that also appeared to be made of gold.
“She likes you.” Charlie said.
“She?” Her dark fearful eyes focused on the animal’s tranquil but studious gaze. The head turned to face her, the tip of the sharp horn nearly touching her own forehead.
“Holy Buckets!” A voice from behind them called.
Charlie turned and saw his Grandpa Joe squinting in his striped pajamas. The boy smiled again, pleased that another family member could see the vision. Unfortunately, when he turned back, the animal was gone! His mother stood transfixed, one hand outstretched, exactly as she had found her son. Only a fading glimmer of sparkles hung in the air before that too disappeared.
The boy frantically turned back around toward his grandparent, eyes fully awake, “You saw it though, right Grandpa Joe? You saw the unicorn?!”
The old man blinked his large blue eyes and quivered his mouth uncertainly, “I-I can’t see too well without my glasses Charlie, but I saw something, a bright glowing something that looked like a ghost.”
“A ghost?” Mrs. Bucket turned, it nearly sounded like an objection.
“Or-or an angel.” Grandpa Joe added.
“WOT in BLUE BLAZES is everyone doing up at this hour?!” Grandpa George had grumpily made his way out to join the group, eyes squinted nearly shut as he continued to shout. “Are you all VAMPIRES?!”
“Well, I was…” Grandpa Joe started.
“The door was…” Mrs. Bucket started.
“We were all watching the unicorn!!” Chirped Charlie, hands thrown triumphantly into the air.
That shut the old man up for a second. Then he championed back with, “Aaallright, let’s say that you were on a hunt for imaginary animals. Then wot’s Grandma Josephine doing up? Standing guard for werewolves?!”
Grandpa Joe’s spindly legs rushed him back into the house as fast as they could. Followed very quickly by everyone else. Sure enough, there she was sitting by the cold fireplace reading.
“Dear?” Gently, her husband touched her shoulder.
“Mother Josephine, you’ll catch your death sitting there without a fire!” Said Mrs. Bucket.
Charlie came up by her other side. Studying what she had been reading, he discovered that she was on the very last page of a very old and complex book; diagrams and hand-drawn illustrations decorated the yellowing paper. Disheveled upon the floor was a pile of the rest of the Pagan books that Mr. Wonka had pulled from his library. It appeared that she had gone through them all! The curly haired woman looked at her grandson and said with wonder, “Charlie, why didn’t you tell me how interesting all of this is?”
The boy could have sworn that he did, but he didn’t argue, only smiled a bit.
Finely lined lids blinked a few times and looked around. She seemed to be unaware of her own surroundings. “Where are the lights? Who put out the fire?”
A few more blinks and she got another level of her consciousness back, “Wot time is it?”
“Three in the bleedin’ morning! Now lets all put a cork in it, go back to bed, and get some shut-eye before Georgina wakes up too.” Grandpa George said as angry as one could sound in a hushed tone. Fortunately his wife was a very deep sleeper. She obliviously muttered something about The Keebler Elves fighting with Oompa-loompas, an image that gave everyone a quiet chuckle.
Charlie and his mother helped the older members get tucked back into their bed as they explained to Grandma Josephine what they were all doing up. “It’s Wonka. I’m telling you, somehow he’s at the root of all this. That old sneak did something to trick me into reading those books.”
Grandpa Joe turned up his large grey brows, “But, you said you were going to read about his religion.”
Grandma Josephine twitched her mouth, “..uh, that is…I…mean, not all in one NIGHT, I wasn’t!”
The family members all shushed her outburst.
“Mr. Wonka doesn’t have anything to do with the unicorn. I think it’s here to see me.” The boy said honestly.
“She, Charlie.” Corrected his mother.
“Right, and now Mum and Grandpa Joe have seen her and they know it’s real and beautiful and doesn’t mean anyone harm.”
He paused then bravely added, “Just like Mr. Wonka.”
An annoyed throat clearing came from Grandpa George, “Well, I’M going to need my beauty sleep if I’m going to compete with Merlin the amazing chocolatier tomorrow.”
They all got quiet for real after that. Mrs. Bucket quickly changed as her son gathered up the Pagan texts. Before Charlie could make it to his loft, his mother touched his shoulder. She silently pointed to her own bed and made a praying motion toward him. It would be easiest to watch him for the rest of the evening from there and she could use the company, especially after two strange experiences in one night. The boy kindly acquiesced with a nod. And so, for the first time in a long time, mother and son spent the rest of the night cuddled up next to each other.
The woman was pleased to see the child pass out shortly within her warm embrace. Certain that the boy was resting, Mrs. Bucket allowed her own tired eyes to close and give in to the nocturne. Before her consciousness was completely gone, she heard Charlie quietly moan, “Mmm…Mr. Wonka.”
There was no early morning rising to bake treats that day. Insistent that something be special, Mrs. Bucket suggested that her son pick candy apples from their lawn that could be grated and sautéd with cinnamon and butter. That would spruce up their humble oatmeal and sausage!
While enthusiastically plucking supplies into the upturned edge of his mother’s apron (it fit better than Dad’s, despite being frilly) he suddenly felt a good pinch rather far underneath his bottom.
“OW!” Exclaimed the boy as all the apples toppled into the swudge from the makeshift pouch. His hands reflexively gripped his stinging bottom as he turned around.
Willy simply wiggled his eyebrows with a broad grin, “Gotcha! Nice apron.”
While Charlie was wearing more standard clothes today, the chocolatier was once again fancifully dressed. Today his outfit seemed to be heavily influenced by the spontaneous bedtime tale from last night, for there were lots of greens, metallic accents, and patterns that resembled scales. His cane was its usual self though.
The boy pulled in his lips and bugged his eyes, glancing back and forth over the expanse of the brightly colored room back to his lop-sided cottage, “Someone could’ve seen!”
“Not very likely. I just sent yer adorable little team in there tah do a performance.” There was a glint in his eyes.
Today, his heir matched it. “Guess wot?”
“Chicken butt?” This was the man’s standard rhyming answer to that question. Consistently followed by, “Know why?”
Charlie gave him a look and responded with the proper answer. “Chicken thigh. Stop footling about! This is triple dazzle news Mr. Wonka!! I saw the unicorn again last night!”
Before another smart-alec response could escape the chocolatier’s lips, the boy hurried up with, “And so did Mom AND Grandpa Joe!”
His benefactor stood still, mouth agape. The sound of applause and Charlie’s name being called broke up their conversation.
Mrs. Bucket raced outside. “Charlie! You said you had your own team, but you never said how cute they were! Three of them had to stand on their shoulders to shake our hands and…”
She stopped mid-sentence and looked at Wonka, seemingly stricken by his appearance.
“Willy?” She said with distance in her voice.
“Yeah?” Kid-like uncertainty was in his.
The woman was wearing another one of the elegant garments that Mr. Wonka’s personal tailor, Pierre, had created for her. It had a short jacket and plum accents that complimented the latest shade of her lips. It turned out that lollypop syrup was staining. She glided over to him and stood an inch away with intensity in her eyes. Assuming the worst, deep concern suddenly swept over the chocolatier. Quite nervously he asked, “Mrs. Bucket is everything alright?”
“You…Your..” To his shock her hands were reaching up toward his face! He was grateful that at least she was wearing the matching cotton gloves that coordinated with her ensemble. As she laid her hands upon each of his cheeks she completed the sentence, “..so handsome.”
“Mum!” The child was surprised at how high his own voice shot up.
Mrs. Bucket looked like a bolt went through her and stared at the placement of her own hands, then at Mr. Wonka’s horribly awkward expression. His voice even more shaken, he stated, “Why…thank you.”
Her son couldn’t take it a second longer and tugged stiffly at her sleeve, “Mum, you’re embarrassing him!”
“I-I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me.” The apology ended up aimed at both parties. She immediately removed her hands. Before she backed up though, she smelled the air then looked back at Willy. A thoughtful look filled her face, but the mother didn’t say anything. “Charlie, pick up the apples and we’ll get on with breakfast.”
She walked away only glancing back once in bewilderment.
“That was weird. Does seeing unicorns make people realize how good-lookin’ I am? I hope Grandpa Joe doesn’t do that.” Willy assisted in picking up the fruit, keeping one to crunch into as they walked toward the house.
“Very funny, Mr. Wonka. I think Mum’s under a lot of stress. That’s all.” At least he hoped that was all. “Last night she even had me sleep with—”
Charlie ceased to speak as his eyes caught Mr. Wonka surreptitiously licking the inside of the apple where he had bitten, his saliva and the sugary juices creating thin transparent threads of connection. After completing the provocative act, he tilted the bright apple toward his heir. “Go ‘head, take a bite.”

Grandma Josephine didn’t waste a moment to confront the chocolatier, looking past her chewing grandson as he stared up at her. “You can keep this brainwashing fragrance of yours, Willy. I won’t be needing to read anymore of your heathen books.”
He looked up and down her in a dismissive way, not offering a hand to receive the small atomizer. “Vanilla Fields causes happiness and elation, grandma. Funny you should take that fer brainwashing. And I’d rather be a heathen than a hypocrite anyday.”
“Now, now, neither of you have had tea or breakfast. No point arguing on an empty stomach, you’ll only bite each other’s heads off.” Grandpa Joe spoke with a humorous tone in his voice. He stood between them both. “And if I’m not mistaken, Josephine DID say she enjoyed the books once she read them.”
Wonka allowed the older gentleman to pull each of them into the house, arching one of his bold brows at Josephine. She glanced up at him only to be met with his lips mouthing the word “hypocrite”. Her prune-like frown went unseen as he deliberately turned his eyes upward. She muttered, “Child.”
All four of Charlie’s team proceeded to do more acrobatics in order to provide the table with their bowl of new treats. In the interest of Raspberry Kites, they had been experimenting with berries, liquorices, and anise in various forms. A cluster of muffins, cookies, and small cakes was now added to the breakfast assortment. Wonka’s heir bid them a grateful farewell as they bounced joyfully away, the older Oompa-loompas guiding their path back to the Invention Room.
The breakfast continued to go pleasantly and involved discussing the events of last night at great length. Grandma Josephine found that whether she liked it or not she’d become a bit of an expert on the subject. “It seems to me that our Charlie has triggered some sort of magick. It was probably from touching that athame knife of yours.”
The boy was extremely surprised that his grandmother spoke so fluently about the subject. He also noticed how she used the same accent, or emphasis on ‘magic’, that Mr. Wonka and Madame Rose did. “Why did you say ma-gik with a ‘k’ like that, Grandma Josephine?”
Willy smiled and placed a huge scoop of candy-apple topping (with as little oatmeal as possible) into his mouth. He gave an amused look toward this old, but new pupil, on the subject. It would be rude to speak with his mouth so full.
Grandma Josephine gave him an annoyed look than reluctantly answered, “People who practice true spells, as opposed to slight of hand like stage magicians, started to use an extra letter ‘k’ at the end to denote the difference.”
“And? What number letter is that?” Said Wonka, followed by a bite of a snozzberry muffin that had been provided by Charlie’s team.
“Seventy two?” Asked Grandma Georgina.
“Eleven.” Answered George after counting on his fingers.
“Symbolic of hidden energies and thereby magick.” Finished Grandma Josephine.
“Splendid. I couldn’t have said it better myself!” The chocolatier dabbed at the sides of his mouth and took a sip of his tea. Adding yet another lump of sugar after tasting it.
“I also figured out why you used FIVE tickets.” Stated the new expert on Paganism.
Mrs. Bucket had been very quiet, only staring entranced at Mr. Wonka. This comment finally provoked a vocal reaction, “Because it’s the number associated with harmony and humans? That’s what you said in the Children’s Only Room.”
“It’s also the number of points in a pentagram. You sir, tried to cast a spell using your candy didn’t you?” Now her brow was raised, though no hair could be discerned upon it.
The man grinned broadly. “And it worked! Isn’t that sumthin'?! See, things are related in the most unusual of ways if one only has the eyes to see it.”
Everyone gave Grandma Josephine a look of amazement. The eldest Bucket woman was greatly uncertain as to how she should feel about her unwanted knowledge.
“I thought only virgins could see unicorns?” Grandma Georgina suddenly announced. Her lucid moments had a habit of occurring right after a subject had passed.
Dead silence filled the table along with a lot of uncomfortable fiddling.
Grandpa George just chuckled. “Yeah, who wants to explain that one?”
“I don’t really think that’s breakfast talk, especially around little Charlie.” Answered Grandpa Joe.
Charlie WAS looking mortified, his eyes staring fervently at his food, but not for the reasons that his family would probably suspect.
“No, no, no, it’s alright. Let’s just, um, clear this up tactfully. Er…Christians decided that one lost their innocence when they…” Wonka looked across the table and realized that no one would expect or want him to use certain phrases. His voice went up a pitch, “..got married. Pagans don’t buy that jazz. Innocence is a way of being, not sumthin’ ya loose having….a good time. That’s why ya read about all sorts of people seein’ unicorns before Christians took over and mucked-up everything. Mmn-hmm. See? Simple as that.”
A terrible strained giggle followed, then he put two large spoonfuls of food into his mouth, looking very doubtful about his own words. He never thought he’d discuss that in front of everyone!

Charlie was looked at his mentor with an amused grin.
“Oh..” Grandma Georgina trailed off. Then started again. “I rather like that version. It means I could see the nice horsy, but George couldn’t!”
George took her teasing in good nature. “No point in being ruffled. She’s probably right. I’m no Saint! Besides, Wonka can’t see it either. Guess you’re not ‘innocent’ either, eh?”
The chocolatier shrugged and attempted to look amused with his mouth full of more oatmeal than he would have liked. Ick. It was like someone made soup out of cardboard. Still, it was worth it if it kept him from having to answer anymore questions. Who knows why he hadn’t seen a white horse with a horn sticking out of its head before? There could be lots of reasons for that. Yeah. He’d seen a mess of other strange animals that no one else had ever seen, including a unihorn. No big deal. So why was it starting to bug him?
“We should probably get going, huh Mr. Wonka?” The boy said while nodding at the same time.
“Mm? Mmn!” He made a large swallow. “Yes, yes, so much tah do and…wait, no, yeah! I got it right that time! So much to do and so little time tah do it!”
Another moment of “forever” had taken place while Charlie impatiently waited for breakfast to completely cease and goodbyes to be said. His mother paused before giving him a kiss on the cheek. She picked up his hands and studied them with scrutiny. Looking at the right one she said, “Your bruise is gone.”
And it was. Previously covered by a plaster, the rather dark purple blue blotch where Wonka had struck him with the cane was completely erased (along with a few other nicks and bite marks that his mother hadn’t seen).
Next she stared at his left one, tracing the golden band on his ring finger with her own.
Mr. Wonka got very nervous and pulled out his pocket-watch to focus on, whistling while he did so. The woman snapped out of her concentration, “Well, ah, off with you then. Be sure to learn lots of new things and remember that we want to hear all about them….even your Dad. You’ll go say hello to him today even if he is sleeping, won’t you sweetheart?”
He nodded and ran off to join his mentor who had already started to walk away.

The wait was worth it because this time the precarious trip to Wonka’s Forbidden Room was much more fun! Prepared for the journey, the boy happily hung on to his mentor; arms wrapped around his shoulders and legs crossed over his middle as the man danced the coded steps. As they swung, bobbed, and tap-danced across the glowing tiles the two sang a duo; changing parts as they had practiced in the elevator. The playful tune had served as a great distraction from the haunting ‘Minus Land’:
Who can take a sunrise

Sprinkle it in dew
Cover it in chocolate
and a miracle or two?
The candyman
The candyman can
The candyman can cause he mixes it with love and makes the world taste good
Who can take a rainbow
Wrap it in a sigh
Soak it in the sun
and make a strawberry lemon pie?
The candyman?
The candyman
The candyman can
The candyman can cause he mixes it with love and makes the world taste good
Willy Wonka makes
Everything he bakes
Satisfying and delicious
Talk about your childhood wishes
You can even eat the dishes!
Who can take tomorrow
Dip it in a dream
Separate the sorrow
And collect up all the cream?
The candyman!
Willy Wonka can!
The candyman can cause he mixes it with love
And makes the world taste good
And the world tastes good cause the candyman thinks it should

Upon reaching the doorstop, Charlie leaned all the way back with his mentor’s support, giving Madam Rose an upside down, “G’morning!”
She smiled in his direction. Immediately the boy noticed that there were slightly less lines on her face and dark grey stripes through her usually pure white hair. Her zebra patterned dress keenly accenting the new appearance.
Charlie simply stated. “You look different.”
The tiny woman giggled. “Let’s say I took my vitamins. Are you ready for your lessons today?”
“Sure! Absolutely! Are you going to uh, supervise us again?” The chocolatier had flipped him onto the obsidian doorstep at the seamless entrance.
“From a distance. I think The Rescuer and I have reached an understanding.” She reached out and gripped the man’s pant leg.
Wonka made a ‘yikes’ kind of face and decided to wait before he mentioned the whole unicorn incident to his personal advisor. So, that’s where the pent-up magick went! He cleared his throat.
“Charlie, today I’m gonna let you keep yer eyes open. But ya gotta promise me two things. One, don’t let go. Two, don’t look back at me. Got it?” He placed his gloved hands upon the boy’s shoulders from behind.
Utterly petrified but refusing to be denied what must be a thrilling experience he mumbled, “yes, sir.”
“Wut was that?” Came a harsh re-questioning.
“Yes, SIR!” He shouted. The sound vibrated off of all of the walls of the narrow hallway and gave the impression of having shattered them before they fell apart all together and spun into a swirling black tunnel. The tunnel grew larger and larger as streaks of color were added to the mix; too many images to comprehend flashed by, some very disturbing like giant insects, the heads of chickens being cut off, and the faces of the three candymen who were Mr. Wonka’s sworn competitors. Wind whipped wildly across them though it felt like they were jumping in slow motion. He was so distracted by the velocity of the visual symphony that he forgot NOT to look at his mentor. For a fraction of second, he glanced down at the fingers that were still securely on his shoulders and could have sworn he saw long, hooked claws. Then without warning, all of the images stopped and they were inside the ‘lair of the dragon’. As glorious and enticing as the first time he stood in it.
“Jiminy Cricket! Wot was all of that?!” Charlie would have fallen down if Wonka hadn’t steadied him.
“Stuff this room protects me from; my fears, my worries, my anger…myself.” He said the last part once he’d walked to the intricately decorated table, piles of books, stacks of CD ROMS, and multiple writing boards that had been set up. He nodded toward his other guest as she descended up the stairs. “Madame Rose is gonna listen to my old collection of Victrola albums upstairs. Let’s get started, shall we?”
Mr. Wonka really did make a surprisingly good teacher. There was a serious dose of nonsense, but it often added to the lesson. Today, for example, the chocolatier acted out as Sir Isaac Newton donning a curly white wig and having Charlie drop an ‘Everlasting Gobstopper’ on top of his head. The laws of physics made a lot of sense the way he explained them – the boy saw the point of them immediately, especially the one about a body staying in motion until something of equal or greater force slowed it down. That happened fairly frequently around the factory. Wonka was mindful to say that these were really suggestions that with far more practice and lessons he would show the youngest Bucket how they could all be overcome. However, he probably shouldn’t mention that to his teachers or classmates. It would only get him into trouble.
“But trust me, Isaac knew far more than he led on.” His face became eager and his eyes widened. “He was an alchemist of the highest degree! My father followed ALL his work faithfully and found the texts that the church never wanted the guy tah publish.”
“Wot would’ve happened if he had published them?” Asked his heir, naive as to why knowledge could be considered dangerous.
“Be-cause, the CHURCH woulda said he was ‘wiggy’, or as they called it a heretic, locked him up in a cold, dark, slimy jail and tortured him for the resta’ his life! They might even have killed him!” Mr. Wonka’s face had gotten menacing then inexplicably faded into thoughtful concern.
Charlie was certain that he wasn’t going to say anything about Newton’s “Secret Laws” anytime soon, but he did want to know about them. Who wouldn’t?
The lessons went on into math, but Wonka’s heir was far above most boys his age in that category as well. Since the brief start of these sessions the candy maker had begun algebraic concepts; explaining them like making a sandwich, that they all had a specific order for specific reasons. “Ya don’t want yer mayonnaise and mustard on the outside of the bread do ya? What good is a B.L.T. without the B? Or the L? Or the T fer that matter? So, you better do things in the right order! Otherwise you’ll have a big mess on yer hands and we certainly don’t want that now do we?”
Again, he was informed that there were times when certain rules could be bent or ignored under certain circumstances. When the boy excitedly asked if he could know just a few tricks he was issued a common phrase, “All in good time. All in good time.”
Willy Wonka believed that the study of music was integral to the understanding of mathematics. He had his heir practicing on several musical instruments, one of them being the pan flute (not bad for lip strength and air control either). Studying music would also help him understand the Oompa-loompas culture better. One fundamentally based on beats, music, and melodies. The people didn’t even really have words for things, only sounds and gestures. It was their belief that naming things was fairly irrelevant anyway. Despite having named all of his workers, the chocolatier really liked far-fetched notions that questioned concepts of logic and reality, as we understood them, but they usually gave poor Charlie Bucket a headache trying to comprehend them.
Today was no different, as the boy’s perfectly smooth brow had become a labyrinth of wrinkles by the time his mentor turned around from his second wipe-off board on the psychology of music as it applied to language vs. the structure of traditional grammar. The man paused mid-sentence and frowned. His pupil looked like a dog expecting to be swatted with a newspaper. Mr. Wonka sighed and relented by saying, “Looks like it’s time for a hot cocoa break”.
Fortunately, he always kept a fresh thermos at the ready.
“Spicy!” Announced the boy after a giant gulp of his refreshment. He fanned his tongue and looked baffled at the candymaker. Mr. Wonka had taken an appropriate sized sip of his own after gently blowing the surface. “Of course my dear boy, ya said you wanted to try Madame Rose’s recipe. This is how the old Oompa-loompas like it, with chili instead of sugar. It’s exactly the same as the ancient Aztecs, with a splash of vanilla and a pinch of nutmeg. Oh, but with MY beans. Mind ya don’t spill it.”
Once the sting had worn off, Charlie tried a much smaller sip. Without the sugar, he could make out the subtle berry and nut flavors of the cocoa bean that his mentor had told him about. “Who are the Aztecs and why did they like spicy chocolate?”
Willy plunked down his mug exasperated, “Who were the Aztecs?! Flying Fiddlesticks! They were people from Central America in the 16th century and they were crazy for cocoa beans! The kings drank oodles of it! Heck, they used the beans fer money. I think they musta been related to Oompa-loompas. They liked chilies cause they made them sweat and helped them tah stay cool in their hot climate, the volatile oils kill bacteria, AND it opens up the pallet! Yeah. Too bad they didn’t know the marvels of sugar. It took explorers to add that. What did they teach ya in that waste of a school of yers anyway?!”
“I dunno, sir.” Charlie shrugged. He’d already been through the supposed failing state of his education several times. “The regular stuff. Wot did they teach you in yours?”
“I um…I didn’t go to school after Dad…ya know. He home-schooled me, sorta like I’m doin’ with you. Only I’m a lot more fun!” The man twirled the fanciful swizzle stick in his beverage. His expression had grown a bit sad despite the forced enthusiasm of his last statement.
“Then how did you get so smart?” The spicy cocoa was starting to grow on him now. Especially since he’d added a scoop of raw sugar to the mix.
A smile returned to Wonka’s face after the flattery. “Well, I did read lots of books and I payed very close attention to the things that went on around me. That is, when I wasn’t livin’ in my imagination. I always had a knack for daydreaming and figuring things out.”
He got a smug look on his face, “What I didn’t know, I made up, and I was usually right!”
“But where did you live during all that time?” Charlie was still trying to get at that conundrum. Perhaps he’d open up today, now that they were ‘closer’.
The features completely shifted again, like they were pulled by invisible strings or like more than one person lived inside of his body. Eyes turned down with both hands in his lap, the self-taught genius stated, “I don’t want ya to think less of me Charlie, but you were really on tah sumthin’ when ya said that you saw yerself in my eyes yesterday. How’d ya do that?”
“I guess it’s because I care.” The boy had released his mug as well and was leaning slightly over the table, trying to catch the telltale eyes again. “Please, Mr. Wonka, I won’t think less of you. I promise.”
There was a reluctant groan, then a pensive sigh, then a quick glance at his heir. “I got a job at the candy store in my neighborhood. I lied to the brothers who ran the place. Said that my parents were sick so they never asked questions. At…at night I secretly slept in their storage basement with the supplies…the rats and spiders and the damp, dark cold. I’d make believe I was in a magical candy forest. Guess that’s where the idea for my Chocolate Room came from.”
Emotion had drained from his mentor’s face. It was not entirely unlike how he looked in the jungle of The Secret Ingredients Room. “How could I make friends with my secret life? Besides, I blamed myself fer not listening to Papa, er, Dad anway. No one wanted to know a weirdo brace-face like me anyway. Even you wouldn’t.”
“That’s not true!” The boy had gotten up from his seat and forced Mr. Wonka to take his hand. “That’s not true at all because…sometimes when I look at you…that’s exactly who I see. A lonely little boy named, Willy.”
The man looked him in the eyes, his posture had involuntarily turned away though he was allowing his hand to be cradled, “You don’t…you couldn’t.”
“Yes I could. I saw this photo of you when you were young in your Dad’s office and I thought THERE, that’s who Mr. Wonka is, right there. And then you made sense and…I forgave you.” Now Charlie had turned his eyes away.
“Forgave me?” There was both concern and annoyance in the tone.
“You took away my dreams when you left. I…I really hurt Mr. Wonka. I felt so empty and confused, but I couldn’t hate you either and that hurt even more.” A tear from the memory dropped from his eye.
Wonka was stunned. He’d never thought of it from Charlie’s point of view and they’d never discussed it. That day was a sore point for both of them. Dozens of expressions shifted across his face. His voice was soft when he spoke again, “Oh. I felt the exact same way.”
The ringing of the chocolatier’s private phone interrupted them with his famous theme song, causing Mr. Wonka to bolt upright and release the boy’s hand. He quickly strode over to the videophone by his bedside (another was upstairs), giving his usual unceremonious greeting. “Uh, Yep?”
The image of a nervous Grandpa Joe appeared. “Good morning sir, I’m so sorry to disturb you but I have a very important call on the line.”
“Oh really? Who is it? The Queen? The Dali Lama? Elvis?” The remarks were said with sarcasm since the chocolatier truly hated to be disturbed in his personal quarters.
“No sir.” The pleasant old Englishman said, “It’s Doctor Wonka.”
It had come as a huge surprise to the family when Charlie told them that Mr. Wonka’s father was alive, active, and not eccentric in the slightest. This would be the first time his grandfather would have seen that for himself, hence the amazement in his raspy voice.
The chocolatier’s own voice lost its rudeness and his entire body tightened, “Er, yes, uh, put him on please.”
He glanced over at Charlie, hoping to catch his attention, but the boy was playing with one of the robotic cleaners in his mentor’s room. Normally Mr. Wonka preferred privacy with his phone calls, so his heir had busied himself with the distraction. The flat, circular object was rotating over the rug under their study table. His attention was keenly focused on using his feet to trick the sensors into moving the automatic vacuum in various directions. The act seemed to amuse the child and watching him do it amused the candy maker.
“Willy?” Came a baritone voice. Of course he was wearing his usual full-length medical coat and matching white gloves, the plastered waves of his snowy white hair and gray-tinted goatee did nothing to liven his image.
Wonka junior uncontrollably flinched and swung his head back toward the screen. “Huhn? Oh, Heh, heh, heh. Hi Dad. Wut’s up doc?!”
The older man paused at his son’s flippant greeting then answered with, “Nothing in particular. It’s been a while since I heard from you and I thought I’d give this…gizmo that you sent me a try.”
“It’s a video phone! Yeah, I got ‘em all over the place! Pretty cool, huh? Can ya see me?” Wonka said anxiously with a swift brush over his hair and a tug at his clothing. His expression looked completely vulnerable, erasing all traces of his adulthood.
“Yes.” Dr. Wonka answered simply, adding no comment on his son’s flashy appearance. After a few seconds he asked, “How’s your heir coming along?”
“OH! He’s uh…well…like the best thing that happened to me since chocolate!” There was another giggle. Mr. Wonka was really bad at wording such emotional things.
Dr. Wonka looked uneasy with the response. “Splendid. But..how is he doing? Is he enjoying his new role and responsibilities?”
“Uh, well, gimme a second. I wanna show ya something.” Wilber’s son left the screen to reveal the luxurious bedroom and Charlie still following the machine around in the background. The stoic dark-eyed man studied the exposed scene intently.
“Lookit this!” Said Wonka with great enthusiasm. This time his father jerked as a painting had been thrust into view. It was magnificent, warm, painstakingly detailed with the two of them intimately positioned with each other, but only one element truly stood out to the mysterious dentist.
“Willy, you had no right to do that.” The spark of warmth that Wilber Wonka had managed to put into his voice returned to ice.
“Do what?” Said a startled chocolatier, pulling back the painting to reveal himself again. He looked at the art, “It was done by my personal portrait painter. Don’tcha like it?”
“No, I do not like it. It’s completely inappropriate, like a lot of things that you do. Do you live to upset me?!” The gruff voice sent shockwaves through the air.
Wonka looked completely broken and sounded desperate, “I-I don’t understand. I think it’s totally splendiferous! What’s wrong with it?”
Charlie was paying attention now, leaving the robot to scurry off.
Dr. Wonka sounded furious. “You DESTROYED your mother’s ring! It was bad enough that you STOLE it from me along with all the other things you took! What you did is wrong and dangerous Willy. I DEMAND that you fix it.”
Something had changed while Wonka listened to his father’s rant. He answered insubordinately, “NO! I will NOT! It’s lots prettier this way! And-and I DESERVED that ring and all those other things! Without ‘em I wouldn’t have survived after you ABANDONED ME!”
The dentist contradicted him with, “I didn’t abandon you. YOU disobeyed ME and RAN AWAY!”
This was HIS chocolate factory and he’d be buried alive in the tombs of Atlantis before he’d listen to another moment of this unmitigated audacity! A button was forcefully pressed to disconnect the feedback and cause the screen to go black.
Willy Wonka stood completely motionless, grinding his teeth, and clutching his hands into squelching fists. Under his breath he mourned, “Why does he hate me?”
Charlie had started to slowly approach him, but stopped when the man picked up one of his canes in a nearby brass stand. He stood in horror as the stick was used to smash and dismantle a collection of delicate decorations that rested on a shelf followed by a strangled scream. The chocolatier spun around with a desperate and psychotic look in his eyes. “Jewelry is the ONLY thing that I HAVE of my mother!! Growing up, I was PUNISHED for even mentioning her!! I can’t BELIEVE he still thinks HE can tell ME what tah do!!”
“AAAUHGGN!” The cane was swung again to loudly destroy a sizeable vase.
The boy didn’t dare say anything! Perhaps this was the sort of thing that The Tantrum Room was used for?! He was scared out of his wits, but there was still sympathy. Dr. Wonka had reduced his son, the famous Willy Wonka to a raging, distraught child. This must be why his hero never said ‘I love you’ back. He was afraid to because of what the last person he loved did to him. What a contrast to the man who was singing of turning sunrises and rainbows into edible delights!
Madame Rose heard the horrible racket and her presence had come to appear at the top of the balcony. She frantically signed a message to Charlie that translated to: Distract him. Do something! Anything!
The boy nodded. What could he do? What distracts a madman?! Panicking, he decided to pull off his top sweater and walked toward the magnificent circular bed with the lush curtains at the center of the room. Willy was still howling as he climbed on to the comforter and removed his long-sleeved, button-up undershirt.
The chocolatier had turned around to throw something against his furthest wall when the sight of his shirtless heir on the bed caught his attention. He paused, sounding nearly pleasant as he asked, “Whuddaya doin’, Charles?”
“Draw me!” The boy blurted out; the barest blush tracing over the tops of his cheeks and across his nose. He was nervous as all hell, making his English voice a bit higher than usual. “You said you wanted to. Right?”
Madame Rose squinted into the scrying mirror, then gave him two big thumbs up.
It was not long after that the boy found himself nude and pondering how much the eldest female Oompa-loompa knew about their relationship (at least she’d gone back to listening to her music). Charlie still couldn’t believe he’d gotten himself into this, however he insisted on lying on his stomach. His mentor equally insisted on using his heir’s new trademark strip of cloth to tie one foot to the bedpost.
In a short period of time, Wonka’s entire attitude had changed and a series of robots had cleaned up every speck of mess. The man was currently sitting in his desk chair, sketching a mile a minute, humming, and occasionally babbling on about art and things like candy sculpting. As soon as one doodle was done, it was dropped to the floor as he wheeled over to another spot. The last completed portrait gave the child a set of colorful fairy wings, the one before that a jeweled crown; markers and pencils stuck out of the chocolatier’s jacket pockets. He was having a delightful time sketching the boy from multiple points of view, mildly aroused the entire time and completely distracted from his previous angst.
The chocolatier commanded, “Turn over.”
The boy blushed in earnest this time. “I told you, I don’t want to.”
“Why?” Said Wonka, his voice slightly garbled by the inking pen in his mouth.
“Be-because I’m nothing to look at…there.” Charlie admitted.
Wonka put down his sketchbook and tools, a marker falling to the floor with the rest of the mess. “How can ya say that? Every part of you is beautiful!”
He had stood and come to the boy’s side. Gently, but insistently, attempting to turn his slender form by the narrow shoulders and hips. Charlie did little to resist, but looked extremely uncertain. The man continued “Especially there, where the most delect- ah, delicate part of you lays.”
The child was on his back as one gloved purple hand caressed down the deep collarbone, past subtly shadowed ribcage bumps and toward what he was speaking of. The boy’s breath caught. Wonka seemed hypnotized for a moment, examining the vulnerable inches that rested upon a barely cleaved, hairless sac. Forbidden fruit. He caressed it and looked back into his heir’s helpless eyes, “How could you not think this was beautiful? Maybe…ya just need to know how to appreciate it better.”
Charlie couldn’t move or speak as he listened to the man continue “Yes, I do believe it’s time for a proper education on the matter.”
Another gentle caress followed as the other hand found its way behind Charlie’s shoulders and neck as a method of support. It also served as a guide for where the boy should focus his attention as the gloved palm pivoted his head. “One really should learn how tah use one’s tools properly in order to get the full use out of them.”
“Now, to start with you are uncircumsized.” With the gentle care that he would use in the process of confectionary, an exacting amount of pressure between his thumb and forefinger was used to slide the outer skin up once then down again.
“Uhn!” The boy gripped his mentor’s exploring arm with a sexually charged gasp. His fingers pulled deep shadows into the material, his mouth parted open.
“The skin, as you can see, is very sensitive, rich in nerve endings. However, I don’t have that because my father was a neat freak. I’m circumcised even though we most certainly aren’t Jewish. Oh, and he did it himself.”
“W-wot does ‘circumsized’ mean exactly?” He panted.
“It means this..” He pulled the protective tissue forward again with a whimper from his heir, “…was pushed forward when I was a wee babe and then SNIP!”
“Cut off with a sharp blade.” His lids lowered and teeth clenched slightly with displeasure, or possibly the opposite, or possibly both. Charlie couldn’t quite tell.
The words took the child out the trance of his sensations. He gripped the sleeve tighter, “You were CUT there? Doesn’t that hurt?!”
“Dunno. Yer supposta be too young to remember. Anyway, that’s why we look different.” He relaxed the grip of his finger and made a pleased hum as he stroked the forefinger alone down the compact shaft.
“I didn’t get a very good look.” The boy said meekly, his toes wiggling.
“Hmm, oh really? Well, maybe you’ll get another chance. After all, you have been a very good boy today.” He responded nonchalantly, with a singsong voice.
The child’s heart pounded at that possibility.
“Back to the lesson.” He chided sweetly. His finger now ran underneath the tip, “Yer lucky because being uncircumcised means you still have a frenulum. This elastic petal of tissue that connects your outer skin to yer glans.”
The words were a bafflement, but the erotic stimulus as his mentor once again moved back the skin, while this time rubbed the exposed pink tip made the meaning VERY clear. He bit into his own finger, “Ahn!”
“Yeah. It makes you extra sensitive and…” He leaned his mouth near the boy’s ear, deliberately allowing his lips to brush, “I’ve read that your orgasms are much more pleasurable.”
One of Charlie’s legs had bent forward while the other stretched out as far as it could go; even the toes were spread. This was so much like his fantasy where he had little or no control. What could he do in his invitingly vulnerable position? And yet, despite slight blood loss, the thinking part of his brain managed to process the words he just heard, “I-I…”
The movements did not cease, as his teacher demonstrated that the sensitive tip could be re-covered and massaged through the foreskin producing more exciting reactions, “Yes, what is it dear boy? Speak up.”
“I’m sorry.” He huffed. The wolf receded from Wonka’s eyes for a moment as the youth managed to continue. “That…doesn’t seem fair.”
The chocolatier was once again over-whelmed at this person’s ability of compassion. How could Charlie think of anything but his own needs at this point? Mr. Wonka felt something tug at his throat, but quickly suppressed it. Replacing the creeping emotion with much preferred lust. His voice stayed dulcet as he spoke again, “It’s alright. I kinda get a kick outta knowing that yer MORE sensitive than I am in at least one spot…and such a fortuitous spot at that. Shall we look for more?”
The fully clothed man now added two more fingers to the first, cuping the rest of his anatomy, which was fitted far tighter to the boy’s body than his own. Being aroused made the skin tighter still. It was a lovely in-between stage of development in puberty.
“I know what those are.” The boy giggled breathily.
“Good! Do ya also know how receptive to stimulus they are?” His voice was as cheery as a pleased parent while his other hand had slid down Charlie’s predominant shoulder blades, anticipating the next reaction.
The child had thought he knew the answer to that question until he was massaged with the large fingers around, inbetween, and finally the delicate place underneath the two spheres. Eyes stared sightlessly upward as his spine arched into the expectant arm. He used his own to cling to the back of the man’s jacket with a very audible, “HAaahHNn!”
The hand stopped to slide back up the boy’s abdomen, palm flat, enraptured at the feel of him straining against it in his ecstasy. The unnaturally attuned chocolatier could sense all the vital organs that lay so near the thin surface. So many things to manipulate and so many of them activated by his very touch. He felt the saliva in his mouth increase.
Charlie’s eyes rolled back at the next sensation of a forceful tongue licking up his form where the hand had trailed. It paused only once to suck on the bud of an erect nipple before lifting off in a kiss. The sensations Mr. Wonka could trigger! A youthful moan filled the silence.
Their eyes connected again, each enraptured in the joys of the other. The child’s eyes trailed down the man as a hand had done to his own, they landed on an inviting bulge before looking back into the intuitive gaze of his captor. Wonka’s hands slid off him as the boy regained his ability to balance himself once again. From his knees he fell downward toward the waistband.
Then paused. Remembering the last time. He said wantingly, “May I?”
The man stayed at the side of the bed with the nude child gazing up at him on all fours. Lavender eyes were pondering something. Charlie had really only asked as a formality. He wondered in frustration why he was kept waiting!
The man finally spoke, a cleverness in his tone, “Start with my broach.”
“Uh, okay.” The boy said uncertainly and lifted himself upward, exposing his entire front, as his hands found that famous initial; the silver, curled “W”. Oddly, there was something as erotic and powerful about it than what he did hope to get to eventually.
Willy’s eyes were busy running down the exposed pinky-peach flesh, happily halting at his heir’s erect boyhood. As the child stoked a finger over the metal of his broach, Wonka admitted, “Ya see, I’ve been jealous of my own candy bars lately.”
On a whim, Charlie licked the metal, applying a kitten-like wet pressure to it.
“OoohhhHhnn.” A surprisingly aroused noise was the response to that action.
The boy pulled off, retracting his tongue last and looked curiously at the man’s face. From his angle, the cheekbones seemed especially noticeable. The eyes opened after a second and Wonka spoke slightly slowly. “That was goood. Very, very good.”
A hand began to trace a caress across Charlie’s back as an instruction was issued. He said in a lower and whispered octave, “Continue. Unwrap me like one of ya chocolate bars.”
His heir’s head spun. So, that’s what he meant by jealous! The strange ways that Mr. Wonka’s mind worked! Still, there was something amusingly inviting about that command.
Two gloved hands wrapped themselves back around his naked skin while the boy stood up on his knees against the rigid form. His small fingers worked their way under the pin and undid its catch. Careful not to go too quickly, he slid the needle out of the fabric. Once removed, he kissed the firm bump of his mentor’s Adam’s apple.
Willy seemed to like that as well. A hand cradled the back of his small head and encouraged the youth to pay another homage, then another, then leaned him so close that the next one pushed his teeth up against pale skin gently scraping it. Charlie was certain that Wonka would be mad, but he only groaned again. Then said softly, “That’s it…teeny, tiny nibbles just like you give my candy.”
The hand was removed and the boy was permitted to continue down after that. His heir copying the instructed method, undoing a single button then lying nibbled kisses, then another button, then more nibbles. His slender hands trembled as he explored the indent of his mentor’s breastbone and the firm pectoral muscles. He found the sliver of exposed chest to be completely smooth and cool like the rest of his body.
The boy pressed the sides of his ever-warmer cheeks against its surface. Where was the heartbeat? He heard what sounded like a double thudding in slow motion as hands traced gratefully down his back again only they were greasy now…slippery?
Sensing the pause, eyes still closed, a monotone voice said quite plainly, “It’s cocoa butter, an integral part of chocolate making.”
A tube of the substance had been removed from Wonka’s jacket and lay on the pink quilt. Figuring it was a way to add another candy bar element, the child didn’t give it another thought until a fingertip traced all the way down his spine and then was inserted into him. “Oh!”
Charlie re-arched his back, pulling his startled face off of the chest.
There was a softer “ohh..”, as relaxation led to a more pleasant feeling.
Sleek hair brushed against the side of his cheek as immodest words were whispered. “Consider this practice.”
Practice? The child’s mind flashed onto the images in the Greek and Japanese drawings where different ways that parts could be ‘inserted’ was graphically illustrated. Before he could voice a concern or objection, the boy found himself leaned against the comfort and support of a padded shoulder as the digit slipped deeper into him. “Uhn!”
The palms of two hands enjoyed the clenching of his heir’s inexperienced muscles before slowly releasing and withdrawing. Standing upward again, Wonka stated in a husky voice, “We’ll play more later.”
A pale chasm of skin led back down to the waistband. The boy slowly retraced it with his hands eventually over and around that area.
“You may.” Nearly growled the voice.
Charlie was pretty sure that ‘he may’ but the size of it had changed since the first inquiry and without a blindfold, even in the shadows of the trousers, it seemed very intimidating. He admitted weakly, “I’m scared.”
Shades of purple and periwinkle sliding on top of the dark lake were once again exposed. However, the extraordinary eyes did not look at the boy, they looked past him, toward something unseen. The slim chest rose heavily and fell while the child worried about the meaning of the silence. Breathily the man stated, “That’s…OK. This is a perfect opportunity for you tah make…friends.”
Well, he was still very curious and he was desperately craving another taste. The boy started to slowly undo the zipper, with slight hesitation he inquired, “You like it when I say I’m scared, don’t you?”
He heard an audible swallow and felt a hand began to brush through his short brown hair. “Yes, Charlie I do. I can’t help it. I have a lotta…strong, ah, urges, but I won’t hurt ya. Don’t worry.”
After that, a small hand reached into the opening gently wrapping its fingers around and removing the strained member. Followed by a pleading and musical, “hhHHhhmmnn…
His manhood was quite a sight in the light; long, curved elegantly upward with a significant and shapely helmet on top. Wonka’s face studied the child’s reaction with a great fascination; eyelids squinting and widening as he tilted his own head into different angles of view.
“HOW could you think this is inferior to mine?” The boy’s fingertips were affectionately brushing up its length, while the other gripped firmly at the base. To him it was like holding sheer pulsing power in his fist. Clearly some part of Willy had grown up!
Breathing heavily and caressing the boy’s hair more wantingly, the chocolatier responded, “Because the skin..at the end is thicker..and less sensitive than yours.”
The boy traced his fingers around its predominant edge, his face daringly near, “But it’s neat, it looks like an upside down heart.”
Indeed, the shape was rather pronounced at the tip, but some might say that it looked more like the spade of a devil’s tail. To Charlie Bucket, it looked like a heart. A quick cherub grin and a flicker of his heir’s blue and marbled green eyes were followed by, “Guess I’ll have to use more pressure to make absolutely certain that you feel everything.”
Now, by comparison to a normal male, Mr. Wonka was nowhere near as insensitive as he lamented. So when those eager lips finally wrapped around the first inches of rosy skin, a bolt of sensual wonderment coursed through his being. How he had been longing to experience this again!
The child carefully slid up and down, pushing his tongue very firmly against the top, twisting the tip around his ‘heart’. It was warmer than the rest of him, a pleasant temperature that caused the small mouth to linger there while slowly increasing the pace. After the first warm-up strokes, he attempted to swallow more with each repetition.
A slight taste of the sweet & salty release that was to come was the child’s reward, that and the musically sliding scale of a moan. Different whimpers, groans, and sounds with each movement:
“Hhhmmm….Uuhhnggn…..AauaahHHAWwannnnnn!”
They were completely unique utterances that caused the boy to smile despite his very full mouth. One hand stayed wrapped around the length he had not yet managed, while the other hand slid back into the zipper to repeat the lesson he had recently learned on a larger scale. There was a prideful feeling as the man bowed over slightly causing the entirety of his mentor to slide down, his tongue rubbing underneath it as he did so. It felt like he grew another inch in the process!
Pride gave way to startlement as the chocolatier’s bent position allowed him to probe the unexplored opening of his heir’s backside again. The combination of being entered in two places at once aroused the boy more than anything he had expected. He responded with moans, that got trapped in his throat, as he began to slide up and down at a faster pace. Heavy breathes and trumpets of noise matching the rhythm. It took a lot of effort to place that much pressure and suction up and then down the length of it, again and again. The slick movement got achingly slow as the boy attempted to give himself a break. Savoring the iron-like hardness underneath the sleekly soft skin.
Eventually the boy slid all the way off to admire it again, but kept licking up and down the sides. He finally paused to ask (half out of interest from the scene with his mother and half out of his newly built little ego), “Have you ever been this um, excited before?”
The surprisingly strangled answer was, “By a person?..uhhnnn..No.”
The small tongue paused against its work. What was that supposed to mean? Before he could say anything else, he felt the back of his head gripped and rather forcibly encouraged to finish the job. He liked it. He also liked that the man found him being frightened exciting too, though he didn’t quite know why and he certainly didn’t care as a firm rhythm was being thrust into his orifice. Mr. Wonka was getting rough this time! The child gripped firmly onto the man’s hips in order to keep steady, allowing himself to be used and thoroughly penetrated, eagerly anticipating his ‘treat’ (as he seemed to have knick-named it).
Being engulfed into something as warm, and wet, and narrow as Charlie’s mouth and throat was an over-whelmingly sensual experience. The man knew he was probably being more forceful than he should, but he couldn’t stand another ‘break’. He needed release! The throbbing sensation had traveled all the way down him and steadily built in his groin. Besides, wasn’t he was doing the youth a favor by taking over all the effort? How could he have found such acts so confusing for so long? It was like drowning in chocolate: wonderful, lush, rich, creamy, dreamy, dark, dark, sinful, chocolate.
Those thoughts worked him into a frenzy. He emitted a loud and mellifluent noise that changed in pitches but did not cease as grateful swallows clamped and released. Nothing was done to halt or prevent it, the man simply indulged this time. Apparently, his heir held no grudges against him for the rough treatment, he thought. Perhaps he wouldn’t mind a little more then? Especially since he needed to be thoroughly drained of the unharnessed energy, he reminded himself.
Exactly as the effects of the powerful, tingling fluid were impacting his heir, the boy was roughly pushed back onto the pillows and stuffed animals. Willy leaned well over Charlie, climbing three-fourths over him, holding down both his wrists in one hand. In one swift movement, he thrust the finger of his other hand inside again.
“OH!” “aAAAHN!” One noise followed the other as the boy’s climax was intensified by the penetration. His bound leg buckled against its restraint. In and out, faster and faster, he could feel the movement. His mouth stayed completely gaped open while his eyes stayed equally squeezed shut. Slowly the free leg had found its way over the shoulder of the form hovering over him.
“Pretend that it’s me inside of you.” Was projected into his ear and mind, obviously he meant something other than his fingers. Now Charlie’s neck and torso were being kissed and nibbled, though with far less gentleness. He felt himself getting fully stimulated all over again: “UH! *haff* OH! *huff* UHN!”
The youth didn’t think he could possibly have another one so soon after…then a second finger was slid in and twisted. Yes, he could! “OOHH!! Mr. Wonka! OH!”
Angelic lips were aggressively covered before another sound of glee could be emitted. The fingers stayed firmly in place pushing roughly against and inside of him until the completion of his second release. When the equally probing kiss ended, the boy lay panting desperately, unable to even move. He heard the sound of the zipper closing then felt his front being licked clean. Small pleased whimpers accompanied the act, arms still limply crossed over his head. His mentor needn’t have held them there for he wouldn’t have dreamt of putting up a struggle.
Wonka found the incoherent noises completely adorable. He stood again to take in the picturesque pose. Lazy eyes managed to look up at him, the face flushed across his turned up nose as the boy shyly asked, “When can it really be you?”
“We’ll see.” The man’s response was of nigh imperceptible facial twitches of restraint, his voice barely wavered, but the eyes were practically beaming lasers. Gently, he bundled up the cotton candy quilt around the bare child. “Why don’t ya focus on the old scrying mirror for a while? I’ll take care of lunch.”
Walking up his slim staircase, he heard the boy wearily call up, “No..hotdogs.”
He giggled with mirth. Of course he wouldn’t do that to the lad. However, there would be individual spongy, cream-filled desserts!
Snuggled up and looking into the glassy black surface, Charlie remembered the first thing he had focused on: wanting Mr. Wonka to be happy. He still wanted that, but now he was worried about his own father and Dr. Wonka. Why had the ring upset the dentist so much? He felt a faintly guilty looking at the precious band. He thought about sliding it off, but emotionally couldn’t bring himself to do it. Instead, he kissed the embellished gold and held it close to his heart.
Looking back up at the scrying mirror he could have sworn he saw the image of a woman in a flowing white dress. She reminded him of his mother from when she touched the unicorn. He leaned forward and undid the strip of cloth that tied him to the bedpost, loosely re-tying it around his throat. The tranquil image had ceased, but something was still in there for no reflection of anything else showed. There was a dark undulating shadow instead as if something lay underneath.
He hopped off the circular draped bed, dragging the large quilt behind him. He got closer and closer to the beckoning surface. Where had the woman gone? The surface of the scrying mirror seemed to ripple like a giant black lake. As one palm drew right up towards its surface, the middle of the mirror seemed to split wide open revealing a giant blood-colored eye glaring right at the child. It was as big as his entire body, mottled with amorphous black fluids that slid about.
Charlie shouted and fell over backward onto the fluffy quilt. The gruesome image was nearly engulfed in shadow except for the single, red eye. Toward the edges of the towering mirror he could make out a sickeningly green outline that kept wriggling and twisting about. Charlie shut his eyes and held his breath. Hoping that the thing would disappear and the woman would return. Inside his mind, he pleaded, “Go away, go away!”
When he opened them, neither image was there, only the reflection of everything in the room. Including his sprawled nude form. Modestly he began to recollect his clothes and put them back on. It was embarrassingly pleasant to note that the cocoa butter had been absorbed, making his skin smoother than usual.
The boy halted mid-way to replace the quilt onto the bed. Wouldn’t want to get a new bruise for messing up the bed, would he? Maybe he would, it was oddly enticing to press on the former mark, deliberately recollecting and controlling the pain. Somehow along his difficult path in life he’d learned to translate discomfort into pleasure. Putting those thoughts aside, he put the fluffy mass back in place anyway. Doing the wrong thing on accident was one thing, doing it on purpose was another.
He glanced back toward the mirror. The giant, protective Eye of Horus hovering above caused him to immediately look away again. It was too creepy in its similarity.
As he was tugging his sweater back over his head, he heard his mentor whine, “Aww, I wanted ya to stay that way for the rest of the day. You can run around here as free as the day you were born all the time, as far as I’m concerned!”
The boy only gave a deeply dimpled grin at such a far-fetched idea.
The tray was set-up as a smell of curry wafted through the air, carrying exotic spices, pineapple and coconut flavors with it. Daisies were the flower of choice this time. It seemed rather simple for the debonair man, but the boy liked them. Mr. Wonka noticed Charlie breathing in the air with his eyes delicately closed to isolate the fragrances. “Ya know…coconut oil is almost as useful as cocoa butter.”
He got exactly the reaction he wanted when even his heir’s neck blushed. “SO, did we make magick again? See anything interesting this time?”
“I did. I saw a beautiful woman and then…a monster. One even worse than anything in The Secret Ingredients Room!” He said with fear, the color draining back from his face at its recollection.
“Ooo! Two visions? Who was the woman?” Wonka asked perplexed. Why did the kid keep seein’ things that he couldn’t?
“Dunno, she sort of looked like Mum wearing a white dress. Maybe prettier.” Charlie looked up at him and smiled. “Though no lady is really prettier than my Mum.”
“Must be where ya get it from.” Said the chocolatier followed by a concerned, “Describe the monster.”
“It was hideous! It stared at me with a big, ugly red eye and it looked like it was this moldy shade of green and it was as big as your whole mirror! And it kept worming about like rancid jell-o. I had to shut my eyes to get rid of it!” He shuddered even thinking about the thing again and leaned into the man, noticing that he’d changed his gloves. They were now a pale gold color with a subtle shimmer.
“K’nids.” Said Wonka. His eyes looked to be analyzing something, lips almost smiling.
“Pardon?” Responded the boy.
“Vermicious K’nids from the planet Vermes. Those are the aliens I told ya about.” The chocolatier pressed a button for Madame Rose to come down and join them.
Clearly his heir was desperate to know more. However, Willy’s next comment was only a provocative, “Hey, who gave you permission to untie yerself from the bed? Bad Charlie.”
Authors Notes:
A ‘plaster’ is the British term for a Band-Aid.
“Chicken butt? Know why? Chicken thigh!” That annoying bit of dialog is me. Yep, if you ask me “Know what?”– I am VERY likely to give those answers. You can blame Macally Culkin from his guest appearance on Saturday Night Live in the Eighties. I thought it was funny then and I still do. Much to everyone chagrin (actually some people think its funny).
‘Triple Dazzle Caramel’ is the name of Mr. Wonka’s candybars and it’s REALLY good. I ordered mine from Ireland off of the ever-lovin' e-bay!
The licking of the candy apple was inspired by this friggin’ amazing illustration. I don’t know the artist personally, but every Depp!Wonka fan should see this and they’ll understand why the image wouldn’t leave my imagination (that and I was making a not so subtle reference to Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden):
http://vejiita4eva.livejournal.com/81630.html
Check out what Hatii drew too! http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v329/Hatii/CharlieCouch.jpg
The delectable song, “The Candyman” comes from the 1970 movie of Charlie and The Chocolate Factory and I would LOVE to see the two sing the song together. The leap into Mr. Wonka’s bedroom was meant to recall the horrible, psychedelic boat ride that also came from the first movie. Ugh! How I HATED that ride! As a kid, it was the hardest part of the movie for me to watch. I’d cover my eyes and swear that I could still see the images anyway. Damn you, Wonka!
Jiminy Cricket is a charming Walt Disney character who wears a suit as stylish as Willy and whose name makes a great expression!
A Victrola is an old-fashioned music machine, not a band.
It has recently come to light that Sir Isaac Newton was a man of great religious belief AND a devoted alchemist (I saw a special on KQED about it and was thrilled for days. Whose a nerd?) In his time that was considered heresy, but he plundered away with it in secret – refusing to deny himself knowledge of any sort. There are texts that he kept private and they really could say anything! “The vegitation of metal” was particularly interesting to him.
The sandwich analogy of algebra was invented by me, a few months back, trying to coach a youth into understanding math.
Gene Wilder used a small flute-like instrument to summon the Oompa-loompas in the 1970’s movie, but pan-flutes specifically are associated with Paganism and Pan creatures (including Peter Pan). Such creatures are considered tricksters and seducers.
Wanna try Aztec style chocolate? Well, you can! A company named “Dagoba” makes ‘Xocolatl’ candy bars and hot cocoa! All the other info about that ancient culture is also true. They were a fascinating, spiritual, artistic, and violent society. I too suspect they are related to Oompa-loompas.
Carpet cleaning robots really exist, but Willy Wonka has lots of others to keep things neat in his personal quarters.
Ya see, I just wasn’t as pleased with my first bl*wjob in this story as I could have been. So, here’s a second helping. Wait, is this the author’s notes or Wonka’s? Anyway, this was another one of those things that I can’t believe I typed but the characters rather insisted on. I think they wanted the audience to get a lesson along with their own. And I believe we gave you enough information with this chapter to keep yourselves amused for a good, hard, uh, I mean long while.
Individual spongy, cream-filled desserts = something akin to Twinkies?. How appropriate in name and textures. (Don’t get it? Look up the word ‘twink’.)
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