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The Tasting	By : dancingsalome Category: A through F > Charlie and the Chocolate Factory Views: 4928 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
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
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Part 2
It was impossible to say how long time passed for Mrs. Bucket. She felt it was hours, and she was more than a little relieved when a door was opened. Though she was quite sure that it wasn't the same opening she had came in through, she nevertheless quickly rose and walked out.
The adjoining room was rather dark, and as she came from a brightly lit room she could not see anything to mention at first. Especially since the door silently closed behind her. Mr. Wonka's voice reached her from nearby, and when she squinted in the direction of the sound she could make out his form is the dark.
“Come out, come out,” he said hurriedly.”You gave me such a marvelous idea earlier, but I'm afraid I need to put it to a test. I'm sure you will be delighted to help me.”
“I'll be happy to help you,” Mrs. Bucket answered slowly.”Some other time. Right now I need to get back to the house, it must be close to dinner time by now.”
“Oh no. There's no time, no time at all to wait. An idea has to be acted upon at once, or it may disappear. Now, I've been thinking about this all afternoon, and I assure you that this cannot be delayed anymore.”
He steered Mrs. Bucket out into the room, but the dim light made it impossible for her to make out what kind of room it was. It was much warmer than the rest of the factory- which already was overheated in her opinion. Mr. Wonka continued talking, and Mrs. Bucket found it difficult to break into the stream of words.
“The making of chocolate, well, every kind of candy, is an artform. It requires patience and imagination, and I'm always on the lookout for new ideas. And this idea is quite different. I'm sure that when you eat chocolate, you have noticed that it isn't just the cocoa that gives it flavour. When you make chocolate there is so much more to consider.
First you have to decide what kind of cocoa bean to use, and then if you want it dark, or light. You can give it a definite taste by quite crude means- easy to make out, like chopped nuts or liqueur. Then there's the subtle notes, the barely noticeable tones that gives the taste depth. Mystique, if you want. A spice or two, the amount of sugar, what kind of sugar, yes, the spectrum is vast. Do you know, even some cheeses work very well with dark chocolate, though it may sound very weird. But it is delicious!”
That far Mrs. Bucket managed to get a word in. ”That's all very well, Mr. Wonka, and quite interesting. But I can't see how I could be of any help. It's Charlie who knows about candy, not I. I have no knowledge to help you with.”
“I don't require your knowledge, my dear Mrs. Bucket. I require your taste. And I'm afraid that Charlie's not quite ready to help me out here.”
“My taste? What? No, this is silly, you make no sense at all. Please let me out of here, this has gone quite far enough.”
It was too dark in the room, too hot, and Mr. Wonka stood too close to her, so close that she could feel the scent of him once again. She took a few steps away from him, intent to find a wall, and then hopefully a door, or at least a light switch. But she was stopped by his hand on her arm.
“It's not silly, far from it.” These was no laugh in his voice, and Mrs. Bucket realised that he really was serious, very much so. ”There is something about you, something I felt, which is very alluring. Enchanting. If I could capture that taste and add it to a chocolate, I think I would be able to create a masterpiece. It will not hurt you at all. Please stop being so difficult.”
“I'm not being difficult! This really is ridiculous, and I demand that you let me out of here this instant.”
“No, I can't do that.”
The hold on her arm tightened to the same iron grip as before, and Mrs. Bucket screamed wildly as her other arm was caught as well. Her voice didn't carry though, it was muffled by the peculiar room. She was spun around and she lost what little orientation she had managed to get of the room, and Mr. Wonka used that to his advantage. Though not really taller than she, he was considerably stronger, and she found her arms be stretched over her head and something snapped close over her wrists. When he let go of her she was still held in place by something that was soft, but as unyielding as his hands.
“I tell you, Mrs. Bucket, I will not hurt you. I just want to be able to define you, and how your taste varies.”
This was all so outrageous, and Mrs. Bucket continued to shout, hoping that someone would hear her. She was also more than a little bit afraid, despite Mr. Wonka's mild voice and assurances. She was quieted when he kissed her again. A firm grip on her chin made her unable to turn her head away, and he kissed her several times. Each time he lingered, letting his tongue explore her mouth very thoroughly- and had Mrs. Bucket been in a mindset to appreciate them, she would have. Instead she continued to protest as soon as he released her, and for the first time Mr. Wonka seemed a bit irritated.
“You have to keep quiet. I can't work if you break my concentration all the time.”
“This is not work. This is an outrage, an...”
That was as far as she got when Mr. Wonka shoved his handkerchief in her mouth, and then used her own scarf to tie it in place.
“I'm sorry, Mrs. Bucket, but if you can't keep your voice down, this is the only way.”
He proceeded to kiss, then lick her face, working himself down her throat, then her earlobes, finding a sensitive spot behind her ear that made her shiver despite the stifling heat of the room. Finding movement and voice restrained, Mrs. Bucket had no choice but to endure. He really wasn't hurting her, his lips and tongue moved softly over her skin, his breath adding moisture and warmth.
Then he suddenly stopped and moved away from her. Mrs. Bucket turned her head, but though her eyes had grown used to the dark, she could still not make out any detail, and couldn't see what he picked up from a nearby table. When he retuned, and placed something cool against the skin of her neck she screamed into the gag, as she believed he was placing a knife to her throat, and all his reassurance of not hurting her had just been lies.
But nothing happened, he just gently tugged at her blouse, and then she heard the snip-snip of a pair of scissors closing. He was carefully cutting away her clothes, and though it made poor Mrs. Bucket blush wildly, he did not cut her even accidentally as he worked through the layers of fabric.
Though the recent good times had put some flesh on her frame, the cold and poor years of her marriage and got her into the habit of dressing in grey and formless clothes, suitable to hide and warm a body that had too long been malnourished. Mrs. Bucket still dressed in several layers, and it took Mr. Wonka a little time to remove them all. When he finally was done, and Mrs. Bucket was naked she was shivering, though she was not cold at all. The situation was so inappropriate, but she could no longer protest in anyway, and she had to accept that whatever Mr. Wonka had in mind, she would have to take it.
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The Tasting