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Oh, Lolly, Lolly	By : BrandiDelain Category: A through F > Charlie and the Chocolate Factory Views: 8458 -:- 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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Disclaimer repeat: Roald Dahl created Willy Wonka. I don't own Willy Wonka or Johnny Depp (pity) and I make no money
from this...it's just a bit of pervy fun.
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I wake up 15 minutes before the alarm sounds and order room service. I take a quick shower while waiting for my breakfast to arrive. As I towel off and apply body lotion, I admire my recent wax job. My legs and underarms are smooth as silk and my brazilian bikini wax is porn-star worthy.
A knock sounds at the door and I throw on my robe and run to answer it. After inhaling my breakfast of coffee, orange juice and a delicious cream cheese pastry, I get down to the serious business of getting dressed.
I blow-dry and style my shoulder-length auburn hair before applying a small amount of make-up. I slip into black lace panties and top them with a black wrap-style dress. My A-cups don't require a bra. I finish off my outfit with a pair of gorgeous black leather knee boots that sport 3 inch heels.
The clock on my nightstand reads 9:51 am. I give myself a final check in the full-length mirror and head downstairs to meet Bob.
We whisk through traffic as I admire the sights and sounds of a foreign city.A sprinkling of rain is falling and I think to myself, let it rain...nothing can spoil my good mood!
If there was ever an occasion of 'spoke too soon', this was it.
We pull up in front of Wonka's enormous factory and Bob helps me out of the car. I tip him and say, "I'll ring you when I'm done. I have no idea how long this will take." He flashes me a smile as we're joined by a very little person.
"He's an Oompa Loompa," Bob whispers and then laughs at my wide-eyed reaction. I've read all about these tiny workers, but seeing one in person is altogether different.
Bob drives off as the Oompa Loompa ushers me into the main reception hall. Several other tourists are already there and I make polite small talk while taking in my surroundings. Everything is stark white creating a spartan atmosphere.
Another Oompa Loompa joins our group and launches into what sounds like a well-rehearsed speech...
"Welcome to the factory, blah, blah, blah... Full of amazing sights, blah, blah... I'll be your guide, blah..."
"What," I rudely butt in, "I thought Mr. Wonka would guide the tour!"
"I'm sorry Miss, but Mr. Wonka is a very busy man. He simply doesn't have the time." "Besides," he continues with a chuckle, "would visitors at Buckingham Palace expect to be shown around by the Queen?"
This elicits laughter all around and I smile sweetly while thinking, cheeky little shit!
"Could you direct me to the powder room?" I say, hoping to nurse my crushing disappointment in private.
"Just through there and down the hall a bit," he says, indicating a door on the opposite side of the room. "I'll go ahead and start the tour and you can catch up. Make it snappy!"
Geez, he's Mr. Personality. Perhaps Wonka should throw in some common courtesy instructions along with their English lessons. I think this last bit while swanning across the room toward the door. The group sets off in the opposite direction.
I find myself in a blinding white corridor filled with several closed doors. I see the one marked 'Powder Room' and pause in front of it. I'm completely alone and since I never pass up the opportunity to snoop, I start trying handles.
The first two are locked, but door number three opens inward to my nosy delight. I peek in at what appears to be a private sanctum.
Everything is done in shades of purple... lavender walls, amethyst carpet and the lone piece of furniture, an overstuffed velvet chair, is the exact shade of a plummy Merlot.
I enter the room, drawn in by the need to test that amazing chair. Sinking into its welcoming embrace I think, “I could use one of these,” while running my hands over the plush velvet. It is by far the most decadent chair I’ve ever seen and I wonder how the soft fabric would feel against my naked body.
“Good Lord, where did that thought come from?” I chuckle to myself. The room seems to be having quite an effect on my libido. Maybe the color purple is an aphrodisiac,I think.
My enjoyment is short lived as I hear footsteps marching down the hall in my direction.
“Oh shit,” I whisper and search frantically for a hiding place. The only option is a sliding louvered door which, I discover, is a closet. Cramming in and kneeling down I realize my companions include several identical frock coats and a perfectly straight row of black patent leather boots, monogrammed of course.
Geez, I think, is he Type-A or what?
The footsteps stop and I hear the door open. I feel lightheaded as Wonka himself steps in and eases the door closed behind him. It suddenly dawns on me that the louvers are tilted at the perfect angle for me to see into the room. I experience a moment of pure panic thinking he may be able to see me as well, but he doesn’t glance in my direction.
After shedding his coat and top hat he walks to the chair and settles into it with a sigh. It seems odd seeing him without his coat and hat. He looks more vulnerable somehow, like he’s shed armor instead of mere clothes.
He reaches into a hidden pocket on the chair and pulls out a remote control. He clicks it at the wall and a screen slides away revealing a large television set. One more click and the set is turned on.
“Oh no, what if he’s about to get his perv on,” I think, glancing at the screen.
But instead of porn he’s tuned into…chocolate?
The screen flickers with images of chocolate… swirling, flowing and glistening in Technicolor glory.
“Why would he want to watch chocolate when he’s around it all damn day?” I wonder, with an internal huff of aggravation.
Since the television isn’t offering much diversion, I turn my attention back to Mr. Wonka.
He rolls his shoulders a few times, as if easing some tension, then stretches out his long legs crossing them at the ankle.
Great, he’s all cozy and I’m packed in this closet like a fuckin’ sardine.
I admit to myself that this thought is rather uncharitable since:
A) he has no idea I’m in the closet ... and B) it’s my own damn fault for being so nosy!
My legs are starting to cramp a bit from kneeling down, and just when it’s becoming very uncomfortable, he clicks a button on the remote and the throbbing beat of jungle drums emits from hidden speakers.
“Well, thank you Mr. Wonka,” I whisper. There’s no way he can hear me over the noise so I settle into a nice, comfy Indian-style position.
“Ahhh, that’ll do,” I murmur and then realize I actually have a better view since the louvers are a bit further apart toward the bottom of the door.
Too bad my view consists of some daft (albeit sexy) candyman ogling chocolate. The drums are a nice touch though, I think, sarcastically.
After several uneventful minutes, it appears he may have fallen asleep. Realizing I could be in for a long wait, I look around for a distraction.
I turn my head slightly and the sleeve of a frock coat caresses my face. It has the same exact texture as the velvet chair. That’s interesting. I bring the sleeve to my nose, inhaling deeply. Mmmm, I wish I could package this scent... dark, sweet chocolate with an underlying hint of masculine spice.
God, he smells good. I feel a shiver creep down my spine at the intimacy of the thought. Shaking my head as if to clear it, I turn my attention to the row of boots.
Being a shoe-aholic, these custom made jobs are a total wet dream. I note that Mr. Wonka has rather large feet.
“Ohhh, you know what they say about men with big feet?" I chuckle then think, What is wrong with me? I can’t seem to keep my mind out of the gutter.
The absurdity of my situation is kicking in when I hear a slight rustling coming from inside the room.
I put the boot down and glance through the louvers in time to see Mr. Tall, Pale & Handsome sliding his purple clad thumb along the ridge of an impressive trouser bulge.
Holy Shit! I’m frozen in place and unable (or unwilling) to look away.
His thumb continues its slow erotic waltz, inching up and down his rapidly expanding erection.
I feel a swift stab of desire pulse through my body and settle in my crotch.
He slips his hands under the hem of his waistcoat and, a few seconds later, slides his trousers and underwear down to his knees. A magnificent erection springs free and he catches it in his gloved right hand.
The contrast between his huge, pale cock and purple clad hand is striking. He begins to rub himself with slow, insistent strokes.
I’m fighting back the need to whimper when he ups the ante and starts massaging his balls with his left hand.
“Oh God," I hiss between clenched teeth. My nipples are so hard they could cut glass and every breath I take rubs them against the fabric of my dress.
Wonka has now settled into a rhythm, pumping his cock to the throbbing drumbeats. The throbbing in my pussy is keeping perfect time.
I reach down and cup my mound, surprised by the amount of heat I’m generating. I grind the heel of my hand against my clit and am about to climax when I hear Wonka emit a low, throaty moan.
He arches his back, throwing his profile into sharp relief. I’m distracted by his long elegant throat and prominent jut of adam’s apple.
“Damn, he’s gorgeous," I breathe just before he covers his twitching cock with a purple silk handkerchief, monogrammed of course. I realize he’s climaxing and am vaguely pissed that he’s deprived me of my own orgasm not to mention his money shot.
I suppose he doesn’t want to soil his lovely chair.
Screw the chair…that damn thing is the reason I’m stuck in a fuckin’ closet watching Willy Wonka pull his taffy!
Oh no! I shouldn’t have thought that…hysterical laughter is welling up inside me and I hold my breath willing myself not to laugh. I squeeze my eyes shut and pinch my right forearm hard. Tears sting my eyelids, and I just manage not to make a noisy outburst.
When I open my eyes, he’s shrugging into his frock coat.
Well he certainly doesn’t hang about basking in the afterglow.
He dons his top hat with a jaunty flourish and disappears out the door.
The television is still on and I strain to hear his receding footsteps over the jungle drums. I count to 100 and decide it’s safe to make my getaway. I slide the louvered door open just enough to squeeze through.
I step one stiletto boot into the room and the hallway door opens.
My head snaps up just as Mr. Wonka steps back into the room.
He freezes when he spots me and our gazes lock.
My life flashes before my eyes (all 30 years of it) and I’m stunned at how stuffy most of it seems.
Shit, I had no idea I was that boring, I think before reality sets in. Oh yeah, I’ve just been caught red-handed emerging from Mr. Taffy Puller’s closet. Nothing stuffy about that girlfriend!
He flashes me a menacing grin before snapping the door closed.
The ominous click of the lock seems to seal my fate.
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Oh, Lolly, Lolly