A Matter of Choice

[scripsi]

Title: A Matter of Choice (Charlie and the Chocolate Factory)
Pairing: Willy Wonka/Veruca Salt/Charlie Bucket
Rating: NC-17
Category: BDSM
A/N: Thanks to japanpeterpan for beta.

For Veruca Salt something changed after the visit to Willy Wonka's chocolate factory, though she didn't know that at the time. At first she went back home, and though her father made an effort not to spoil her as much, old habits are hard to forget. So she grew up, watching her mother sink deeper into the fog of alcohol, and her father's care that grew darker over the years, and in the end started to scare her. But she still got everything she pointed at.

She often dreamt about the factory, about the terrifying moment when the squirrels had attacked her, the fall into the unknown and the stench and filth that met her when she landed. It ought to have been nightmares, but they were not, she just woke up from them wanting, but now knowing what it was that she craved. She was just sure that she wanted something, and wanted it so badly that her body ached. Instead of fading as she grew older, the dreams came back stronger and stronger, and whatever it was that she wanted, she just wanted it more, desperately more.

The things she got satisfied her less and less. Even the things that she thought she wanted more than life itself, ceased to thrill her just moments after she got them in her hands. She moaned and complained, noticing, but not caring that even those who were supposed to love her, avoided her as much as possible.

So, one day she stood outside the gates of the chocolate factory again. It was winter, just as then, and it was snowing, large snowflakes powdered her upturned face as she stared at the dark and forbidding outline of the gigantic building. Veruca made no move to get access, she just waited, and she felt no surprise when the gates silently swung open to admit her, and then closed behind her back.

He met her in the hallway, looking just the same. Exactly the same. That ought to have surprised her, but she found it just right that he had remained the same, though she had grown. She felt an excitement she had not felt on her first visit. Back then she had been convinced that everything was there for her to be taken at her whim. She had been completely sure that she would win. Well, she hadn't.

“Why are you here?” Mr. Wonka asked, though Veruca was quite sure that he knew very well.

“I want,” Veruca started to say but fell say, but that wasn't the right wording.

“I need,” she said instead. ”I need...”

Her words trailed off, but he just nodded. ”Come here.”

She followed him inside, through winding corridors and halls, down staircase after staircase. It was as warm as she remembered, and her elegant clothes were wet from sweat as they arrived at a small door. Inside they were met with an unbearable stench, a stench she remembered well. The garbage disposal, noisy, dirty and stinking.

“Clean up here,” Mr. Wonka said nonchalantly, “And if you do well, I may fulfill your request.”

Then he left her alone, and she stared around her in bewilderment. She had never cleaned anything in her life, and this place, with dirt ingrained everywhere must be impossible to clean. Veruca almost turned back- she opened the door and was ready to leave, but then she stopped. She had traveled so far. Her chin went up, and the stubbornness that had so far already gotten her the things she wanted, took a new turn in her mind. If he wanted her to clean, well, then she would.

A search around the room revealed a closet with utensils she supposed were needed for her task as well as water supplies. The hours that followed were awful. The odour of garbage mingled with the sharp smell of cleaning fluids. Her clothes remained uncomfortably damp, but grew dirty as well, and her hair fell loose and tickled her hot face. Her hands stung, but eventually she could see some progress in her work. But no one came, and she grew more and more tired, and her breaks grow longer and longer. She also grew hungry, and then her legs refused her, and she remained seated on the floor, unable to move.

Then he was there again, and Veruca found that she could move when he bid her come with a movement of his chin. When they entered a room covered with tiles he stepped back and let her pass him.

“You look a mess, Miss Salt. And you don't smell so good. I think we need to do something about that.”

Before she had time to react, water was splashing against her, from all directions it seemed. If not completely cold, it was not particular warm, and the force lashed against her body like whips. Veruca gasped, her mouth was filled with water and she fell coughing to the floor. It was painful, and she couldn't get away, and she couldn't stop it. Utterly helpless she curled up on the floor to try to protect her body as much as possible.

When the water finally stopped, she remained on the floor, coughing and unable to see. When she had pulled herself together, she saw the shiny tip of Wonka's shoes close to her. She was totally drenched, and the wet clothes made her shiver, despite the warm temperature.

“Take off your clothes, Miss Salt.”

“No!”

“Suit yourself.
But let me remind you that it was you who came to me, not the other way around.”

She still hesitated, the shoes starting an impatient little tap before she, very red in her face, started to undress. She had never done it herself before, there had always been a maid to do it, and her clothes were designed for look, not for convenience. Now she found that buttons and opening were awkwardly placed, almost impossible for her to manage on her own. But the man made no offer of help, and in the end she had only her bra and panties left on.

She stood up then, meeting the violet and imperturbable gaze of Willy Wonka. He looked at her indifferently.

“All your clothes.”

She refused, and nothing happened. They stood there eye-to-eye, staring at each other, and nothing happened. Veruca became aware that there was an open door to her right, and by it a nice-looking dressing gown was hanging. Wonka made a gesture toward it, and she realised that she could step away, dress herself and leave.

She removed the rest of her garments, and then Wonka steered her to her left, his gloved hand pressing lightly at the small of her back. The touch made a small fire light up in her belly, and she knew it had been glowing ever since she came to the factory, growing stronger rather than waning when she had been set to work.

She wasn't cold anymore, and relaxed slightly as she was ushered into a small room lit by a soft glow that made it hard to see the walls, but not the person standing next to her. In front of them was a bench, made of what looked like white leather, and Wonka brought her to it and turned her around so the back of her knees hit it. Then nothing. He just looked at her, as if he was waiting for something.

“What does one say when say when one wants something?”

At first Veruca stared at him without understanding. She had always said “I want”, and then she had gotten it. Her mouth formed those words, but then she shut it again. They weren't right. Then the right word sprang to her mind.

“Pl-please,” she whispered, the never-used word feeling awkward to say. It was the right one, though, she could see it by the way Mr. Wonka cocked his head expectantly.

“Please,” she said again, with a stronger voice. Her own voice, making the word hers. ”Please, I need it so much. Please.”

It was easier to say by practice, slipping easily off her tongue. He nudged her back a little, so she was forced to sit down, and then he pushed her lightly back so she lay down on the smooth surface. It felt soft, but a little cool to her bare skin. She slid up slowly so she lay on her back on it, looking up in the air. She would have felt relaxed if it hadn't been for the fire inside her, and she wished he would hurry. She bit her tongue though, understanding that she would not get anything quicker if she betrayed her impatience.

A gloved hand gripped one of her wrists and pulled it over her head, fastening it to the surface with a restraint that felt like leather as well for her, soft, but utterly unyielding. Her other wrist fared the same, and then her legs, spreading her open. Then- nothing. She turned her head, but couldn't see him anywhere.

The waiting was unbearable. Unable to move much she could do nothing to ease her own arousal, which soon turned it into a torment. She tried to press her hips down, and then up, but that gave her no sense of release. She couldn't even close her legs to relieve some of the tension with pressing her thighs together.

She was ready to scream at Wonka when he re-appeared in her vision, but she bit her tongue. He ran a finger over her lips, and smiled a little. Not really at her, but rather at something in his mind. Then she heard a snap, and she tried to cry out at the sudden pain, but she couldn't. A small clamp had been attached to her mouth, forcing her lips together. Another was added, and a third, and her mouth was effectively shut for either pleas or protests.

The gloved hands moved down, and she shuddered at the slightly sticky and not altogether pleasant feeling of the gloves against her skin. Her breasts, her nipples- not until he lightly touched those did she become aware of how hard they where. It must have been easy to attach more clamps to the straining flesh, and the pain made a sharp pleasure go through her.

There were more clamps attached, to her breasts, around her navel, at the sensitive skin on her inner thighs. She knew where they were heading now, and her whole body shook when fingers ran over her labia before more clamps bit down there as well. She would have screamed if she could, but instead she closed her eyes, and let her mind take in the signals her overstimulated nerves sent it.

“Just one more,” Wonka said, and she knew and didn't want it, yet at the same time she couldn't remember wanting something as much as this in her whole life. Her whole body tensed when the very last one clamped down on, and behind her closed lids she could see flashes of light.

A pause. Her body calmed down somewhat, getting accustomed to the teasing metal fastened to it. The pleasure that had faded under the pain grew stronger again, despite- no because of the pain, and Veruca became aware that she had not yet gotten what she most wanted, not yet.

A young man came into her view, and Veruca could only suppose that it was Charlie. Had he been there the whole time? She had never cared to really look at him when they walked the factory together, and she would have been totally unable to tell what colour his eyes and hair were. He had grown tall, and was quite pleasant to look at, though his expression was somewhat surprised. She did notice that she felt nothing beyond the faint surprise, no horror, no embarrassment.

That was no surprise for her. She had many years ago figured out that the factory had many more facets than just making candy. Spoiled and pampered she might have been, but Veruca Salt was not stupid. There had been something terribly fitting in the way she and the other children had been treated, and if Mr. Wonka had known them so well then, Charlie could have no secret for him either. And she wondered if Mr. Wonka held many secrets for the boy now, after so many years.

Wonka made an inviting gesture over her body. ”Here you go, Charlie. All yours, I've just made sure that she was ready for you.”

There was a flicker of interest in the boy's eyes, but he hesitated. ”I, I wonder, she looks awfully uncomfortable.”

Wonka made movement, and the restraints suddenly sprang lose, but Veruca didn't move, she remained exactly in the same position as she had been bound.

“That I'm sure she is, but she is free to go if she wants to. Do you want to leave, Veruca? You can if you want.”

She shook her head violently, and her eyes pleaded with him and with Charlie. No, she didn't want to go now, not now when she was so close, so very close.

“See Charlie, it's her choice. And I think she is a damsel in very much distress at the moment. Don't you want to release her?”

Charlie looked down on her with a dreamy expression, and nodded. His hands skimmed over her skin and she jumped violently when he accidentally touched the clamps on her breast. Down his hands went, and then he started to take away the clamps down there, one after another. The feeling when blood rushed back was intensely painful, Veruca arched her back, bucking wildly to prevent Charlie from releasing more of the clamps, but he methodically continued to do so. Eventually there was only the last one left there, but when Charlie Reached out his hand, Wonka stopped him.

“Not yet.”

Veruca whimpered behind her closed lips. It was so very close now, she could feel her entire body tense, the pain transforming into an equally intense pleasure. Charlie dragged her closer, so her bottom rested at the edge, and she spread her legs further apart. When Charlie entered her she didn't feel how he broke her hymen, she could only feel the heat and her need, growing stronger and stronger for every thrust inside her. Charlie held her hips so he could plow into her steadily, his face contorted by pleasure, but Veruca paid little attention. The only thing she could see clearly was Mr. Wonka's white face beside her, and his gloved hand that reached down, hesitated, and then removed the remaining clamp that had held her clitoris in it's vicious grip..

The world exploded. Veruca could not tell if it was painful and pleasurable, she just knew that this was it. This was what she had wanted, the things she had needed for so long. Wave after wave rushed through her, until she was overcome by her senses, and the world went black.

She awoke in a small room without windows. The bed was narrow and the mattress thin, and the room held little beyond the necessary furniture. Of the luxury Veruca was accustomed to, there was none. She moved, and moaned, her body felt sore, and when she looked down at it she could see small bruises covering her. No one had taken the trouble to clean her up, on her thighs the dried remains of blood and semen could be seen.

Veruca got up. On a chair she found her clothes, neatly folded. They had been washed, mended and pressed, the shoes polished. In her purse she found her make-up, comb, wallet. All the money was still there, all her credit cards, and her return ticket. She smiled a little, stroking her hand over things.

There was another item on the chair, hastily thrown over the back. A coat of the kind she had seen cleaning women wear. The colour must have been drab to begin with, now it was so faded that it was hard to tell what colour it had once had. It was not completely clean, and there was nothing else, no underwear, no shoes. But she didn't hesitate. She wrapped the faded garment around her, carefully buttoning it, before she went to the door.

It was unlocked, and as soon as she emerged an Oompa-Loompa emerged, silently waving for her to follow him. He showed her to a large hall, liberally littered with the remains of what appeared to have been an orgy of whipped cream. There was a mop and a bucket just inside a door, and on it a small note.

“No breakfast until the room is cleaned.”

Veruca sang while she worked.

End