The Tasting, part 1
Sep. 15th, 2005 12:17 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
scripsiTitle: The Tasting, part 1
Pairing: Willy Wonka/Mrs. Bucket (Charlie and the Chocolate Factory)
Rating: R
Category: Don't really know yet. Very questionable consent at the very least. No violence. Bondage.
A/N: Thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
japanpeterpan for beta.
This is a test fic, I think. It never occurred to me that I would write a fic about Willy Wonka. I blame the movie entirely, the book never urged me to, but Johnny Depp certainly did. Tell me what you think about it, please.
It took Mrs. Bucket quite a long time to admit to herself that she didn't like living at Willy Wonka's chocolate factory. It was so much that was nice about it. Great even. All the struggle of just staying alive was gone, her family grew fit and healthy and happy around her. For the first time in years she and her husband could spend time together without worries and fear. Her darling Charlie glowed from happiness, and how could she not love that?
When she finally did admit it, she had to figure out what it was about the factory that made her detest it so. The factory itself wasn't bad, it was quite exciting, actually. And though the Oompa-Loompas were somewhat unnerving, she didn't really mind them either. No, what really bothered her was the owner himself, Willy Wonka.
It wasn't anything in particular she could point out. It had something to do with his smile that never really seemed to reach his eyes. Or the odd, fragmented way he talked. And most of all his bright eyes, that always, always seemed to stare at her, whenever they were in the same room. But he had never been anything other than polite to her, so- being a practical woman, she decided to ignore her feelings of discomfort, and get on with her life.
That become very hard the day she met Wonka in one of the factory's many corridors. Not really met, he was suddenly walking beside her, which startled her quite a bit.
“I never had a mother.” As a greeting that was somewhat unexpected, and Mrs Bucket found herself loss for words. “Well, of course I had, but not for long. I don't remember her. Tell me, is the way you greet Charlie customary for mothers?”
“I guess... Yes, I would say so.”
“Ah.” There was a silence as they continued walking. “My father never did that.”
“Did what?”
“You know.” Wonka touched his cheek briefly. “Gave me a peck, I think you would call it. I never had one in my life. So when I noticed that you do that to Charlie I thought it might be a mother thing.”
“Oh, it can be, but you can do that to all sorts of people. It's a way of greeting someone.”
The whole conversation confused Mrs. Bucket. She had never though much of such a small thing that she did numerous times every day, but Wonka seemed to give it importance. He stopped, which forced her to stop as well, though she would rather have left him. He fixated his odd eyes on her, tilting his head a bit to the side as he stared at her.
“Can you give me one?"
At first Mrs. Bucket wanted to refuse, but then she thought that it was really a very harmless request. Her kind heart felt sorry for a man who had never been kissed on the cheek, so she leaned forward and quickly planted one on his cheekbone. His skin felt very soft under her lips, and for a
moment the scent of vanilla and cinnamon wafted over her. Wonka touched his cheek in a puzzled way.
“That felt nice. Very nice, actually. Now, am I to return it?”
Mrs. Bucket could not help but laugh a small nervous laugh. She really didn't want that, but she could not find any way of politely refusing him, so she nodded. Wonka planted a kiss on her face, lingering much longer than she had, and his lips felt hot. Mrs. Bucket could feel herself blush, and when he took a step back, she tried to resume her walk. But he moved to block her, and when Mrs. Bucket stepped back, she found herself standing against the wall.
“That was nice as well. But I wonder. You don't greet Mr. Bucket this way. I've noticed that you kiss him on the mouth.”
“Yes. He is my husband after all.”
“I never kissed anyone on the mouth either.” Wonka's voice grew thoughtful. “I never wanted to. But I like your mouth. It looks like a rosebud.”
Mrs. Bucket started to lift her hands in a defensive gesture, but before she had time, Wonka did kiss her. She pushed against his body, but found her wrists trapped in his hands, surprisingly strong hands, in a grip she could not break free from. Pressed against the wall she could not get away, and
after a moment she stopped struggling.
He kissed her slowly, inexpertly, but very thoroughly. It occurred to Mrs Bucket that he was tasting her, when his tongue forced its way into her mouth. When he released her she was short of breath, and would have run, if he had only let go of her hands as well. Wonka gave her a bright smile.
“That was nice too. You taste wonderful, Mrs. Bucket. I wonder, I really wonder...” He broke off, and kissed her on the cheek again, this time letting his tongue sweep over her skin. “You know, you don't taste the same there. Do you taste differently all over?”
Abruptly he started to walk, still holding one of her wrists so Mrs. Bucket was forced to half-run to keep up with his stride.
“It gives me an idea... I need to think this over. Mrs. Bucket, do you care to wait for me in the waiting room?”
Mrs. Bucket was just going to open her mouth to protest against the whole thing, when they reached a door, neatly labelled “Waiting-room”, and before she managed to say a word, Wonka had opened it and ushered her in.
“I'll see you in a little while,” he said as parting words, before he closed the door and left her alone.
Mrs. Bucket found herself in a small room, containing bare white wall, floor and ceiling, a white chair, a white table, and a white door. When she opened it she found a small white toilet. When she turned around she saw that the door she had come in through was not visible anymore. But on the table there
was now a mug of cocoa, a plate of pastries, and some magazines. She screamed for a while, pounding on where she thought the door must be, but as no one acknowledged her predicament, she eventually sat down to do what Wonka had told her to, to wait.
Pairing: Willy Wonka/Mrs. Bucket (Charlie and the Chocolate Factory)
Rating: R
Category: Don't really know yet. Very questionable consent at the very least. No violence. Bondage.
A/N: Thanks to
japanpeterpan for beta.This is a test fic, I think. It never occurred to me that I would write a fic about Willy Wonka. I blame the movie entirely, the book never urged me to, but Johnny Depp certainly did. Tell me what you think about it, please.
It took Mrs. Bucket quite a long time to admit to herself that she didn't like living at Willy Wonka's chocolate factory. It was so much that was nice about it. Great even. All the struggle of just staying alive was gone, her family grew fit and healthy and happy around her. For the first time in years she and her husband could spend time together without worries and fear. Her darling Charlie glowed from happiness, and how could she not love that?
When she finally did admit it, she had to figure out what it was about the factory that made her detest it so. The factory itself wasn't bad, it was quite exciting, actually. And though the Oompa-Loompas were somewhat unnerving, she didn't really mind them either. No, what really bothered her was the owner himself, Willy Wonka.
It wasn't anything in particular she could point out. It had something to do with his smile that never really seemed to reach his eyes. Or the odd, fragmented way he talked. And most of all his bright eyes, that always, always seemed to stare at her, whenever they were in the same room. But he had never been anything other than polite to her, so- being a practical woman, she decided to ignore her feelings of discomfort, and get on with her life.
That become very hard the day she met Wonka in one of the factory's many corridors. Not really met, he was suddenly walking beside her, which startled her quite a bit.
“I never had a mother.” As a greeting that was somewhat unexpected, and Mrs Bucket found herself loss for words. “Well, of course I had, but not for long. I don't remember her. Tell me, is the way you greet Charlie customary for mothers?”
“I guess... Yes, I would say so.”
“Ah.” There was a silence as they continued walking. “My father never did that.”
“Did what?”
“You know.” Wonka touched his cheek briefly. “Gave me a peck, I think you would call it. I never had one in my life. So when I noticed that you do that to Charlie I thought it might be a mother thing.”
“Oh, it can be, but you can do that to all sorts of people. It's a way of greeting someone.”
The whole conversation confused Mrs. Bucket. She had never though much of such a small thing that she did numerous times every day, but Wonka seemed to give it importance. He stopped, which forced her to stop as well, though she would rather have left him. He fixated his odd eyes on her, tilting his head a bit to the side as he stared at her.
“Can you give me one?"
At first Mrs. Bucket wanted to refuse, but then she thought that it was really a very harmless request. Her kind heart felt sorry for a man who had never been kissed on the cheek, so she leaned forward and quickly planted one on his cheekbone. His skin felt very soft under her lips, and for a
moment the scent of vanilla and cinnamon wafted over her. Wonka touched his cheek in a puzzled way.
“That felt nice. Very nice, actually. Now, am I to return it?”
Mrs. Bucket could not help but laugh a small nervous laugh. She really didn't want that, but she could not find any way of politely refusing him, so she nodded. Wonka planted a kiss on her face, lingering much longer than she had, and his lips felt hot. Mrs. Bucket could feel herself blush, and when he took a step back, she tried to resume her walk. But he moved to block her, and when Mrs. Bucket stepped back, she found herself standing against the wall.
“That was nice as well. But I wonder. You don't greet Mr. Bucket this way. I've noticed that you kiss him on the mouth.”
“Yes. He is my husband after all.”
“I never kissed anyone on the mouth either.” Wonka's voice grew thoughtful. “I never wanted to. But I like your mouth. It looks like a rosebud.”
Mrs. Bucket started to lift her hands in a defensive gesture, but before she had time, Wonka did kiss her. She pushed against his body, but found her wrists trapped in his hands, surprisingly strong hands, in a grip she could not break free from. Pressed against the wall she could not get away, and
after a moment she stopped struggling.
He kissed her slowly, inexpertly, but very thoroughly. It occurred to Mrs Bucket that he was tasting her, when his tongue forced its way into her mouth. When he released her she was short of breath, and would have run, if he had only let go of her hands as well. Wonka gave her a bright smile.
“That was nice too. You taste wonderful, Mrs. Bucket. I wonder, I really wonder...” He broke off, and kissed her on the cheek again, this time letting his tongue sweep over her skin. “You know, you don't taste the same there. Do you taste differently all over?”
Abruptly he started to walk, still holding one of her wrists so Mrs. Bucket was forced to half-run to keep up with his stride.
“It gives me an idea... I need to think this over. Mrs. Bucket, do you care to wait for me in the waiting room?”
Mrs. Bucket was just going to open her mouth to protest against the whole thing, when they reached a door, neatly labelled “Waiting-room”, and before she managed to say a word, Wonka had opened it and ushered her in.
“I'll see you in a little while,” he said as parting words, before he closed the door and left her alone.
Mrs. Bucket found herself in a small room, containing bare white wall, floor and ceiling, a white chair, a white table, and a white door. When she opened it she found a small white toilet. When she turned around she saw that the door she had come in through was not visible anymore. But on the table there
was now a mug of cocoa, a plate of pastries, and some magazines. She screamed for a while, pounding on where she thought the door must be, but as no one acknowledged her predicament, she eventually sat down to do what Wonka had told her to, to wait.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2005-09-14 10:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-09-15 02:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-09-16 06:49 pm (UTC)Adult het! Glad to read some.
I liked that touch of finding him walking next to her in the hall. Makes sure she's unsettled to begin with. And Wonka, ever exploring the world with his taste buds--yum! Good work.
no subject
Date: 2005-09-16 07:20 pm (UTC)Yes, Wonka do seem to be a bit orally orientated. :-)
no subject
Date: 2005-09-16 09:46 pm (UTC)Extra points for giving him "mother" issues in addition to his pre-established "father" issues. I haven't thought about those before!
no subject
Date: 2005-09-17 03:42 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-09-17 11:45 am (UTC)Darn...
You DID!
Thank you.
no subject
Date: 2005-09-17 03:42 pm (UTC)Nice!
Date: 2005-09-16 07:22 pm (UTC)Re: Nice!
Date: 2005-09-17 03:43 pm (UTC)Your icon made me laugh.
no subject
Date: 2005-09-17 12:12 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-09-17 03:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-09-18 06:49 am (UTC)^__^ same could be said about DILFS and TILFS (dads and teachers)
no subject
Date: 2005-09-19 04:01 pm (UTC)I have art for you!
Date: 2005-09-21 04:20 pm (UTC)I'm drawing something for this story. Keep your eyes open for it at Darkside Wonka, whangdoodles and/or CharlieChocolat.
Now I can't take the image of Wonka licking his goo covered machete of my head.
XD
Thank you.
Re: I have art for you!
Date: 2005-09-21 04:24 pm (UTC)Drawing is up!
Date: 2005-09-22 12:36 am (UTC)Hope ye likes.
Your writing totally makes this fic work.
Date: 2005-09-22 07:39 am (UTC)"It had something to do with his smile that never really seemed to reach his eyes." - I love that line, you hit the nail on the head, rather truthful statement! I wish I'd thought of it, but it belongs in your fiction.
Dang, that was a really jerk thing of Wonka to do and yet you can still see a possible innocence in his words vs. actions. I'm like, "Does he KNOW what he's doing or is he honestly just curious?" The dialog was great and her thought were too and I can't get
I can't believe how much I want him to do her. Ha! And I thought Charlie couldn't be matched. See, good authors can change your mind. Then again, I like a good non-con. Hey, I hope Charlie gets jealous or maybe he'd like having TWO Daddies. *cracks self up*
Who the hell would want to drink a hot cup of cocoa or read magazines just to pass the time while waiting to be molested?! *laughs to self again* It again points to Wonka really not realizing what the hell he's really doing. The room is uber creepy, what a real switch from the real "Wating Room", nice touch, it's a shape-shifting prison.
If you can keep up this tone, do continue.
Re: Your writing totally makes this fic work.
Date: 2005-09-22 03:04 pm (UTC)I saw Charlie and the Chocolate Factory for the second time yesterday, and it sur eis inspiring.
no subject
Date: 2005-09-23 12:12 am (UTC)I have to admit. I didn't think I would like this so much. Very well done. Yes, Idolhands was right, I did feel as if I were in Mrs. Bucket's head.
Please do continue this, don't just leave us hanging! How will we know when you've updated this? Is there anywhere you post your updates?
no subject
Date: 2005-09-23 09:34 am (UTC)I will continue, definitely. Updtaes are here in this journal
no subject
Date: 2005-09-25 10:59 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-09-27 11:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-11-03 09:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-11-05 08:14 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-11-06 01:32 am (UTC)