I posted in my main story, Chocolate-Covered Cherries, that I had written some stuff that was not particularly...innocent, between Nicole and Wonka. I have decided to leave it out of the main fic, to preserve the innocence and fluffiness of the story. But, since I am by nature a dark author, I will post this separately. If you are offended by the fact that Nicole is significantly younger than Wonka, and do not want to hear about kissing, special kinds of chocolate, and possibly even eventual hanky-panky, then I suggest you go read something else.
That having been said, enjoy.
Wonka was an attractive man and, as such, was no stranger to sex. However, he was not particularly close friends with it, either. It was like the new neighbor on the end of the block who he'd ignored for the first couple of months, and had eventually worked up the courage to visit. Unfortunately, as with many first meetings, it was uncomfortable and awkward. And Wonka, being particularly sensitive to such things, had avoided it almost ever since.
However, with the sudden presence of Nicole, a decently attractive, pubescent young lady who was generous with her physical affections, platonic though they may be...well, to take the metaphor a bit farther, if I may, he began the sort of thought process that follows upon recieving news that the neighbor at the end of the block has a new in-ground swimming pool, or a big screen television. He found himself metaphorically calling it up, laughing nervously, and saying, "Hey, you remember that one time when we hung out?"
He also found, almost to his dismay, that the frequency of his masturbatory rituals had practically doubled.
"Oh dear," he mumbled to himself, noticing the small splotch of encrusted chocolate semen on his pants. He surreptitiously scraped it off with a fingernail. Nicole noticed him doing so, but thought nothing of it. The man lived in a chocolate factory, after all. Wonka was, not for the first time, thankful for the amusing accident which had rendered his male product to melted milk chocolate.
Nicole had been sharing the bed with him for weeks, now, and each night she did it got harder for Wonka to control himself. He was almost losing sleep due to the aching between his legs. He'd thought about asking her to stop visiting, or at the least to sleep on a cot...but every time he tried to do so, he found he could not. He couldn't sabotage his addiction. Being as close to her as he was both thrilled and tortured him, a bittersweet mixture of pain and pleasure that was maddening...and delightful.
If I could make this emotion into a candy, I would make a fortune... Wonka thought to himself, watching Nicole's pouty, uncultured little lips take in sip after sip of her hot chocolate. Her head turned and she faced him, smiling broadly. Her tiny tongue darted out to collect the lingering traces of cacao from her lips. How he wished it were a different sort of chocolate she was licking off of her inviting mouth...
It is true that there are small particles of inspiration zipping through the atmosphere at any given time, hitting people randomly and offering their ideas to them. Some people are more prone to being affronted by them, and some aren't. Wonka was one of the former, and he found himself inspired, suddenly, in the most deliciously inappropriate way, or perhaps inappropriately delicious. The smile he gave to the girl beside him was sweet and beguiling, with a deep, underlying element of danger, like a milk chocolate that looked delectable on the outside but might end up containing something unpleasant.
Like coconut. Euch.
Knock, knock. Wonka could almost see her face shyly waiting outside the door as she lifted her hand and rapped her knuckles against the door. She was not very graceful or proper, but she was polite where it counted, and would never enter his room without some sort of warning. It was quite endearing and, in this particular instance, warranted.
"Just a moment, my dear," Wonka called, hoping his voice didn't sound too breathy. He was nearly there, his hand pumping up and down his length at enormous speed. He'd been trying not to think of her while he did it, but he found that he really didn't have anything else to think about.
His breath caught in his throat and he clamped his mouth shut halfway through the grunt that tried to escape. Thick, creamy chocolate spewed from the end of his tensing member and pooled in the mug that he held beneath the tip. When he'd managed to force the last droplet of come from himself, he looked inside the cup.
Just past half full. He sighed. He'd been working on that single cup all day, and now had no more time. Ah, well. He would just have to adjust his own portion. It had occurred to him that perhaps he might just add some hot chocolate from the kitchen, but...no, that would make it less special, somehow. If special was what you could call it.
Quickly, Wonka set down the mug and replaced himself in his pants. He scooted back to lean against the headboard of the bed, pulled the covers up to his waist, and bade Nicole to enter. She did so, a smile breaking her face like a new dawn, her loose black sweater swinging about her round hips as she stumbled over what was likely her own foot.
The terrible mental image of her falling forward and knocking over the mug of hard-earned chocolate across the sheets, and the terrified gasp that Wonka knew he would utter if such a thing were to occur, prompted him to take hold of the cup and grasp it tightly until Nicole was well and seated.
"Is that for me?" she asked, almost immediately, "I 'spect you've gone and had yours all ready?"
Wonka grinned, "No, I was waiting for you. But I've...er...I've concocted a new mixture of hot chocolate, and I was hoping that you would be so kind as to do me the honours?"
"Really?" she asked, reaching for the cup, which he happily reliquished to her grasp.
"Yes, really," Wonka said with a nod. Nicole surveyed the drink as if it were something precious, as though it was a new flavor of ice cream that had never ever been heard of before...or like a brand new colour that no one had ever seen. She sent him a greedily excited glance that caused something deep within the bowels of his libido to twitch, and brought the cup to her mouth.
Wonka's conscience caught up to him, and his hand caught her arm before she could take a sip. Nicole's eyes reached his own, and the look in them was confused and so terribly hurt, that Wonka found that he could not deny her this small...er...pleasure. "Nevermind," he said, "Continue..."
She took a tiny sip, at first, to make sure it was all right. Then, she poured just a little onto her outstretched tongue and rolled it around inside her mouth like a fine wine, absorbing it completely. Then she swallowed.
If Wonka thought he'd milked himself dry producing that drink for her, he was mistaken. The spigot from which this particular chocolate product had come forth was readying itself to create another dosage. And as Nicole gave a small, unconscious moan of pleasure and began to drink the chocolate down as if her life depended on it, Wonka was uncertain that his pipes would not burst on their own.
It would so happen that Nicole, in her haste, spilled a bit of the chocolate along the sides of her mouth, and when she set down the mug, she rather resembled Count Chocula, with thick brown semi-liquid dripping down from either corner of her mouth. Wonka almost moaned as she smiled sheepishly and reached her tongue out as far as she could to collect the precious trails of chocolate.
"Mmmm," she declared articulately, "Wow. That was really lovely. What do you call it?"
"Um," Wonka had not thought that far ahead, and the head with which he usually chose to do his thinking was currently out of commission. "Cumdiddlyumptious." It had escaped his mouth before he could stop himself. With the apples of his pale cheeks turning a distinct crimson colour, he cleared his throat and corrected himself harshly, "Scrumdiddlyumptious, that is. But I haven't decided if it should be a liquid or a bar."
Nicole's tongue searched her mouth for any chance that she might have missed some. She smacked tentatively, once or twice, as if testing something. "Actually, I think it would make a lovely candy bar. It tastes like it should be harder, you know?"
Oh. He knew.
The words, "Would you like some more," were just sitting on the edges of Wonka's pink lips, ready to throw themselves into the waiting air, when a bit of sense interrupted them and held them fast. If Wonka was going to get what he wanted...he would have to wait.
He smiled awkwardly, showing far too much teeth. As a matter of fact, it was less of a smile and more of a pained rictus that had gotten confused at the edges and turned upward instead of down. He patted Nicole gently on the shoulder, and she leaned into his chest, snuggling unashamedly underneath his arm, smiling and sighing, completely unaware of the yearning erection that was settled less than five inches from her arm.
Wonka had refrained from making Nicole another glass of "Scrumdiddlyumptious," partly because he didn't think he was up to it, and partly because last night had been hellish. They'd laid down, and Nicole had cuddled into his embrace, fully comfortable. But Wonka had had to spend almost every moment making sure that his throbbing shame remained hidden from her. He'd not gotten much repose last night, suffice it to say. As a matter of fact, it wasn't until he'd reluctantly removed the little girl from his arms and rolled over to face the opposite way that he'd gotten any decent sleep at all.
It hadn't been that bad, previously, but Wonka hadn't fed the girl an entire cup of his...er...special chocolate before that night, and the way she'd guzzled it down like a parched man in a desert, the way her tongue played with it in her mouth...it still brought a stiffness to his loins.
"No, no, stop it, stop it!" he insisted, waving frantically at his crotch, "Enough! Please! Oh, dear."
There was a knock at the door, but it wasn't Nicole's knock. It wasn't small and timid, it was more forceful, as if someone had fallen into the door, knuckles first. And he thought he heard a strange, strangled noise through the wood. Wonka's heart leapt into his throat. Who could that be, and what did they want? How could anyone else have gotten in? He'd made very sure that his defences were foolproof against anyone but Nicole, after he'd decided to allow her to continue visiting...Unless she'd let someone else in, but that was unthinkable. She wouldn't do that. Unless they'd forced her!
Wonka was almost certain he heard a sob on the other side of the door. Oh god, what was he going to do? He looked around his room quickly for something he could possibly use as a weapon. He grabbed a long, thick bit of foam that was dangling lazily from his ceiling. He couldn't, at the moment, remember what purpose it usually served, but tonight it would be his lance. Wonka, as a rule, deplored violence, really he did, but he was not opposed to knocking someone about with a pool noodle if it came to the clinch.
He opened the door, and Nicole nearly fell into him. She was alone, and tears were running down her face. The floppy bit of foam fell from Wonka's loose grip, quite forgotten. Wonka was just chiding himself for being an alarmist, when he was suddenly gripped around the middle by a sobbing young girl.
"Oh..." he cooed, quietly, shutting the door behind her (but not without a quick glance to make sure the hall was absolutely devoid of strange, imposing men), "Hush, there...What's wrong?"
"I don't ever want to go home again!" Nicole cried. Wonka had ushered her toward the bed, and she was climbing, shoeless, beneath the covers, still showing no signs of ceasing her tears. Wonka sat down beside her, and she buried her head in his chest, clutching at him.
"Nicole," he said quietly, but upon doing this, Nicole began to cry harder, and her head slipped until it lay in his lap. Her fingers were clutching his shirt loosely, and there was suddenly nothing more than a thin layer of cloth between the girl's hot, tear-stained mouth and Wonka's suddenly very noticable genitalia.
"Wha! Er, what happened?" Wonka choked out. When Nicole spoke, her lips brushed the fabric that covered his inner thigh. When she breathed, the air expelled from her lungs caressed bits of him that he didn't like to discuss in great detail. Needless to say, Wonka did not hear what Nicole had said.
Somehow, Wonka got through the conversation without making too many blunders. Nicole was having problems with her mother again, nothing terribly out of the ordinary...
Nicole sniffled, and wiped her eye on her sleeve. She smiled up at Wonka and bit her lip, causing a couple of butterflies to form in his stomach. "Thanks," she said softly (their wings flapped), "I really appreciate it. I appreciate everything you do for me, really..." she trailed off, grinning shyly and averting her gaze (one or two of them did a loop-the-loop). Wonka could feel, suddenly, that now was the time to move. If he was going to do anything, he would have to do it now (they began to do a butterfly tango).
He reached down (flap) and took Nicole's chin in his hand gently (flap, flap). He tilted her flushed, smiling face upward, and looked into her eyes (the butterflies began to feel like they had butterflies of their own). Nicole made a quietly inquisitive noise, but Wonka was all ready in motion. Slowly but inevitably, like a glacier, his head was travelling toward hers. The butterflies in his stomach were growing more and more restless, until he felt almost nauseous. He took a deep breath, but only got partway through it before their lips collided, surprising the both of them.
Nicole made a startled sound, and Wonka gave a small moan in his throat. He pressed his lips against hers more insistently, his hand going automatically to caress her hair, holding her close to him. Gods, he had wanted this for what seemed like forever. It had been so long since he'd been able to touch anyone, to kiss them, to...
The kiss, however, and anything else that might have followed, was cut short. Nicole pushed away, wide-eyed, breathing heavily. Wonka's heart felt as if it had gone bungee jumping, and the line had suddenly broken. It fell into his innards with a splash, and the butterflies exploded.
"Mr. Wonka," Nicole breathed in disbelief, a sort of fear creeping into her expression.
Wonka sat back, his burning mouth hanging slack in horror. "Oh, god," he whispered, as the girl, who was less than half his age, knitted her brow and frowned.
"Why...why did you do that?" she stammered, after a moment, looking into Wonka's eyes intensely. Wonka's heart, though having taken up residence in his stomach, was willing to pound out its tattoo, double-time, and now he thought he really would be sick. He swallowed nervously.
"Well..." he began, but choked on his next words. What could he possibly say? "I...I wanted to, I suppose."
"I...I have to go," Nicole said suddenly, rising.