We had been on the tour now for about twenty minutes, and I was so bored. My kid was blown away by the place, of course, but I’d seen it, before. I’d seen it a few too many times. The chocolate river, the lick-able wallpaper room, the fizzy lifting-drink room, the fear tunnel… It was all too familiar and I felt bored and uncomfortable.
We passed a door that had a sign on it that said “WARNING: DO NOT EVER ENTER – Only Oompa Loompas beyond this point.” Mr. Wonka said, “Now children, signs are important, and if a sign says something, you should probably listen to it. *That sign* is certainly no exception.”
I heard his words, but I was filled with an insatiable curiosity. Although I’d been in this factory through-and-through many times before, I had never noticed this particular door. Now, my attention had been brought to it, and my curiosity simply *had* to be sated.
I stayed to the back of the pack, and got myself lost at the next corner. The group moved on without me, distracted by all the sweet sight-seeing, and no one noticed the middle-aged father disappearing from the group. I walked back and quietly let myself into the forbidden door, greeted by a staircase down into the basement.
It was dark, but there was no turning back. I let myself down the stairs. The basement seemed empty in that there were no other people down here (or Oompa Loompas) but the floor was covered in several pieces of different equipment I had never seen, before. New candy-making technology??
Upon closer inspection, I noticed the equipment was more often made *from* candy, so likely was not used to make candy. The first thing looked like some type of bench press equipment, but with restraints made from thick gummy rope. I found handcuffs made from hard candy. I found… a flail, made from long strands of bubble gum.
I sat on the weird bench press thing. This was all so much to take in. Willy Wonka… *The* Willy Wonka, has a sex dungeon….
Just then, I heard the door at the top of the stairs opening. I quickly ran and hid beneath the stairs. Watching through the slats, I saw first his feet covered in their purple shoes, followed by the hems of his yellow pants, followed by the tails of his purple coat. Slowly, he idled his way down the stairs, before coming to a full rest at their bottom.
“I know you’re in here,” said he. “Best reveal yourself.”
I knew the gig was up. I’d broken a very specific rule and had just gotten caught in the act. I had no choice, so I let myself out from beneath the stairs.
“Gerald!” exclaimed Willy. “Why, I wouldn’t have expected it to be you!”
“Yeah, I… I got curious. You’ve shown me this place before. I only came here for the boy. Of course I couldn’t help but to go down into the one room I’d never seen, before.”
“Well, there’s a reason you haven’t seen it,” replied the chocolatier. “Come, have a seat.”
We sat side-by-side on the weird bench press thing, which really was the only accommodating seating in the room.
Mr. Wonka put his arm around my shoulders. “Look, son, I know things have been weird since I married your mum. But you gotta look past that. It’s time to start a new life, one where maybe one day you can call me dad. And the thing is, this is my house. You’ve got to follow *my* rules.”
“I… I know, Mr. Wonka. I’m sorry.” I certainly wasn’t going to call him Dad. Not yet, if ever… but he was right, this was his place. I was disrespecting his domain. He may have been an unwelcome presence in my mother’s home, but that gave me no right to diminish his rule in his own home. Or, at least, his business.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “Now here, have a soda.”
You may guess it, but that delicious soda was the last thing I tasted before waking up strapped into the very restraints we had just sat on. To make matters worse, my legs had been tied up, exposing my rear end to the wind. Oh, and I was naked now, too.
“Sorry, Gerry, but you’ve broken the rules, and now you must be punished.”
“Mr. Wonka, what’s going on? Why am I naked?” I was angry, shouting, and felt humiliated.
There was no answer, not verbally, at least. The next thing I knew I was getting lashed across my bottom with the bubble gum flail. It hurt more than you’d think it would.
“Aww, Gerry, your tush is turning red!! Bet you haven’t had that happen since your old pa was still around.”
I was beside myself! This whole experience was so disconcerting. I’d never been restrained in my life, and to have been drugged into it by my widowed mother’s new husband just made it all even worse, and now he taunted me about my father’s beatings?! “Step-Wonka, what are you doing?!!”
“Relax,” he said, “we’re just getting started.” He walked away for a moment, and returned with a bowl and a honey dipper, covered in melted chocolate. He began to pour the hot liquid on my chest, and to my great shame my body became aroused by the experience and I even became hard. “Now, we wouldn’t want to tell your mother about this. It would cause her great distress.”
Oh, God, I hadn’t even thought about Mother. What would she think of all of this? Maybe if I told her she’d see the monster she’d married. Maybe then she’d finally realize the mistake she’d made in marrying him.
Then he continued, “She probably won’t believe you, anyway. Even *she* has never seen the dungeon. You’re in elite company, Gerry!” His voice rose to an octave it probably shouldn’t have.
He set the bowl and dipper down, and a moment later I felt the warmth of what could only be his cock between my thighs. I couldn’t see it, but it was hard, and longer than I cared to know.
Then, after a moment passed, he retracted, and pulled his slacks back up and zipped them shut. “Aww, no, Gerry, I can’t do this. It’s just too weird for me.” Then I heard the sound once again of his shoes on stairs, now climbing the steps. The door creaked open, then closed. The room was once again dark and quiet, lonely. Yet here I laid, still restrained to the bench, feet tied up in the air, chocolate now hardening atop my nipples. There was nothing I could do. I should have screamed when the door was open, but now it was too late.
Everything had changed for me. It had only been a couple of years ago that Mr. Wonka had married my mother, and I’d spend most of that time away from the home. My child admired his new grandpa, which he felt was a weird thing to call him because despite his interest in my mother, Mr. Wonka was about half my age. Yet he’d managed to take complete rule over my life, leaving me feeling alienated from my home and uncomfortable hearing my own mother tell literally any story that involved her new partner. Now, I was left with a whole new berth of unsettling information, information that I may never be able to tell anyone who will listen with a straight face. “*The* Willy Wonka?” they’ll say. “The one who runs the chocolate factory!!? Ha!! Good meme, brother.” And they’ll carry on with their life, amused at the weird pervy middle-aged man with his weird fantasies.
I suddenly became aware of the sound of the door opening once again. Now there were several feet coming hurriedly down the stairs. And these feet were attached to some miniature green-haired individuals who had… fewer qualms about what they chose to do with their reproductive members.
Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/p8uz3k/a_mysterious_room_in_mr_wonkas_basement