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The Candy Shop

By: sr71plt



For some time Dwight had told me that when the time came, when I'd reached eighteen, and if I was still interested, he'd take me to the Candy Shop for the first time. I tried to tell him that he would be candy enough for me, but Dwight was an honorable man. That's the only reason why we ever needed to discuss the Candy Shop at all.

The Candy Shop was out on Route 96, beyond the edge of town, and just inside the next county—a much poorer county than ours that needed the revenue and was willing to turn a blind eye. The building it occupied originally had been one of those full-service trucker stops. A gas station out front, whose pumps now had plastic bags permanently over the handles and their gauges zeroed out and just sat there under sagging awnings, rusting away. Inside the storefront had been a combined convenience store and short-order cook counter with a dining area off to the side with a widescreen TV where the truckers could stop to watch and bet on televised sporting events to break up the monotony of their long hauls and to catch up on the gossip of where the cop speed traps were along Route 96. In the back were a communal shower room truckers could use on long, time-sensitive hauls for a minimal fee and eight small rooms where, for less then they would have to fork out for a motel, they could rent rooms with clean sheets and towels by the hour. This served their schedule well. They rarely were able to pull over for a whole night; they had to sleep in three- and four-hour snatches in order to get their loads to their destinations on time.

It didn't take too long before the girls behind the food counter and at the convenience store register were augmenting their incomes by adding a fringe benefit of a fuck to go with the by-the-hour rooms. And there were few truckers who didn't appreciate this release of tension in addition to a couple of hours of sleep in a real bed. But this led to the whole operation being shut down, as the local residents put their own sense of morality over the smooth operation of trucking operations.

The place remained dormant for a couple of years and then the Candy Shop moved in, and the commissioners of the poorer county, seeing the folly of letting a revenue-paying business go bust like the trucker stop had done, turned a blind eye on the Candy Shop as long as it was bringing in revenue.

And bring in revenue it did.

When Dwight drove me out there, there must have been more than two dozen cars parked there, although we didn't see them until we'd swung around to the high-fenced area at the back of the building, where just about everyone going to the Candy Shop parked his car—out of sight of those driving down the highway.

As we came around the side of the building, though, I saw that there were maybe half a dozen guys milling around the old gas pumps and eyeing everyone coming into the Candy Shop. When we showed up, most of them broke off their discussions and ogled Dwight and me up and down. Three of them came up to Dwight and started talking to him, and four of them surrounded me. They asked me if I'd come for candy and said I didn't have to go into the store—that any of them would be happy to give me a ride in their car and some candy as well.

"Haven't seen you around here, son," said one guy, who looked like a trucker left over from the building's last life. "First time to the Candy Shop?" he asked.

"Umm, yes," I said. I looked over at Dwight, who seemed to be having a little difficulty with those three guys trying to get up close. I wasn't really worried about him being able to take care of himself, though. Dwight had been football player and had kept in tip-top shape. I was sort of worried, though, because there were three of them and they were all white. Dwight was what you'd call a mulatto—his father had been black and his mother white, which had left him with the facial features of a Caucasian but with a rich coffee-and-cream brown skin color. One of the guys around him was pretty drunk, and was talking about dipping in the chocolate in a fairly loud voice. The other two seemed to be less belligerent—one had his wallet out and was fanning a wad of bills out where Dwight could see it.

From the looks Dwight was giving me, I think he was more concerned about those four guys trying to make small talk with me, though.

Another of the guys had put on a big smile when I said it was my first visit to the Candy Shop. He was a surfer type with dirty blond stringy hair and shorts and flip flops. No shirt; he had a good tan and a good build, so I didn't think I was far off on the surfer supposition. "First time for the candy?" he asked. His voice had a hopeful edge to it.

"Yeah," I said. "Just turned eighteen last week and Dwight here wouldn't let me have the candy until now."

The surfer dude sucked in air and then turned and waved to the other guys over at the gas tanks. "First time for the candy over here guys. Anyone who's interested, let's pool our resources and see what kinda deal we can make."

Dwight stepped in at that point, however. "Let's go on in to the store, Jason," he said. He had moved away from the group of guys he was talking with and put his hand on my arm and guided me toward the store interest.

"Hey, man. We've got money," one of the gas pump guys called out. "More than enough for both of you."

"Sorry, guys," Dwight called out over his shoulder. "Gotta do this right. This here's my boy."

"I was doing fine, Dwight," I hissed at him was we walked away from the group. "They weren't bothering me."

"I swear I have no idea how I've gotten you to eighteen untouched," Jason muttered back. "Do you want to do this right or not? The first time is all important."

"I know it is," I shot back. "So, what are we doing here at all? You know what I want."

"It's just too important," Dwight answered. "You have to be sure. It only happens once. You need to see the choices before you make one."

That was always the problem with Dwight and me. Dwight had always been more of a father to me than my own dad had been—but that's not what I'd ever wanted from Dwight. I'd had what you could called a really screwed up home life, but Dwight—who my mother had seen as the cause of it all—was actually the only steadying force in my life for the past three years. And I had known from the beginning what I wanted from Dwight.

Dwight and my dad had been on the same semipro football team, one that had spent more time on the road in small cities far from home than they'd spent at home. Mom blamed what had happened between her and Dad on those separations—and on Dwight. That's not the way I had seen it. Dad did what Dad wanted to do because he wanted to do it. And if it hadn't been with Dwight, it would have been with someone else.

I could see that and Mom couldn't, and she and I fought so much over that point that I guess it was easy for her to leave me with Dad and Dwight when she packed up and left the state. We still talked occasionally, but not much at all in the last two years. When Dad had been killed in that freak busted play on the football field in Richmond and Mom had called and told me she was sending a ticket for me back to Fresno and I told her I wanted to stay with Dwight—and why I wanted to stay with Dwight—she hung up on me and hasn't spoken to me since. All there were were occasional terse e-mails asking if I'd changed my mind or threatening what she'd do if there was a hint of Dwight stepping out of line with me. For some time, I was terrified that she would step in and do something to make me come to her, but that hadn't happened. And now that I was eighteen, there was nothing she could do about it.

In the meantime, Dwight had been a dad to me. He'd quit his football career, which showed some promise to stepping up to the NFL, and had settled in as a football coach at a small college—all to give me a settled life in school. He'd even made sure I got a place in the college for the coming fall.

And in all that time, even though I told him what I wanted from him, he hadn't laid a hand on me. I'd seen him with Dad and that's what I wanted too—and not just with anyone; only with Dwight.

Dwight wanted me to be sure, though, and he wanted my first taste of candy to be perfect. So, here we were, walking through the door of the Candy Shop.

We walked in and stood inside the door for a moment and scanned the store. The store was laid out in a long rectangle with a counter cutting it in two almost in the middle. On the side the entrance door was on were a series of small malt-shop type tables with café chairs. Several of the tables were occupied—all by men, mostly one per table. Half of the section of the counter separating the two sections were glass-fronted cabinets with displays of candy in them. The rest of the counter was set up as an ice cream shop.

A couple of men stood behind the counter, ready to take orders, but, somewhat strangely, there were several guys sitting in the large space behind the counter, in the area that had once been the truckers' dining area, who were sitting and watching a big screen TV, probably the same one that had been there when the truckers' rest stop occupied the space. They didn't appear to be involved in selling candy or ice cream at all—they were just sitting there waiting for something to happen. There were all types of men and even a couple of guys who looked as young as I was. Those younger guys looked a little nervous and fidgety.

I started toward an empty table, but Dwight put his hand on my arm and murmured that I should stand over by the candy displays for a while until I got an idea of what I really wanted.

As I moved over there, a middle-aged man walked up to the candy counter and perused the display. A salesman came over and stood behind the counter.

"What is your pleasure, sir," he asked.

"Umm, I'm not sure. I'm checking out what you have."

"Well, we have available quite a variety today," the salesman said. "We have the nut-centered chocolates in white chocolate and a limited supply of the milk chocolate. The dark chocolate should be available in an hour or two if you wish to wait for it."

"Routine, customer bottom," Dwight whispered to me.

"Umm, no, I don't think so," the man muttered. "Perhaps something . . . well, a bit more special."

"There's the rope candy over here—the licorice or strawberry twists—we have a vanilla version as well. And the pull toffee of course."

The customer took a step away from the counter, almost visibly recoiling. "No, no. Not that, thanks."

"SM and bondage," Dwight muttered.

"Well, perhaps the cream centered, then. We have both white and dark chocolate on hand. And I think the milk chocolate will be coming back in shortly."

"I thought you'd stopped that line altogether," the man said.

"Well, I thought . . . since you mentioned special," the salesman answered. "We do still make those available. Of course we provide certificates—and the customer, of course, as well, needs to provide recent certification. But, we do still have that line, yes."

The customer looked dubious.

Meanwhile, another customer had sauntered up to the counter and drawn the attention of one of the other salesmen. He asked for vanilla rope candy and turned over a credit card. After running it through a machine, the salesman went back to the area behind the counter where the men were watching the TV and spoke with a swarthy-looking fellow who was on the thin side but all ropy muscle, bulging biceps, and angular facial features. That guy flashed a look over at the customer and nodded his head. He stood and moved toward a door at the end and inside the counter as the salesman guided the customer to a door on the storefront side of the counter.

When the swarthy guy went through the door behind the counter, a young blond guy in gym shorts and an athletic T came into the store through the same door. He was moving toward the section with the TV, when the salesman intercepted him and said something to him. Then the salesman called out "Vanilla Shake Number 6" and one of the guys sitting at the café tables stood. He went through the door the previous customer had gone through and the blond went out again through the door the swarthy guy had used.

I looked at Dwight, the question evident in my expression, and Dwight whispered back to me. "Customer tops; Caucasian bottom. You're not really interested in any of the shakes, though, are you? Or am I wrong. That's why we're here. It's all your choice. I may not like it if you pick any of the string candy, and, even though I caution against the cream filled, it's your choice; You were tested and I've brought the certificate. Remember, we both got tested. Maybe barebacking the first time is the best way—as long as it is safe. It's certainly the most incredible feel."

"The cream filled?" I asked. I had noted that the middle-aged customer and salesman had discussed that briefly.

"Bareback, customer bottoming," Dwight answered tersely. "Customer doing the barebacking is some form of ice cream Sunday, I think. But . . ."

"Oh," I responded.

I turned his attention back to the middle-aged customer, who was still hemming and hawing at the candy counter.

"Do you wish to make a selection, sir?" the salesman asked politely, only slightly seeming to be trying to jolly the man along in the transaction. "If you wish to think about it further, you are certainly welcome to sit at one of the tables over there. Or if there's a particular piece of candy you have spied over there in the television room, I would be more than happy to tell you what kind of candy it is. Some can be more than one kind of candy, I'm sure you'll be happy to know."

"Well . . . I wondered . . . I heard," the middle-aged man said, evidently having something in mind but not being able to get it out. "I've heard of there being something . . . well . . . very special on offer."

"Ah, yes," the salesman said, with a smile on his lips that didn't extend to his eyes. "Perhaps you are referring to what we have under the counter here. We have here our double-dipped chocolates. We usually offer them in various combinations: white covering either milk or dark chocolate with either a nut or cream center. Or there also are double-dip shakes or Sundays. We, of course, don't have all combinations at all times, but if this is your interest, we could see if we have what you want."

I felt myself beginning to tremble. Dwight looked at me, and I could tell he saw that I was figuring the codes out now. He leaned over and whispered, "Threesomes," anyway. I just nodded.

The middle-aged man was shaking his head though and looking a little perturbed.

"Or would you perhaps mean our very, very special cherry chocolates?" the salesman went on to ask.

The middle-aged man took a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped his forehead, but he was smiling. "Why, yes. That's exactly what I've heard about—that latter, the cherry chocolates. Do you . . .?"

"Why, yes. We do have just two on offer today. And a choice. White or milk chocolate." The salesman had half turned and he was gesturing over to the TV area, a finger pointing to the two young men of about my age, one Caucasian and one a light-skinned black, who were sitting and fidgeting and looking just slightly scared.

"Ah, yes. Nice, very nice. White . . . white chocolate, I do believe."

"Good choice," the salesman said. "A bit pricey though, of course."

"Do you take American Express?"

"Yes, yes, of course."

Moments later, credit card verified and signed for, the Caucasian youth went through the one door, the middle-aged man had gone through the other door, and the salesman approached Dwight and me.

"Yes, may I help you? Did you come for candy . . . or did you perhaps come to apply to be candy? I'm sure we would be happy to employ you—both of you. Shall I call the candymaker down?"

"Buying," Dwight said. "My young friend here is interested in some candy. But I understand there is a tour—for a fee? I want to make sure he chooses just exactly the candy he wants for his first time."

"His first time?" the salesman was practically salivating. "He has never had candy before? And such a handsome young man. Beautifully formed."

"No. Do you have such a tour—for a fee."

"Of course, we would be happy for you to tour what is being made in the way of candy at the moment. We have several varieties being prepared. And, this being the first time for our very . . . luscious . . . young friend here, we would be happy to waive the fees. Please, please, just go through that door over there and take your time watching the candy being prepared. There are several rooms in operation and there are one-way windows in the walls into the rooms from the corridor. Please, please make yourselves comfortable."

While Dwight and I were walking back toward the door in which the middle-aged man had recently entered, the salesman was scurrying off toward a door beyond the television waiting area.

As we were walking through the door, I said, "I already have made my choice. We don't really—"

"This is important, Jason," Dwight said. "There can only be one first time. I want you to be very, very sure. So I want you to see what is really involved in this."

The first room we looked into was where the Vanilla Shake Number 6 customer had gone into with the young blond man who had obviously gone straight from one session to the other. The blond was bent over a massage table, and the Number 6 customer was fucking him from behind in strong deep thrusts. The blond was gripping the edges of the table hard to keep himself in place. His head was turned away from the viewing wall, so Dwight and I had no idea how he was taking the thrusts, but customer Number 6 seemed to be enjoying himself.

In the next room, the swarthy man from the candy pool was fucking his customer in much the same vein, except that the customer's wrists and ankles were bound to hooks on the massage table and the swarthy string candy man had a riding crop that he was lightly beating on the customer's buttocks as he fucked him from behind. There were thin red welts already across the customer's back and his butt cheeks and he was making a good bit of noise.

The third room was where the middle-aged man and the Caucasian youth had gone. They were not very far into their session, but they had had time to strip and the youth was on his back on the massage table, and the middle-aged man, who was a little paunchy, but who had quite a thick and long—and very hard and rosy red—cock was standing on a stool that put his pelvis at the level of the youth's butt cheeks. The youth's near leg was hanging down over the foot of the massage table and the man was holding his other leg up and out with a fist around the youth's ankle. The man's dick head was just inside the rim of the youth's hole, and the youth was panting hard and arching his back and scrabbling at the edges of the massage table with his white-knuckled hands. He was crying out and groaning and moaning loud enough to be heard in the corridor.

I watched in fascination, knowing that this would soon be me too. I welcomed it; I had been looking forward to it, and only Dwight's strict substitute parenting had made me wait until now. Well, that and I didn't want to do anything that might have taken Dwight away from me. I could never be sure what my mother would do—whether she would make another stab at "saving" me even after I'd turned eighteen, even though I had told her in no uncertain terms what I wanted out of life.

As Dwight and I watched, the man managed to work his dick inside the virginal hole several inches. The youth was writhing and begging for mercy, but when the man half-heartedly asked him if he should stop or at least take it slower, the youth cried out "no"—that he could not get his fee unless the candymaker was assured that the customer had gotten full value and that the youth had applied for this.


The Candy Shop



Bella had spent the last thirty minutes walking from one end of the alley to the other and still no sign of number sixty nine. The address was very clearly printed on the flyer she had found at the previous night's rave and having gone to the extraordinary bother of getting out of bed early this morning to visit the sweet shop she was rapidly losing her cool. 

"This is fucking ridiculous. What's the point of having a shop no one can find. Especially a confectionery store. Fucking outrageous!"

Bella was not by nature a patient girl. Very much the product of her upbringing she was accustomed to life having a certain pace and ease of access, after all that's what search engines were for, wasting time and effort actually looking for something seemed very twentieth century. Her new shoes were starting to pinch just a tiny bit. She had dressed quickly this morning, it had only taken just over an hour to choose her outfit and to carefully ensure everything fitted and matched perfectly. It had seemed a perfect opportunity to try out the pair of Iron Fist Star-ship Platform Booties that had arrived fresh from California the day before.

"You looking for the Sweet Shop?"

The interruption to her thought pattern made Bella jump. She looked at the girl and smiled the cookie sweet smile she reserved for occasions when she wasn't really happy, just being polite.

"It is really hard to spot the first time you visit."

The girl was dressed reasonably well. A bit punkie for Bella's tastes the Gothic Kera kimono dress was mainly black with mauve tartan trim and lace at the hem and a matching Obi. Worn with black knee socks and a pair of Demonia V Creepers the look worked.

"Hard? It's fucking invisible."

Bella wasn't inclined to mince her words. Her head was still thumping from the intense volume of J-Pop so recently pounded into her head and the candy low was starting to make her grumpy.

"Should I show you?"

The girls offer of directions was accompanied by a handful of sweet hearts.

"Thank you, yes please."

The words were mumbled through a mouthful of delicious sugary heaven.

"By the way my name is Cara."

"Nice to meet you Cara, I'm Bella."

"Yes you are. Bella, Bella, Bellissima!"

Cara lent forward, gave Bella a peck on each cheek then taking her by the hand headed into the alley.

Number sixty nine was between number sixty eight and number seventy, but of course it wasn't. The doorway was completely unnumbered and without any hint to what lay behind its very boring appearance, in fact it was totally nondescript. The color was an undistinguished brown, the glazed panels were dirty and the handle was rusty and when turned seemed to do little except rotate endlessly. However with a little patience and a lot of pressure the door creaked grudgingly inward to reveal a very glaring and bright light at the end of a dark corridor. Cara pulled Bella after her and they had reached halfway down the mysterious passage when the door slammed shut again behind them.

"Don't worry it closes automatically by sensor."

Cara's explanation seemed reasonable enough but Bella still shivered inexplicably.

"Don't say the obvious whatever you do."

Bella wondered what Cara meant and was still puzzling when they finally stepped into the Sweet Emporium proper.

"That's impossible. Its bigger on the inside!"

"They always say it Cara."

"Do you know everything Willy?"

"Just how to make very delicious and pleasurable sweets."

"Bella this is Willy Wonka. He owns the sweet shop."

The man was in his fifties, wore a very heavily smoked pair of sun glasses and a very striking brown top hat on a blond head of hair that matched His straggly soul patch perfectly. His clothes were a strange mix of Goth and Victorian in a style He would later explain to Bella was uniquely associated with Him and His siblings. Wonka took Bella's right hand in His and kissed the back, first taking the time to sniff each of her fingers with great interest.

"A great pleasure to meet you Bella. I hope you find My Emporium as pleasurable as I am sure I will find you."

The smile He gave as He spoke was somewhere between charming and creepy and Bella felt herself blush slightly as she felt His gaze burn into her flesh.

"Don't worry about anything Wonka says to you Bella, everything that happens here is always accompanied by the best candy."

As if to prove Cara's words Wonka magically produced a huge bowl of the most colorful skittles from thin air. Cara immediately grabbed a handful and started swallowing the yellow ones as fast as possible.

"Have some yellow ones quickly Bella they make you feel amazing."

Bella managed to take a dozen of the yellow before Cara had taken them all and following her lead popped as many in her mouth as was possible. The effect was instantaneous and totally amazing. The flavor was somewhere between banana and bubble gum but far sweeter and more delicious then anything she had ever experienced before. The strangest thing was the feeling of total contentment that seemed to overtake her whole anatomy, relaxing and fulfilling all at the same time. 

"Those are fucking supreme."

Bella had always had a terrible potty mouth and she couldn't help but cuss at least once every two sentences. Wonka smiled and shook His head then slapped her very hard across the face.

"Please don't swear again Bella."

Bella was surprised at her reaction. Rather than shrink back and feel threatened or violated she actually found the slap pleasurable. Somehow the flavor and texture of the candy was enhanced by the brutish sting to her cheek.

"Oh Willy that is incredible."

Wonka slapped her again, this time painting her cheeks left and right.

Bella felt so much pleasure she virtually creamed her panties. She felt Cara's arm slip around her waist and pull her into a close embrace.

"You see Bella I told you this place was amazing. You have only been here a few minutes and already you get free samples and a good bitch slapping. We girls are so lucky."

The journey from the Emporium sales floor to Wonka's private laboratory was a cosmic experience. Bella knew her candy, considered herself a child of "Candi Concepts" in all its forms and compulsive edibles, yet in those few short steps she witnessed creations of sugary fruit and confection flavored genius that escaped reason or description.

"The laboratory is where I invent all of My new creations." 

Wonka waved His hand towards the myriad of jars and glass containers that lined one wall. Each was filled to the brim with candy of every imaginable hue and shape with beautifully hand printed labels describing the varied ingredients. 

"Do we get to try them?"

Bella was very excited at the prospect of being a candy guinea pig.

"Well Bella normally that privilege is reserved for special occasions and girls particularly suited and qualified. You think Bella has the makings of a Wonka girl Cara?"

Cara smiled knowingly and casually began to undo Bella's bodice.

The candy bracelets fitted over her wrists and ankles perfectly. She particularly enjoyed exchanging luxuriant licks with Cara as they tasted each other jewelry accoutrements. Being spread-eagled against the wall was a new experience but one she found strangely comforting in her newly skittled psychological state of being.

The peppermint gobstopper in her mouth was delicious, the fact it was held in place by a leather strap and acted exactly as a ball gag was of no real significance. Even when Wonka had licked the boiled sugar plug and slipped it deeply into her anal sphincter she had no feelings of concern or fear. She was surrounded by tons of candy, delicious wonderful sweets of every flavor imaginable. Every new texture and taste was guaranteed to rock her world. Even when Wonka began the slow steady flagellation of her breasts with a flogger made from a wonderfully flavorsome mixture of Twizzlers and black liquorish strings she could do nothing but writhe in rapturous ecstasy. 

Cara had positioned herself between Bella's spread legs and was busy using a lollipop to coat her inner and outer labia lips with a rich layer of sumptuous strawberry flavoring. Having finally reached a satisfactory depth of red sheen Cara proceeded to lick every morsel from the now swollen flashy outcrops. Bella found it quite easy to climax at every few laps of Cara's very inquisitive tongue, building steadily towards a good heavy squirting that was bound to follow.

Wonka had criss crossed Bella's breasts in a perfect design of red and black chequering, aesthetically the effect was beyond beautiful, bordering on the orgasmic. Willy might easily have considered becoming more physically involved in the encounter than as simple deliverer of percussive highlights but was fully engrossed in watching Cara accomplish such an extraordinary linguistic display. The girls tongue had a life all its own and was a marvel in its length and agility. 

Stepping back momentarily from His flogging, if only to rest His arm for an instant Wonka was happy to enjoy the unrestricted view He now had of Cara's perfectly shaped upper thighs and ass. Gladly she was a follower of the 'sans culottes' movement and the curves of her vulva and anal cleft were unrestricted by unnecessary enclosure. He noted that the rather beautiful piercing of her hood was adorned with a jewel of His own design, having three pear drops suspended from a fine silver chain. The pleasure of sucking on those sugary dangling's could only be enhanced by the sensual aroma of the moist female genitalia millimeters away.

Stooping forward Wonka ran a finder down the groove of Cara's ass from the small of her back to the tight core of her anal bud. He was rewarded by the most welcoming wink as His fingertip settled on the hopeful sphincter and of course took the opportunity to insert the first joint of His digit into its warm embrace. Cara gripped the infringing distal phalange with all her might and Wonka watched amazed as a stream of drips fell to the floor below her suddenly gaping vulva. Cara was on heat and the boiler pressure valve was releasing steadily.

Wonka shrugged and began to undo His pants. Sometimes penetration is the only real answer.

"Hello sweetie." 

The voice made Him jump and He almost managed to ensnare His now firmly erect penis in the hastily refastened zipper.

"Damned twentieth century inventions."

"Did I catch you doing the dirty my dear?"

"Just carrying out a little experiment with a couple of prospective companions River."

"You really are a dirty little Doctor aren't you."

Wonka blushed and hastily adjusted His bow-tie.

"Got to pass the time somehow River. Forever is a really long time you know and humans do like their urban legends as perverted as possible."

"Well for goodness sake don't put it away now its got quite so exactly the way I like it sweetie."

In one movement River managed to accomplish dropping to her knees, unfastening Wonka's pants and taking His stiff member deep in her throat. 

"Oh yes River such a long time."

"Two centuries at least dearie."

Wonka grabbed her golden curly hair and pushed the plump lips back around His shaft.

"Back into the wormhole then."

Bella's eyes focused on the thick rod as it pummeled Rivers mouth. Whomever the woman was she certainly knew how to suck cock. She could see the tip distend her throat at its deepest seeming to cause an artificial Adams apple to appear momentarily. Cara was busy cleaning the last of the sugary essence from Bella's inner labia and her tongue had started making inroads deeper into the vaginal canal. Bella was really close to the last station called 'squirtsville' and her urethra was preparing for full evacuation.

Reaching down River slipped two fingers into her own vagina and began a steady rhythmic thrusting guaranteed to produce a full on orgasm. She carefully controlled the speed and depth of Wonka's thrusts so as to get unison in the big bang fast approaching. Cara was rubbing her clitoris hard, occasionally removing her hand far enough away to give herself a good hard pussy slap.

Bella was the first to explode. Her bladder emptied exactly in unison with a huge cervical push and the full force of her outpourings caught Cara full in the face. Cara reacted as all good girls should by immediately squirting long and hard onto the floor below her causing a sudden flood of wetness to stream across to where River was kneeling. Whether it was the feel of hot liquid on her knees or her own frantic fingering its difficult to say but Rivers vulva spread and emptied into the general lake of mixed bodily fluids. Wonka let go. Head back mouth open the full force of His ejaculation rifled down Rivers throat to settle hot and salty in the pit of her stomach. 

Cara collapsed forward, face pushed into Bella's cunt, Bella hung from her candy bracelets fighting for breathe, River swallowed and slurped happily on the sucker of her heart's desire and Wonka stood amidst the carnal devastation of His wildest imaginings and giggled contentedly.