We have a nice little nightclub in our neighbourhood. It used to be a picture theatre, becoming a warehouse when videos drove the theatre out of business. The warehouse closed down and for a few years the place sat idle. Then some bright spark decided to make it a nightclub and it's been doing a nice little business.
Having mainly local custom the place was basically a bar with dancing and fancy lights. That suited the normal clientele quite nicely.
One night the nightclub was discovered. We were invaded by a bunch of pretentious yuppies, apparently wanting to see how the other half play. The general opinion of the locals was that the yuppies were a bunch of arrogant turds and we'd just as soon they went back where they came from.
As far as I could tell, the yuppies considered the locals to be an inferior life-form that might vaguely be considered human, but were to be condescended to. They didn't actually pat anyone on the head and say, good boy, but you got the sense that they were thinking it. Got right up the nose of some of the boys. It was a wonder that a couple of the yuppies didn't get invited out the back for a discussion on attitude. (Actually, I think they probably were, but they had too much sense to accept the invitation.)
Mind you, some of the women they brought with them weren't half bad. Not the type of young lady you'd be in a hurry to kick out of your bed if you found her there. Not that it was likely to happen the way they seemed to regard us. We were a step above brutish animals from the way they reacted when you tried to con one into a dance. This attitude wasn't helped by Barry. Mister Smooth actually charmed one lovely lass onto the dance floor and spent the dance groping her. She was lucky to get off the dance floor with her dress still on, and she was not backward about letting her opinion be known.
Out behind the main room of the old theatre was a corridor with the facilities, office, and storerooms. It was really a very nice corridor, fitted up as befitted a picture theatre. No crappy old plaster for this corridor. It had wood panelling, oak, would you believe, and the owner actually spent some money having the wood waxed and polished.
I happened to be coming along the corridor when there was this yuppy chick there. She was taking a good look at the old panelling, apparently appreciating the workmanship.
"The panelling dates from when the place was a picture theatre," I told her. "The owner likes it and keeps it polished."
"It's awfully good," she said. "This type of thing is far better than the dreary plaster or instant walls that most places have. It's a pity it's so expensive to do this sort of work these days."
"The office and the Wanna room have the same sort of panelling," I told her. "It's really something to see."
She blinked, looking slightly puzzled.
"Um, what's the Wanna room?"
"Oh, that's what we call that room over there," I said, indicating a stockroom. "It's open to the public if you would like to see the panelling."
"Um, I wouldn't mind," she admitted, and I steered her over to the stockroom and let her in.
It was pretty obvious that the room was just a stockroom, even if it did have some excellent panelling.
"Why does a stockroom have such nice panelling? I'd have thought the owner would have it pulled out and sold it. He could make a tidy sum on the wood."
"The cost of replacing it would be more than you think. This used to be an office and this room and the actual office are both soundproofed. Again, that dates back to the picture theatre. The people in the offices didn't want to hear the shows all the time."
"Oh. Ah, why do you call this room the Wanna room? Does the name mean something?"
"Oh, yes. This is where the hot-blooded young men bring their girlfriends when they wanna spend some quality time with them. That's why I let you in here. I wanna spend some quality time with you."
"Um, flattering," she said with a laugh, "but I don't even know you so, if it's all the same to you, I'll pass up your offer."
"It's not all the same to me and it wasn't exactly an offer."
I was looking her over, enjoying the sight of her. She was young and attractive, dressed for a night out. Her dress was short with shoelace straps and I suspected that she wasn't wearing a bra.
I guess she read my intentions in the way I was looking at her.
"No way," she stated firmly.
"Yes way," I said, smiling. "I'm going to lift up your dress, pull down your panties, and roughly fuck you. It will be interesting."
"If you so much as lay a finger on me I will scream"
"No, you won't," I told her, sounding quietly confident.
"What the hell makes you think that?"
"Partly because I just pointed out that this room is sound-proofed. Partly because you're curious. If you scream and run away you'll always wonder, what would have happened if I'd stayed? The curiosity will eat at you. What will it be like if this man grabs me and just takes me, no matter what I want? Where else can you find yourself in a situation where you're going to be raped, but in a relatively safe environment?"
"How can you use the words rape and safe in the same sentence? Do you seriously think I'm going to let some uncouth brute just grab me?"
"This uncouth brute is not only going to grab you, he's going to use you in the way a man is supposed to use a woman. I won't be making gentle love to you. I'll be taking you."
"Oh, wow, so macho," she said with more than a touch of sarcasm. "I'm surprised that you haven't whipped your cock out to impress me with your manly attributes."
"That would be crude, but by all means, feel free to unzip me and see what you will be getting."
Her eyes flicked down to my crotch and a rather noticeable bulge. She blushed and looked elsewhere, glaring at me when she saw me smirk.
"You're being ridiculous. If you'll excuse me, I'm leaving."
She didn't, however, make any effort to move around me. She just stood there, looking at me defiantly. I moved nearer and she backed up, all the way to that nice panelling. I reached down and hitched up her dress, exposing her panties.
"Stop it. You can't do this," she protested.
