The World Is Mine For The Taking

People kept staring, their eyes burning into us while we sat at our table, waiting for our order. The atmosphere felt suffocating, thick with a tension I couldn't quite decipher. Was it curiosity? Jealousy? Maybe something caught between the two. Whatever it was, it hung heavy in the air.

Some people, the ones who just wanted to enjoy their drinks in peace, shifted uncomfortably. The awkwardness must have been unbearable because a few got up and left, muttering they couldn't handle it anymore.

But the others? The ones whose eyes never left us? They stayed, glued to the spectacle we'd become. The waiter, helpless, kept glancing over, but he couldn't do shit. These men, with their thick, greasy muscles, were paying customers too.

So the staff could only watch in defeat, while the regulars—real customers—shrank back, fear painted across their faces, intimidated by the sight of these hulking men in what was supposed to be a warm, cozy pub.

And the reason for all this silent chaos? She didn't give a damn. Even though it was obvious she knew exactly what was going on, she acted like it didn't bother her at all. She was six years older than me, and no lie—she was absolutely stunning. Calling her gorgeous almost felt like an insult because she was something more, something untouchable, like a goddess that had descended from above.

That was my raw, honest opinion.

Her long, flowing purple hair framed her face like it was sculpted by the gods themselves. Her glasses perched perfectly on her nose, adding this mysterious edge to her already flawless look. Normally, she dressed sharp—always in a suit with a crisp white blouse underneath, paired with a pencil skirt and black tights that clung to her legs in just the right way.

The first time I saw her here, she'd toned it down, wearing something modest, like she was trying not to stand out. But now? She was showing off, full-on owning every bit of attention she got. If I were just some average guy, I'd probably be drooling over her right now.

"So, how's my look?" she asked

"Well, you certainly outdid yourself this time," I said, eyeing her from head to toe. She looked unreal, every detail of her outfit and demeanor screaming elegance and seduction.

"Well, of course," she replied smoothly, her lips curling into a teasing smirk. "It is a special occasion, after all."

I had no idea why she thought meeting me here was a special occasion, but I didn't bother to question it. There was no point in trying to make sense of it.

Soon enough, our food arrived. The waiter carefully placed each dish on the table, his hands trembling slightly. Irene looked up at him and said, "Thank you."

Something about the way she said those two simple words—soft, almost like a purr—was intoxicating. It was so naturally seductive that it sent a shiver down my spine. Was she doing this on purpose? Given the scene she was already creating, I wouldn't be surprised. The poor waiter didn't stand a chance. He stumbled back, trying to play it cool, but the way he hunched over made it obvious.

He probably had a raging hard-on just from hearing her voice.

He retreated, still bent over, trying to save what little dignity he had left. But Irene? She didn't care. She didn't even glance at him again. All of her attention was locked on me now, and the intensity in her gaze was undeniable.

"Aren't you lucky," she purred, leaning forward slightly, "to be on a date with a fine lady like me, Leon?" Her smile was pure seduction, her eyes daring me to look anywhere else.

"No one who calls themselves a fine lady is actually a fine lady," I shot back. "But yeah, I'll admit—I'm pretty lucky."

And it wasn't just luck. How often do you get a gorgeous, sexy woman like her? Not to mention she was my professor. There was something unbelievably hot about it. It was the kind of situation most guys could only fantasize about.

"Well," she continued, her voice dropping lower, dripping with lust, "I'm lucky too, to have someone as handsome as you tonight."

She was turning the dial all the way up, going from seduction to straight-up flattery. And damn, it was working. I could feel my heart starting to pound in my chest, my blood heating up.

Around us, the tension in the pub was thick enough to choke on. The guys who had been staring couldn't hide their reactions any longer. Their faces flushed with desire, and a few of them bent over in their seats, obviously trying to hide the bulges in their pants. I couldn't blame them. Irene was making all the right moves, and everyone around us was getting caught in her web.

"Well, let's dig in before it gets cold," she said, picking up her fork.

I followed her lead. For a while, the only sound between us was the soft clanking of utensils against plates. My eyes kept drifting to her, and the way her throat moved whenever she swallowed had me entranced. Each movement seemed to spark something primal inside me. I wanted to fuck her. And judging by the way every other guy in here was looking at her, I wasn't the only one.

But none of them could—only I could.

She caught me staring, and her lips curved into a seductive smile. Then, I heard a faint sound from beneath the table, like a shoe slipping off. My heart started pounding when I felt something press against my crotch. The table was draped in a thick linen cloth, concealing everything beneath it, but I could already guess what was happening.

Slowly, I glanced under the cloth and saw her foot sliding against me.

Her eyes stayed locked on mine, her smile widening as she pressed her foot harder against my groin. I swallowed hard. This was risky as hell, especially with everyone in the pub already watching us. It felt like too much, even for me.

But fuck it—I decided to roll with it.

With my heart racing, I discreetly unzipped my pants and let my dick out. A moment later, I felt the soft, delicate pressure of her foot against it, rubbing me under the table.