X Factor 1

Colette

Danii grew up in an expat family in France. Her American father was a diplomat and got posted in various countries. His specialization was French -- because of his days as a professor in French -- before he chose the diplomatic services.

His proficiency in French history, literature, and most importantly socio-politics zeitgeist was used optimally by the Department of States when they placed him in various French-speaking nations. He started with a junior deputy in Canada, then was moved to Haiti before being sent to Africa, where he married in Ivory Coast, and then became second-in-charge in France eventually to be an Ambassador in Switzerland. His longest stint was in France and his last in Switzerland.

Somewhere during the late 1990s, Danii was born soon after Bruce married Mariam, an employee of the US embassy in Cote d'Ivoire.

Danii's primary education started in Africa, and she did most of her schooling in France. When her parents moved to Switzerland, she stayed back to finish college.

During her early days in college, where her personality grew immensely, she met Susie. Both almost immediately hit it off as soon as they met. Susie was a bold, bright, and colorful character. Danii, on the other hand, a soft-spoken, milder, and immaculately well-groomed. Tentative for only a few days when they bunked together, Susie instantly took charge and put Danii at ease within a matter of days. Susie had this aura around her that was almost magnetic.

Their friendship was based on mutual attraction towards each other. The fact that Susie was a lesbian did not bother Danii. Even with limited sexual experiences with men, and only one kiss with a girl, she herself was leaning, though undecided, in her orientation; she was confused, one could say. Susie ensured Danii had no reason to look the other direction.

Their sex was beautiful, fiery, and sensual at the same time. Susie brought passion and experience into the relationship, and Danii complemented it with elegance and charm. They made one helluva couple. Everyone in their large group loved their bond. There was no doubt they were going to go a long way, together.

Danii studied hospitality at the university, and Sophie was in the culinary sciences. Their meeting was originally on this account.

Susie was born to a split home with her mother separated from her father. Her family owned a few restaurants, and she had virtually grown around the food business, and it was natural for her. She stayed with her mother and sometimes with her father but almost always strayed to their restaurants. She just loved the vibe.

By the time they were in their third year, they had shifted into an apartment together out of the campus accommodations. They were both interning at different businesses -- Sophie in the kitchen of a high-end restaurant and Danii at a large hotel.

By the time they graduated, it was all but decided that both would open a restaurant together. It was only during these deliberations did Danii realize that Susie also came from money. She herself was well-off and had her parents support, being the only child.

Their only question was the format and location. One wanted a stand-out French bistro, and the other wanted a Bar. They spent another couple of months working at their respective internships before deciding on their venture. During this time, they went researching around the various parts of Paris and checked out various formats of establishments.

It was while circling around Le Marais area that the decision was made unanimously, at one of the hippest bars there.

Their restaurant opened in the suburbs of Paris. Their guinguette styled bar was every bit exceptional. For starters, it had an English name -- X-Factor. There was a lot of debate between Danii and Susie that it could well be named Facteur-X in French.

Eventually, the emphasis of X at the beginning won the argument. They hired a large mansion in the suburbs and got about setting up the place. Danii in charge of the interiors, decor, and equipment, and Susie took over the cuisine, the kitchen, and the bar.

———

Let me introduce myself.

Hi, my name is Colette, and I am a journalist in one of France's popular magazines, 'Well, Well, Well.'

Having done my master's in journalism, I first worked at Le Figaro. I hated the grind there and eventually left it to join WWW. I get to keep my own hours here and love the vibe. Everyone loves everyone at WWW. Two years ago, at 28, I became a Deputy Editor. As a result of my position, I am off from the field duties and usually do op-eds besides editing the works of my juniors.

Well, Well, Well. had already done two stories on X-Factor over the last six months, and as usual, when the restaurant or a club is new, it tends to get more coverage; until the next one comes along.

But the talk about X-Factor grew heavier instead of dying down.

"You must check it out yourself once," Angie told me.

Angie was my boss, and she knew I was bi-sexual without a steady partner at the moment. My fling with her had lasted less than a fortnight.

"Do I really have to? I have seen them all." I grumbled.

"I am sure you will like it. Plus, we need to have a deeper view of what is this new craze about X-Factor." Angie replied.

Without waiting for my response, she added, "I want you to write a smarter piece about them, and it can't be done without getting our eyes inside. Do it."

My mouth was open in response, reacting to not merely advice but also the order.

Before I could say anything, she went on, "they don't have a reservation until three months, and I had to really pull strings to get you a table there on Wednesday." We were on a Monday.

"Okay, if you say so." I artificially acquiesced, even though she had me intrigued now.

———

My reservation was solo, and the management of X-Factor knew who was coming, and my name was already at the door.

A smart looking, tall, and slightly heavy hostess welcomed me with a warm smile, and I entered a typical club entrance, which was tunnel-shaped and dark. Neon lights in a strip lined on both sides of the tunnel floor to give it a club effect. The music wasn't loud but high enough for the incoming guests to feel the mood inside.

The fact that I was entering a Lesbian club and restaurant was known to me, yet unlike a typical club, the ambience made it amply clear that this place was for the affluent only.

Right after the entrance, another gorgeous hostess took over and was even more beautiful and sultry. She welcomed me as if she knew me for many days and held both my hands in hers, instantly putting me at ease.

I still couldn't see the club yet; we were standing in the reception area. Pulling our hands sideways and out of the way, she looked me over from head to toe, admiring my dress and complimenting me, "Magnifique, Colette," she said excitedly.

The compliment did me good. I replied, "merci." Not wondering how she had gathered my name but appreciating her professionalism that she remembered the names of their expected guests as they arrived.

I had chosen one of the few party dresses I owned, a black number that reached my thighs and flowed a little after reaching my hips.

"May I?" she asked before bending down on her knees.

I stood surprised, not understanding what she wanted, but said, "a..hm," half nodding.

She went down on her knees, and a moment later, had her fingers hooked into the elastic of my panty from under my dress. My smallish buttocks providing no impedance. Before I could collect myself and react, my panties were around my knees, even as I twisted my ankles automatically to resist the downing of my modesty.

She looked up into my questioning eyes and said, "You won't be needing these for a while tonight." Her hands didn't stop despite the feeble defense that my legs provided. She managed to do it all without exposing me.

By the time the panty was on the ankle, I had little option but to let go and lifted one foot at a time to give her my panty. Even though no one could see my naked quim, a small waft of cool air ensured I was conscious of my nudity under the dress. Even as I was looking around the room in embarrassment, she picked a white plastic pouch from her podium and pushed the panty inside after sniffing it briefly while looking into my eyes.

She rolled the pouch and handed it to me as she stepped closer. Dangerously close.

If I was anxious before, now I was nervous. If she was trying to put me to ease, she was miserably failing.

She was beautiful, and I had a strong impulse to lean forward and kiss her, as she stood a few inches in front with our breasts touching. One of her hands holding one of mine while her other hand pulled my lower back towards her.

I was resisting, she could tell. She was not going to force. That there was electric energy between us, was apparent. I was in a double mind if this was artificial because it was her job, and yet my gut told me the moment we were having was indeed real.

Waiting a moment longer than she ideally should have as a hostess, without getting a response but still enthusiastic, she led me on.

She continued to hold my hand and lead the way through a small group of girls dancing on the floor that we had to cross to reach the bar. I felt more than one hand on my body as we snaked our way past the dance floor.

The instant feeling I got from the landscape was that of a luxurious mansion having a party and not a club or a restaurant.

When we reached the bar, she asked, "Would you like to have a drink while I have someone get your table ready?"

"Sure," I replied, not thinking twice about it.

She nodded at the bartender -- a pretty young girl -- who was moving about briskly. It was her dress that caught my eye first. A tight corset and knickers, both made of fine mesh fabric showcasing everything that she had, on a proud display.

Having done my rounds around Parisian clubs and bars, especially LGBT ones, I have seen my share of skin. I silently welcomed myself to the known terrain.

Before the beautiful hostess left me alone to get back to her post, she offered me to sit on a unique bar-stool. I looked at the bar-stool with skepticism and absorbed the seat of the stool. The bar-stool was shaped like a saddle, and below it was a sturdy thick pole. The seat of the saddle has an eight-or-so inch long cylindrical tube affixed. The tube was horizontally fixed on the saddle with a girth of about two inches.

With a light breeze keeping my pussy lightly aired, I instantly gathered what was going to happen if I did sit on the stool. The tube on the saddle would line up against my pussy if I sat on it with legs on either side. My naked pussy lips, which were quivering now, started pulsing in anticipation. I looked around and then looked up to see the hostess smiling back at me.

Understanding my dilemma, she coaxed me to go ahead. "Don't worry. I assure you, you'll love it."

I tentatively looked around and saw two other girls sitting on similar stools, laughing and chatting amongst themselves.

With silent nodding between the bartender and hostess, I now had two ladies motivating me to go ahead.

Without seeming to chicken out, I hesitantly moved forward to sit on the stool.

At the right moment, the hostesses' hand appeared behind me to ensure the tail of my dress was out of the way, removing any layer between my pussy and the tube.

It was obvious, and I had no option but to nest the tube between my pussylips, else it would be a weirdly uncomfortable seat for even a minute.

Before I sat on the tube, my dress was pulled back just in time. Immediately on touch down, I felt a warm tubular length find the groove of my pussy. The tube itself was warm and firm, and its surface was smooth.

The beautiful hostess touched my shoulder and asked if I was comfortable and that she had to reach the reception, leaving me in the company of the bartender, who seemed to know already what I wanted, and offered me a drink without taking my order.

As soon as I sat, I had this urge to adjust myself sufficiently and discreetly to ensure the tube was nestled along the pussy's length. I did that ever so slowly until the length was embedded between the length of my pussylips.

I nodded an appreciation towards the bartender and said, "merci."

She smiled back a pleasant "welcome" and moved ahead to her chores.

As soon as she turned, I moved my left hand under my dress and adjusted the pussy lips further to envelope the tube, horizontally between the lips. I touched the material to understand the texture but gave up, feeling awkward with my hand under the dress.

Apart from the apparent purpose of the saddle, a palpable difference was the warm feeling that it sent up through my pussy. It was not too hot, definitely not cold but just mildly warm. The position surprisingly was comfortable given that I was sitting on a saddle for the first time in my life, that too with a bare pussy.

I picked the drink and absorbed the environs. The saddle seat could turn on its pedestal, and I turned it around to soak in the surroundings. Barely a few feet from me, a group of girls were dancing and, not surprisingly, were way-too-close to each other; only one couple had some respectable distance between them.

Girls dancing with one-another were not alien to me, especially in a lesbian club. I had seen hundreds. I kept looking further and found on the far side of the room, set along the wall, were about seven-to-eight semi-circle tables with approximately four-to-six person sitting. All the tables were full.

I looked up, and the high ceiling gave a clear indication that there was another floor to this establishment.

I kept turning around and saw well-lit stairs on another end of the hall I was in. By the time I was full circle, the bartender was in front of me, free from her chores, catching up with me.

She asked, "This seems to be your first visit here?" Not really a question, gathering from my inquisitive swirl around, she figured.

'Yes." I didn't know how else to respond. My first drink finished faster than it should have, and she happily refilled it without asking.

"You are very beautiful," she offered.

Appreciating the compliment, I said, "well thank you. You also look great." The bartender had a slightly wry smile on her face as if she had heard this before, and she was used to the compliments.

The tube lining my pussy was warming up, I don't know -- if it was my body heat or from some of its internal mechanism, but I was certain it was warmer than when I had initially clasped it between my pussylips.

In front of me was a half-globe shaped object, the other half of which was embedded inside the bar top. That it was a control of some kind, I was certain because it had characters on both ends.

The bartender saw me eyeing the control, and before I could ask what it was, she chose to demonstrate.

She raised her hand on the half-globe and centered her palm on the globe. As soon as she twisted her hand to the right slowly, the tube under my pussy started buzzing very lightly. The connection was established. She slowly turned her hand almost all the way to the end, by which time the vibration inside my pussy was hard enough to throw me off the saddle.

Thankfully she chose to keep it on the high mode for only merely a couple of seconds, but long enough to drive me crazy. She smiled wide on seeing my reaction, and her face showed a content smile she enjoyed every time she introduced the control, live, to first-timers on the saddle.

My drink was all but forgotten; I was playing with the control for I don't know how long.

As I excitedly worked the control, leaking profusely now, two girls sitting at the bar -- a couple of saddles away from me -- joined me.

"Hi" the blond, younger one offered first.

"Hello," I responded headily, smiling wider than I should have.

The senior of the two, a brunette, did not volunteer a greeting but just nodded, her arm around the young beauty.

Even as I was chatting with the pair, a few minutes later, the beautiful hostess came up to me and offered, "Colette, your table is ready."

I was disappointed to lose my saddle, and even more than that, I was embarrassed to leave a wet trail of sticky goo on it.

Before I got up, I ensured the girls were bid adieu. As soon as they turned, I got up and picked a tissue from the bar to clean up what I was leaving behind.

The beautiful hostess volunteered and said, "Please don't worry, Colette, we have a system here, and it takes care of hygiene in everyone's interest."

Oddly enough, I was not embarrassed about wetting the saddle while waiting for my table. The superb French wine I had, did loosen me somewhat, but more than that free-flowing juices must have contributed to my light-headedness.

The beautiful hostess had a way about her that made me very comfortable. Her hand again found mine, and with fingers interlocked, she led me to the table. This was the girl who had her hands under my dress less than an hour earlier, I reminded myself.

She escorted me to the farthest end of the room towards the tables along the wall; I was given the center from the row of seven tables. The semi-circle sofa itself could accommodate six. I would have probably not have looked down on the sofa lining the table, had the beautiful hostess not held on to my hand, providing me with some resistance as I moved forward to sit down.

To understand why she was not releasing my hand, instead of letting me go on to sit, she silently spoke with her eyes and signaled towards the sofa.

To say I was surprised would be an understatement. The sofa was made of a red shiny leather kind of material. The sofa itself was partially hidden by the table, but it was bright enough for me to absorb what lay in front of me.

The six-seater sofa in semi-circle shape had two kinds of cushions, laid in alternate. A simple cushion, which seemed plush leatherette, and then one with a nub of about three inches raised upwards towards the ceiling, it was about a little less than two inches in girth. Its function was almost blatantly clear -- It was a tiny dick.

I could either choose to sit on a normal cushion, or I could move to the one with a tiny dick. Having experienced the saddle at the bar, I was almost sure this one would do wonders inside the pussy as well.

Without much ado, I slithered in and took the seat with the dick, two cushions in, away from the public view. I looked up towards the beautiful hostess, who was beaming with delight at my choice. She wasn't judgmental but glad about my decision. Her hand left mine only when I was sitting, and before she let it go, she bent down a little and pulled my hand to her lips and kissed it lightly before releasing it back to me.

As soon as she left, I was squirming to find my comfortable position. The tiny dick was high between my thighs, almost touching my pussylips. I looked around the restaurant to see if anyone was paying attention to me. No one was.

I kept looking around consciously before taking my right hand under the table and up my skirt, eventually touching both my wet pussylips and the nub. The texture of the nub was smooth yet firm; I only had a tinge of disappointment with its size but was happy with the gadget's placement.

I guided the nub inside my lips as if it were a man's. It held firm, and eventually, I had to adjust my butt to yield it inside. Moments later, the nub was placed about three inches inside me, and on their way back up, my fingers caressed my clitoris, getting a whimper from my throat.

Conscious of not trying to finger myself in a public place, I kept both my hands on the table, knowing very well the waitresses or servers would obviously know where I was sitting and with what inside me.