Mari
	©by C
Ranald Bjrrnssen had wanted to know Mari Okara far better for several months, ever since he had met her at the walk-in clinic where he worked as registrar. She had come there in her position as a social worker, checking up on a client who, she said, was being treated for an STD but had failed to show at the client’s regular clinic. At that point Mari was searching all the city clinics’ records, as well as hoping against hope to run across the delinquent girl soon, with luck.

Ranald, as the non-medical person in charge,  was able to tell her that there was no record of such a person at the clinic and she went on her way, but not before Ranald had been captivated by her rather esoteric good looks and her contralto tones.

It was not that Mari was stunning (except to Ranald), but there was a certain something about the way she carried herself, her voice as she spoke authoritatively to the junior clerk (until Ranald intervened), and her pleasant manner when she was confronted by a person with at least as much charisma as she. That’s why Ranald considered them to be two of a kind, 

Ranald had the thought, a week later, probably far too late, to phone the social service agency where Mari had said she worked. The trouble was that Ranald did not remember the complete name — possibly not even the correct one — and therefor spent a good hour of his clinic’s time in an increasingly desperate search through the telephone book. At the seventh agency listing, he struck “pay dirt” of a sort.

As he had feared, he was too late. Mari Okara had left the agency on the previous Friday, not leaving any address or phone number. She had, however....

Ranald could not believe his luck. She had left him a message. The receptionist at the agency read it to him — quite softly, in a completely disinterested voice. “Bjrrnssen, I will meet you at the Public Library on Tuesday at 3:00 p.m. Okara.”

* * * * *

Ran dressed in evening togs for his first date with Ms Okara. He meant to impress her with his savoir faire, his knowledge of the “better” restaurants of ths city and his perfect manners toward one and all. He had also in mind a very ambitious program which would conclude with her making ecstatic love to him at his apartment. Since it was early afternoon, he was not fool enough to display his dinner jacket and striped trousers without covering this glory with a lightweight black raincoat and his slicked back hair with a slouch brimmed fedora, also black. He rather considered himself a dashing figure, concealed dinner outfit and all.

The weather was cool and rainy, so his appearance was not at all outlandish. In fact, when he saw Okara, she too was wearing a stylish black raincoat, black stockings (or tights?) And black sensible shoes, heels no higher than two inches.

“Good afternoon, Ms. Okara,” he managed before her face flowered in a pleasant grin and she took his arm almost before he could offer it to her.

“Mr. Bjrrnssen . . . is that Swedish?” « No, it’s Danish!  he thought »  

“It is so nice of you to meet me, Ranald. I want you to be my guest at my very special club . . . I am certain that you will enjoy your experience.”

“How . . . how very nice of you, Ms. Okara . . . may I . . . Mari? . . . Mari, I had hoped to take you to dinner at Les Roulades.” Les Roulades was a newly-opened and very posh restaurant.

“Oh, dear, I would not like to upset your plans, but my club has certain facilities for after meals that perhaps you should really . . . “

”Of course, Mari, let’s go anywhere you like. But . . .”

“‘But?’”

“But I had hoped you would be my guest at dinner . . . and perhaps enjoy a rare liqueur with me after dinner at my apartment. . . “

”I hate to spoil any plans like that you have, Ranald, dear . . .” « his mind considered that he’d made his conquest with that “dear” » “ . . . but I had made reservations at the club, thinking you’d be more than pleased to visit such an exclusive establishment.”

“Certainly, then, I shall be delighted. But on our next date, I insist that I be the host.”

“Surely.” « If there needs to be a “next date,” Ran my boy. »

“Is it too early to go . . . oh! it is within walking distance, perhaps?”

“No, I fear it is some distance from here. Let me signal a cab, Ran, and we’ll ride in style. It will take us about an hour, so our dinner dress will be quite B la mode when we arrive.” Ran was thrilled. 

His manhood had manifested itself halfway, and in that state it was to occupy part of his attention for the remainder of that ride and halfway through dinner.

The dining room where Ran found himself holding Mari’s chair as she seated herself was not crowded. There were several couples, the women outstandingly beautiful to Ranald’s critical eyes, the men handsome, quiet and not seeming to speak often, but very attentive to their companion’s every word..

Ran found himself fascinated by Mari’s knowledge and conversation about a number of things, places and people whom he would have dearly loved to have known or seen himself. Despite that brilliant conversation, Mari seemed to be clumsy before and during dinner. She managed to spill part of her drink on Ran’s trousers, she made him drop a lighted match (when one of the table candles needed relighting) on his sleeve, and she lost her napkin several times during the course of the meal. Each time, Ranald, acting as the perfect gentleman and aspiring lover, deprecated the damage, or as gracefully as possible retrieved the offending cloth.

At last, the meal finally brought to a not too disastrous conclusion, Mari ordered what she told Ranald was the specialty of the house, a “truly remarkable, very soothing, after dinner drink.”  

“Rannie dear, try this. It will make you very ready for love, my dear, and very acceptable to me.

“I know, love, I’ve dropped things, burned you poor coat, asked you to do too many things for me, but this is when you are to enjoy yourself . . .as well as make me very happy. Drink it all at once, please, it is so much more . . . it is better that way.”

“Mari. I will gladly do anything for you . . .”

Ranald drank the smooth, slightly peppermint tasting offering right down. He felt nothing, the liquid had no taste, but as he set the glass down he found himself regarding Mari in a new light. No longer a woman he was about to make love to . . . 

She was the reason for his existence, was she not? Her voice reminded him of bells, bells that had once regulated his days and nights.  Her every move was a symphony of the dance, her every utterance like the chimes of a lovely distant carillon. Now she chimed,

“Come, Rannie, we go to play together, and to give us joy.” She rose and led the ay to a comfortable room not far from where they had eaten.

Ranald licked his lips, his thoughts now concentrated on the smell of Mari, theretofore unnoticed but now wafting like the call of spring to his nostrils. She smelled not unlike some other person or thing he had once sniffed as he traveled through a country town. He could not place the scent, but it acted on him powerfully yet subtly; without his being conscious of it, his penis began to stiffen and lengthen. 

Mari had lain back on a chaise, het head slightly raised by the curl of the top. Ran’s mind accepted that she was naked, no astonishment bothering him at this point. Her legs spread slowly as Ranald approached, his penis distended and his testicles aching in the sudden onrush of sexual desire. He had disrobed without realising that, either, and now advanced on her in a staggering daze.

“Rannie dear, you would like to kiss and lick me, would you not?”

« Yes, » thought Ranald, « I would like to lick her breasts and then her crotch. That will make her wonderfully ready for a tremendous fuck. Another thought penetrated his muzzy brain. I must not cum as I lick, ‘cause I am too ready and hot! »

He found himself lying beside Mari, his mouth placed lightly on her nearer breast, his tongue licking very delicately around her areola. He had wanted to play with her cleft but for some reason his hands, one underneath his own buttocks, the other slowly stroking his rigid erection, did not seem to obey his thoughts . . . which quickly were quire satisfied with what his hands were doing. As he suckled and then slowly moved his mouth down Mari’s voluptuous curves to her rounded belly, licking and tickling as he moved, he felt his penis very rigid, and his breath come short as he thought he approached climax, but he did not cum. As his mouth reached Mari’s labia, the hand 
which had been stroking his penis went numb and he no longer could feel the rigid member as he had felt before.

That did not bother him as his tongue explored and laved Mari’s labia and vulva. All his thoughts were concentrated on his mouth, and how by moving his tongue thusly and . . . thusly he could best please his mistress, to judge by her low moans and frequent low cries.

“Ah-ah, Ran, you are good, I didn’t know you would be so good. And . . . ooh! . . . that was nice . . . you are joyful?”

Indeed he was. His mouth was at the moment too full of Mari to allow his decidedly affirmative reply, but he was indeed on a cusp of joyful feeling; his belly, his mouth, his tongue all feeling so wonderful that if they could have actually spoken, they might have harmonized on one tone ... “A-h-h.”

Mari writhed above him and Ran felt her climax . . . once . . . twice . . . and again.

“Oh, Ran, you will be the satyr of the club. The girls will adore you. You truly have an educated tongue, and your lips are like downy kisses in their action.”

“. . . Mari . . . “

”Not ‘Mari’ now, Ran. It’s ‘mistress’ to all members of the club . . . and their guests.”

“Yesh . . . mishtresh. Bu’ . . . wha’?”

 Ran’s hand moved involuntarily to its crotch. His mind recognized nothing there save the smooth feel of tender skin, a sensitive length of heaviness which seemed to have a slit in its tip, with under it a little smooth spot surrounded by a slight roll of even more sensitive skin. None of this meant anything to the fella.

“Bu’ . . . bu’, wha’s  . . . ? Wha’ . . . ?”

“You have been adapted, Ran. Now you are able to remain here — which, by the way, is a very, very special honor.”

“. . . don’ un’erstan’ . . . .”

“You need not. Ran, you saw the signs: ‘Males not welcome?’ That is what has happened. You are well able to satisfy a woman’s desires as you have just demonstrated, but there can be no risk of insemination, Ran. You’ve become a very special thing, a ‘cunnili.’ Only a few are presently kept by the club. You saw the others at dinner.” Mari smiled, rubbed its cheek and kissed it lightly on the other cheek.

“. . . speshul...” it was almost weeping, now; definitely whining, “. . . I was the on’y gues’!”

“We-ell . . . so, I told you what was certainly true at the time, didn’t I? 

“Look at me, stop being so sorry for yourself. You’ll like this.”

Ran looked at Mari and lost itself in her eyes.

“Rancunnili,” she crooned, “you are so obedient. You need not even think, you know. You miss nothing of yourself, you adore the scent of a woman when she wants satisfaction.  You provide that satisfaction, Rancunnili, on command. And you did a good job, but . . .” her belly clenched, she felt a desire. 

“Now, look here, Rancunnili. Won’t you do something for me?” Mari still felt a need — her mind told her she was sick to want this from a mindless slave . . . so, she was sick? Didn’t feel like it at all. Just felt so-o good.

Mari’s cleft was glistening and Rancunnili‘s thoughts turned to a slightly viscous consistency as it muzzily savoured the taste, then thought of the gush of lovely fluid which would follow its . . . 

It was on its knees, its face once again turned imploringly upward in order to gaze fixedly at Mari’s glistening labia.  Ran was vaguely conscious of the lovely scent of its mistress’s desire. Its tongue, seeming much longer (although it gave that no thought) lolled over its chin and slowly stiffened.

“That’s a good cunnili. Now you know what cunnilis do, Ran.”

“‘Eh, ah oo.” Naturally it could not articulate clearly with its tongue extended, but its eyes told Mari all she wanted to know. It was now completely a “cunnili,” subject to her and the other girls’ whims. It looked good, its  remaining reminder of maleness drooping limply from its crotch. The member was little longer than the tongue, but would swell and lengthen at a woman’s command — if she were to use the word “dilly,” it would cause an instant interesting effect, encouraging the woman to mount and ride the rigid fleshy dildo while the cunnili would teeter perpetually on the brink as the woman experienced climax after climax.

The cunnili’s tongue would lap, penetrate almost to the degree that a penis could have, yet bend and lave the inner folds of her vagina and her clitoris to her satisfaction and immense gratification.

Mari had never intended to make love to this “cunnili.” It was far more joyful to have an essentially sexless object in human form which would become less and less sapient as time passed, until it was an almost completely mindless thing, capable of carrying out certain basic needs, but above all willing and able to satisfy its female masters. Perhaps she would avail herself of that wonderful dilly? Well, why not?