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A Slave's Induction
Ch 11 - pending celebration - hiatus over
"Do you know how much you've been missed - how much everyone is champing at the bit for you to get back to work - back to what you do best?" Bill sat casually in his leather office chair - feet still up - as his inquisitor stood across the desk. After almost a year of hiatus from his "work," Bill was ready to return to "active duty" so-to-speak. He was giving a party to celebrate. He had called his - friend - confidant - and collaborator in to discus some of the particulars with which the man would be involved. Standing arms crossed as casually as Bill sat, they conversed about Bill's long anticipated "come back," and his collaborator's part in creating the atmosphere for the event. The gathering would take place in three weeks and plans were under way for its conception.
The men couldn't be more different in their appearances - one, a handsome but average looking fifty year old - mustache - black hair - in good physical condition, but not worked out - the other - as Tom so accurately put it - a godman. In most instances Bill - to look at - was usually the most captivating creature in a particular venue - room - group - etc. Far from average in any sense of the word, his countenance seemed to glow with those steel grey eyes capable of piercing to your chore. From a lifetime of weight training and bodybuilding, his well-honed muscular frame (even clothed) stood out as a superior, enviable, and extraordinary male standard of excellence. His carriage and confidence made his physicality even more outstanding and impossible not to be drawn to.
Uncovered to any degree - in a tank top - shirtless - or the piece de resistance - naked - and the macho hairiness of his hirsute body was the ultimate irresistible capper. It was easy to understand Tom's incapacity to look away that first fateful night and it leading to his downfall. Exposing his unflappable captivation with the object of his interminable focus was what drew Tom - in a room full of men, some his equal, or better objects of potential - to Bill's attention. He saw the weakness he would exploit - and once that happened, Bill was like a cheetah with prey in its sights. There was no escape. As skillfully and capably as the cheetah in the wild, Bill would attain his victim.
While the two men enjoying each other in conference, might have been different in appearance, demeanor, and charisma, their commonality of purpose and passion, couldn't have been more philosophically the same. Both understood a truth that had been evident and in practice since time immemorial - there were those like this man and Bill that were meant to be served, and those like Tom that were meant to compliment that need and orientation either voluntarily or - as in the wild - by capture. It was the ultimate example of survival (and pleasure) of the fittest - of those most aware of the legitimacy of slavery as an unavoidable eventuality - an utterly logical and natural modus operandi.
"Yeah I know Jake," Bill said, "I've had plenty of feedback during my extended holiday. But I've been doing this for a long time and I just needed a break. Almost a year is enough though. I like having gotten to a place where I miss it - makes me feel even better about continuing on." The gentleman having been offered a seat and choosing rather to stand expressed his sentiment of understanding - reiterating how glad he was that Bill was back, and how happy many were going to be for his return.
"You're just about the best Bill," the man said, as Bill uncrossed his ankles and lowered his feet from the desktop to the floor reaching for the intercom, "The quality of your merchandise and your ability to prep it for what ever the order, is almost uncanny. You're a natural - always have been."
Bill activated the intercom, "Nick bring toiletface to my office."
"Yes Sir Boss."
"You still have Nick I see," Jake said.
"Yep - still my number one. A more loyal fuckhole I can't imagine," he said, almost with a fondness in his voice, "Don't know how I'd get along without him. He's the only one I've ever called by name you know.
"Yeah - I wondered about that. I know it's not your nature to allow a slave a name."
"He's been everywhere with me this past year. There's nothing he wouldn't do for me - the best combination of slave - pet - and fuckhole a man ever had"
"Yeah. He should be. Look what you did for and to him. He knows he owes you his life.
"Yep - and its mine as much as this watch on my wrist. He has accepted that full well. So much for Nick," Bill concluded, " Now, as to business - "
Jake was the one Bill depended upon to coordinate the merchandise display and placement at his gatherings. A finish carpenter and ironworker as well, anything not highly technical or tooled (like Bill's fuck machines) was usually up to Jake to handle. He would either work with Bill on ideas, or be given carte blanche to come up with his own. They had discussed a general plan for the placement of the slaves. Bill said there would be 5 or 6 fresh ones by the time of the party. Those he wanted displayed around the perimeter of the space - equidistant from each other - with one or two upside-down. They were looking at drawings - one a general layout of the room, and one the essential idea Jake had drawn up for Bill's description for the central display.
"Nick's bringing up my new one now for you to check out and measure. It's the one I mentioned that I've had for a few months - the piece for the middle.
"Yeah. I believe you said you found it in a bar?"
"Yep. Saw it across the room. Every time I looked over it was glued to me. I told nick to keep an eye on it, and it never looked away. Sent him to retrieve it. Found out it was alone, away from home, and it had an interest in castration. I drugged its drink and told it sleeping it off at my place would be good - that it was too drunk to drive - brought it home that night like a lamb to the slaughter.
"So what stage is it in?" Jake asked.
"It's been getting injections or pills most every day now so it's heavily addicted - suggestible, and fearful of displeasing me. I've been fucking its mind a lot. I'll stop its shots a few days before the party so it will be stressed out and emotionally weakened. It'll be much more susceptible to pain and humiliation. It doesn't know how much the drugs have been helping it to cope with its training. I told it I was addicting it, but the victim never relates to that really until I cut off what its body and mind have adjusted to.
"It'll do nicely. Just the idea of being a living sculpture and everyone invited to feel and enjoy it, will make for an interesting humiliation factor. It's only been exposed to me and Nick since I brought it here. Suffering on display in the middle of a party without the aid of the drugs will be a good shock to it. - standing there on a display platform watching the men approach it - grope it - being fucked so deeply - feeling the men play with the fuck machine indiscriminately adjusting the speed - groaning - gagged - drooling - seeing & listening to his humiliation on the screen in front of him.
The men discussed how Bill's new toy would be shown. On an all white display platform about fifteen inches high, fifteen inches wide, and approximately six feet long, it would stand - its feet apart attached to the platform. Its cock and balls would be wrapped at their base and tied. The cock would be kept from going soft with injections. To keep the toy bent slightly forward, leather thong straps would connect its firmly stretched wrapped balls to each big toe. It would be gagged with a nice red hard rubber ball gag for color. Its head would be harnessed with a minimal strap affair and rope stretched from the ring in the top of the harness to the ceiling, keeping it looking ahead, and maintaining its slightly bent legged - leaning forward - position. The hands would be bound together useless behind it with leather restraints. One of the fuck machines appropriate to accommodate the angle needed for the toy's standing - leaning forward position would be secured to the platform behind it, and a large phallus affixed. The proximity of the machine to the fuckhole would be such that when the stroke was farthest out, the head would remain inside.
Near the machine on the platform, would be laying a dial control with an electric chord about four feet long attached to the motor of the machine. When turned, it would infinitely vary the speed of the machine from the off position, to the speed of about a little less than two seconds in and out. There would be no depth adjustment. Each stroke would be full depth eighteen inch penetration What would be seen of the stiff phallus with just the head implanted in its target hole would be about sixteen inches. It would be the first one used on the slave that day not long ago its Master came into the room - stripped - & jerked off on its face while it was being fucked. But without the help of the drugs it would feel more like the large one from that day. At the front end of the platform would be a bowl full of clothespins and alligator clips. The guests would be invited to apply them to the display wherever, and as they wished.
"You'll need to hang a large screen TV," Bill told Jake, "That the display will face and be able to see clearly. It's the main reason for its head looking forward position. For its humiliation and the entertainment of the guests, I'm going to play sessions of its torture. I'll be including the videos sent out over the web for its friends and family to see of it pleading for pain and degradation and begging its unseen torturer for more of what it needs and wants and deserves."
There was a knock at the door, "Ah here it is now," Bill said, "Come," was his usual pronouncement of permission to enter. Holding the lead attached to my collar, Nick opened the door and led me into the Master's office where I had been many times before. This time there was someone new in the room. Looking as usual no higher then mid chest at anyone, the man approached me. Nick dropped the lead and the man walked around me feeling as he went. So this is what you want on the central display -" It was a statement as well as a question. "I don't know why I should be surprised - it's one of yours after all - but it's prettier than I imagined."
"Yeah. And it's better by twenty extra pounds of muscle since it arrived. I've been pumping it full of roids and working it out particularly hard."
"Hmm," the man mumbled as he continued to feel. He squatted down and availed himself of most every square inch of me. I reacted to his light touch turning me facing my ass to him, "Responsive to touch too. Again I shouldn't be surprised," he jokingly said to Bill. He spread my cheeks and stuck his nose in-between connecting with my rectal tissue. It was closed but not by much. He took a finger and wet it and stuck it into me with ease, "Like I thought," he said, "I bet this was tight when it first arrived."
"Yep," Bill confirmed. Its being held shut actively. When it's relaxed it opens. It's taken some time to get that trained so it can close. For a while, it was held wide open all the time. When the plugs were removed it had no muscle control and could not close the hole. It remained open. It had to relearn about how to use that muscle ring back there - didn't it?" The Master was addressing me to my surprise.
As the man freely probed around I answered, "Yes Sir. Thank you Master." It was strange being inspected by another man - stranger yet when he spoke to me.
"How long did it take you to be able to close your pussy?"
I looked in the direction of the Master not knowing what to do, "Go ahead you can answer the man. He's my agent and you will address him with the respect due all your superiors," Then he asked me, "Who are your superiors shitface/?"
I'd learned that in the very beginning, "Everyone is your property's superior Master. Thank you Sir." My address was to the man's question, "Sir, it took several weeks for it to be able to close its Master's fisthole Sir."
The Master interjected, "I wanted it to be able to close for the party. I haven't decided whether to remove its capability to ever close it or not yet. There's time. I'm keeping this one for a while. It will not be up for bids - although I'm sure I will get a number of offers. It's just the type of a couple of guests coming. It's going to perform in my next movie. Tell the man about the offer I made you and how your decision to beg me for the roll of henchman castrator came about bitchhole."
"Yes Sir Master. Thank you Sir," I recounted that first night and relived it in vivid detail. Being made the privileged offer by my Master - being so stupid as to believe I could turn it down - offering to compromise his proposal of full facial identity, thinking this worthless fuckhole too important for that. I told how I agreed to think about it for the night and confessed I had no intention of changing my mind unless perhaps a hood were allowed - how the Master outright eliminated that as a consideration, affirming my decision to deny acceptance of his offer. I would take advantage of his generous offer to spend the night drunk here in the luxury of his home, and in the morning reaffirm my denial of his offer.
I told how the Master made me promise to think about it for the night and not to give him my final answer to his offer till the next day - how I deceived him by agreeing to think about it for the night, but intended to sleep on a negative decision already sealed in my mind. As the man continued his probing he reached around with his other hand and began stroking my cock and fondling my balls. How very long it had been since they'd been touched except to torture or inject for erection purposes - only to be denied release or even access to what used to be mine alone to play with - to jerk off with - to cum with. I faltered in my story telling to the man's gentle ministrations. "Oh my god," I thought to myself, had anything ever felt so good? "Ahh, ahh," I was having trouble forming my thoughts.
"Go ahead. Continue," the man said. Just ignore what I'm doing. You were saying how you abused your Masters generous offer to sleep off your drunken condition and lied to him about thinking through the night, when you actually had no intention of doing so. Is that right?"
"Yes Sir," I said, struggling to maintain my thoughts.
"So - Repeat that part and continue from there," he ordered.
With embarrassment, and humiliation, and shame, I said it the way it had been put to me - abusing the Masters kind offer - lying to him with no intention of keeping my word to think through the night and give him a reconsidered answer to his offer - and with difficulty I continued. I told of how Nick escorted me downstairs - how the Master said there would be everything I needed for the night - how I imagined opulent surroundings with shower, and soap, and towels, and toothbrush, and a comfortable bed - how it was so mistakenly what I believed this worthless shit eating bitch deserved.
I told of my horror at entering the chamber behind all the locked doors - how I tried to run, to Nick's reminders and threat, and I told of the cage. As the man stroked, I spoke as if in a confessional, relating my tale to a priest.
"Please Master?" I stopped and pleaded - and again, "Please Master Sir - Please Master?" My cock was so hard and it was feeling too good. I was afraid to have what had always been such an astounding pleasure. I never gave it a second thought. It never got old. Nightly I would play with myself to orgasm - lick up what I could of my load and go to sleep. It was my right. It was my cock. It was my decision to play with it. It was my load - I ate it with my mouth - tasting and enjoying what I could scoop off my body - sucking it off my hand - with my tongue - and swallowing it down my throat - into my belly.
It had been so long. The Master had told me some of the contents in my drug cocktail were to insure greater sexual frustration. He liked keeping me horny - and I was. I felt it most of the time. I fought to get used to the feeling and the fact I could do nothing about it unless ordered to. That had happened once that I could remember.
"What is it that makes you dare to speak without being spoken to?"
"The shithead is sorry Master. It is so afraid Sir.
"Afraid of what toilet mouth?"
"Your toilet mouth is afraid to have an orgasm Master. Please Master? It doesn't want to disobey you Sir. Your pig cock is feeling too good Master!"
"Repeat exercise 20 for Jake."
"Yes Master. Thank you Sir. Exercise 20 Sir. - Your slave cock - This cock is your property Master. It exists only for your purposes. This slave always asks permission or waits for your instructions to use it. By your permission or order, the slave uses your cock to piss. Your slave cock is not for orgasm unless ordered by its owner Sir. Your cock is never touched by the slave unless ordered to do so by its owner."
I was instructed to continue my story. Trying to speak with every fiber of my being fighting the sensation being created by the sadistic man manipulating me was a more than difficult task I wasn't sure I would be able to honor, but I gave it all I had and more. He spit on his hand and made sure to include the sensitive head in most of his stroking. After all it was always friction on the head that insured orgasm. Sometimes if I wanted to put it off, I would back off the head and just play with the shaft to cool down from boiling over.
I told of the horrors of the cage, which actually helped me focus away from the growing intensity of the problem in my loins. It helped some to elaborate on the pain and anguish I suffered that night insuring I would remain conscious and thinking about Bill's proposal to expose me in his film as the fully identified castrator of his chosen costar and "my" victim. I thought about the facial close-ups and my new "Tom" tattoo associating my former identity to those who would be seeing the film. They wouldn't know me from Adam, but the tattoo was just one more piece of evidence against me if I ever tried to challenge Bill's rights to possession of my person, or thwart his authority, or even that of whom ever he could sell me to.
One day before I was unsecured from my sleeping cot, a stranger was brought in unannounced. "From the door all I heard was, "The one in here." It was Nick's voice but he did not enter the room. He simply closed the door behind the man who he'd escorted. The man put a small bag on a low rolling cart and walked it over next to the bed on my right side and casually sat down next to me on the cot. There were no words as he took out a small bottle - put it on the cart and uncapped it. He took out individual alcohol wipes and ripped a couple open. He wiped my right upper pec thoroughly with each wipe and laid them aside. Until the next item came out of his bag I didn't know why he was here. There was no doubt when he did. It was a tattoo needle. He plugged it into a receptacle close by and gave it a test. Never having been tattooed - or even in a tattoo parlor - though I recognized the implement, I'd never been in the presence of someone being tattooed & knew nothing except this was the thing used to do it.
The loudness of the needle startled me and as I twitched the man laughed. I was slept in different configurations - always restrained in such a way as to negate access to my cock. Last night was feet spread and secured to the bottom cot posts - neck loosely to the top of the bed, and arms just below the elbows, restrained next to me, attached to a torso belt. It would best accommodate the man's access to me without the need for any adjustments to my position.
As the man dipped the needle into the ink he spoke, "Usually I try to put a customer at ease and minimize what they are going to feel - especially virgins like you." The word, "virgin," rang in my ear. It was the farthest thing from what this object - now Bill's property could be thought of, but tattoo wise I was a virgin. The Master was changing that fact, and as with everything else, without any input from his slave. He continued, "But I've done some work now for the man in charge. He likes these things to be as painful as possible. So lets just say I'll do my best to accommodate the Boss' wishes. We'll make these three letters as hard on you as possible.
Bill had told his tattoo man he didn't want the letters fancy but he did want them to hurt. So outlined block letters were decided on that would need filling in to extend the process time instead of simple line letters. The first two were to be in lower case and the last in not obvious, but modified upper case - each to have a period after it. While the overall appearance for the movie would be of my former name for identification purposes, I would learn the letters were an acronym "t.o.m." would stand for "toilet of Master" - far from a proper name, and definitely not short for, "Thomas."
The first stroke of the needle was a stunning shock never having experienced it before. The artist used a small needle and went as slowly as he could to maximize - as per Bill's prescription - my discomfort. I lay still as ordered so as not to fuck up the artist's work, and for an hour, felt as though a dull knife were being used to open the restricted area over and over again. When the man was finished he signaled as instructed on the intercom. Bill came down to inspect the finished product and gave his approval. Though I was not told, and would not see till later on, I assumed from the, "three letters," comment made by the artist, it was the "Tom" tattoo Bill had spoken of - while from the pain factor, it felt like it should have been something more along the lines of a paragraph.
Mercifully the movie would not be put out for web exposure, but the tattoo would be another feather in the cap of the cache of Bill's evidentiary insurance policy toward my remaining incarcerated here in his universe. He assured me I would be released somewhere mid country - authorities notified - with no way of tracing my deed back to Bill or "here," wherever here was. I didn't know anything except I was somewhere in the New York Metropolitan area. My relaxed and elated state of consciousness was not allowing for, and did not need attention paid to where we were going, the night I had been brought here. I might even be in New Jersey or Connecticut for that matter. There were those blackout periods the length of which I really had no way of gauging. That was only one of several threatened possibilities - and I was informed I had had a chip implanted in me that would enable Bill to inform the appropriate parties exactly where they could find me.
Luckily the telling of the worst part of my story to the man stroking me, had the necessary effect of quelling the impending disobedience I feared, and I made it through my assignment as he stopped. He stood up and took out a tailor's tape and began to write on a pad, "This'll make a great center piece Jake said, as he wrote just that at the top of the page, "Center Piece." He put his booted foot between my naked legs and kept kicking outward alternately left and right till my stance was spread footed, "About like this?" he asked Bill who concurred, "Then I suggest more like a two foot wide platform." Bill deferred to Jake's expertise.
He asked for a set of wrist restraints that were presented post haste, which he applied to my wrists. He attached them behind me and with my cock still standing out in front of me slapped it hard. He had Nick hold it up out of the way and wrapped my balls with a supplied strip of chamois leather again conferring with the Boss, "Good?"
"Yep," Bill said, from the comfort of the big leather chair behind his desk - feet up, and fingers interlaced behind his head, enjoying his friend working a cursory exercise on me.
I was becoming and accepting more and more the thing - the object - Bill was making of me, but somehow the object-hood was reinforced being here in my Master's office in the presence of a stranger manipulating and measuring me for something sounding ominous - for which - of course - there would be no necessity of my having foreknowledge. Like everything else required of me, it was in any given moment I would learn of an expectation. Sometimes the Master would tell me ahead of time what he was going to do to me - as far in advance as he chose. He said it was to enhance my anxiety factor - but usually not. The supreme example of the anxiety factor, was his pronouncement in the very beginning of my main reason - to be his totally vulnerable participant - indefensible star - in his next movie. I would be the full faced henchman Bill wanted the viewers to be able to identify with - the fully exposed castrator.
I understood more and more - as the property of my owner - there were no more personal preferences or desires - no needs or limits - apart from anything he wanted. While from the first night I questioned everything seeming to be about Bill, I could never in my wildest, have imagined how emphatic that reality would become for me. The stranger pawing at - measuring me, and conferring with Bill was particularly affirmational.
The man handed Nick the end of the tape and told him to hold it to the base of my ball sack. He punched me in the gut and I bent double, "Ok," he said, "now leave your legs slightly bent like that, and straighten up till I tell you to stop." Trying to catch my breath, I answered, Yeesss Sirrrrr, and did as I was ordered against my physical need not to.
"Say when," Jack said to Bill, as I slowly raised my torso.
"Look up! Bill ordered me. I raised my head. As I reached his desired position he signaled, "Right there." I stopped as Jack knelt down and put the other end of the tape to my large toe and read the measurement. He stood and noted it on the pad, "Stay," he ordered. He told Nick he could let go of my softening cock. He took the tape and went around behind me. I felt it being held to my anus as he measured the distance from it, to the floor, "That good?" he asked Bill.
"Yep," was Bills short answer. Jake took out his phone and snapped a couple of pictures, "Exactly what I had in mind," Bill said, as the man took a couple more measurements and wrote on the pad.
"You'll have all the restraints - gags - gear etc necessary for all the displays I assume?"
"No worries," Bill answered.
"Good. Then I think I have all I need for this one. I'll call you and bring some plans and sketches by next week to go over with you for the perimeter displays, my friend - and as I said, "A big welcome back!" Bill got up and came round from behind his desk and the two men hugged and patted each other's backs.
"And it's been a while," Bill admonished, "But nothing's changed. You know you always have a standing invitation to take advantage of what's here - dump a load - have some fun - whatever."
"Thanks," Jake said, "If I wasn't headed home to do just that with what I have in the cellar, I'd take you up on the offer," and then jokingly, " Before it's too stretched to feel the sidewalls." Both men laughed at, and about me, and what the Master had already done with what used to be my asshole.
The work it took to re-close it after extended and increased stretching was amazing. I couldn't believe either its expanded condition, or the amount of effort. Bill said it was probably the most resilient part of the male anatomy - that if left un-stretched it would even return to a semblance of normal - never again quite like it had been, but acceptably enjoyable as a fuckhole for human consumption - combined with how he was training me to develop the muscle ring, he said most anyone would enjoy owning it for that purpose. Then he dropped an anxiety bomb. He said he just wasn't sure if he wanted that or not.
Surreal was the only way I could describe having been informed by my Master - my former asshole's new owner - how he was deciding whether to essentially ruin it or not. It was one day in the gym when he was inspecting my progress on the anal ring exercises, "Coming along," he said, and asked if I had anything to say about it. My observation reflected what I knew, and was accepting as true, "Master, like all the rest, the hole belongs to You Sir. What You do with it is Your business alone Sir. The only important thing is Your pleasure Master. Your property thanks You Sir for teaching and training this slave to understand." As casually as if discussing the weather, the uncertain disposition of his fuckhole had been revealed - and with a wink - from the alluring combination sadistic monster/ god, (seeming to approve of my answer,) the subject was back to working out, "Ok, spot me here," he said, laying back on the bench.
While still holding the awkward position in which I had been left - not daring to change it without being directed - as if not present or eavesdropping, I had just been offered to the man that measured me for his use and pleasure. It was a first, and while it was logical, being offered to another, made an impression about my condition I hadn't considered before - a Man's property could naturally be given or loaned at his discretion.
"Those nice beefy legs will get a good workout," Jake said looking at my legs while heading to the door. Bill agreed.
"Nick will see you out. Good to see you again," Bill said.
"Adios muchacho," the handsome black-headed man said, with a grin - a salute - and the slightest of an accent. He did seem to have a Latin flavor about him. Nick held the door open and the man disappeared - the beautiful and flawless Nick following.
Bill came around from behind his desk - stripped and threw his clothes on one of the chairs. He smacked my balls a few times while playing with himself and then spanked my exposed and out turned ass till he was at full mast. He spit on his hand - slathered his cock with it and rubbed his fuckhole with the modicum of what was left. He grabbed onto my hips and with the hole at just the right height, drove into me. He rode for a few minutes telling me all the while to squeeze tight. In a very short time he began breathing hard. He drove to the bone and emptied his nuts into his personal cum receptacle before pulling abruptly out. He walked to my other end and put his hands on the back of my head, "Down," was the one word needed as he pushed me to my knees. "Clean me," again the order with economy of words. I did my usual deep throat and sucking and licking till all was consumed - blew my breath to dry him off and rubbed his huge cock lightly as I did so while offering my thanks.
Sometimes a "quick one," was all the Master needed to quell his horns and get on with his day. I couldn't help but wonder what it must be like to own something like me for such impulsive use and release without even needing to think about it. Not only would I never again know impulsive release, but release at all, would be a very seldom permitted privilege for this object and property. A state of incessant blue-balled horniness was to be the usual - even supplemented to intensify the condition. It was as difficult to deal with as the physical abuse and pain. The yearning to be able to do what had been my habit at least every night - if not two times in twenty-four hours - was astronomical. The Master said I was getting steadily better at sexual service and satisfaction, and that my lack of release privileges was a big contributing factor to my progress - so thanks to my Master for my denial - for being kept dry - as he put it - was a daily expectation and exercise. It was so hard. I was erect often as I served and worked. Sometimes I had to wear a condom on the head of my dick to catch the leakage of precum. Other times I would be chastitized with various devices that made erections either impossible or very painful - mostly - but not always - to the point of its negation.
Comments welcome: mackxwayne@hotmail.com
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