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. Big Wife in Boots ch. 02

Discussion in 'Cuckold Stories' started by Throne, Oct 22, 2017.

. Big Wife in Boots ch. 02 5 5 1votes
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  1. Throne

    Throne Well-Known Member Author!

    by Throne

    All right, it's been a year since Helga easily coerced me into marrying her. As she promised, I have been kept a virgin and had to serve her in bed (and other locations), while she was free to do whatever she pleased sexually. Let me describe a recent evening at our apartment.

    I was naked, in the bathroom, scrubbing the floor at the base of the toilet with a toothbrush. There was a small ringing sound and I stopped immediately. Helga had gotten a little silver bell that she kept by the side of her bed. I call it her bed because I had been banned from sleeping there, starting on our wedding night. Naturally, I'm allowed to join her frequently to give her orgasms with my mouth. And occasionally that leads to me being permitted to finish without penetration, except that when I do, I always have to clean her up. Anyway, I answered the summons of the bell and paused at the bedroom door. It was opened only a crack. I could hear voices from inside. There was her familiar, feminine tone, which was answered by a deep masculine one that I recognized as belonging to her new lover, Marcus. He was a tall Black man, generally in good shape but with the start of a belly because he liked his beer and fried foods too much. He had a shaved head, drooping Zapata moustache, and a squared-off patch of hair under his thick lower lip.

    When I knocked lightly on the doorframe, she told me to come in. There was condescension in her words. I stepped inside unhappily, wishing I could wear at least a pair of jockey shorts. But my wife understood the power of keeping me unclothed. She was lying in bed with the covers bunched up at her feet. The sight of her body never failed to excite me. Her oversized boobs, flaring hips, full thighs, and large firm calves that tapered down to slim ankles, were all so sexy. She also had on one of my favorite pairs of shoes, glossy red ones with crisscross straps on top, and three inch block heels. Her toes were exposed and the nails were painted with a matching fiery red. The polish had been expertly applied just the night before -- by me.

    "Oh, Danny," she said with post-coital languor. "Marcus and I were just talking about you and he doesn't believe what I told him. Even as whipped as you are, he doesn't think you'll actually lick his cream out of my pussy. Now we made a bet and the stakes are pretty high on this, so don't let me down. Get your face between my thighs and show my lover what you can do."

    It was bad enough having to be her licker-upper, as she sometimes called me. But it was so much worse when one of her bedmates watched me do it. They could never believe how emasculated I was. And they didn't understand how devoted I had become to my wife, how unlimited her control of me had grown to be because of that. Marcus was lying next to her, unashamedly naked. Unlike me, he had nothing to be shy about. His recently used cock was flaccid but, even in that state, was much larger than mine at its fullest. I knelt on the foot of the bed and went forward until my face was directly in front of my wife's well-used notch.

    She decided, "I don't want you pawing me while my real man is right here. I would be so disrespectful to him. So what shall we do with your grabby hands, dinky Danny? How about if you... lay on them." She chortled. "Put them under your puny dick and keep them there." Her voice went from amused to cautioning as she added, "And don't play with it. I'll tell you when you're allowed to do that. And I'll supervise closely."

    My wife could be so creatively cruel. Not only did I have to perform that unpleasant activity, but I wasn't even allowed the consolation of being able to touch her stunning body. And Marcus was taking it all in, fascinated by my weakness. With my hands where she wanted them, I wriggled forward the necessary additional inches until my nose was pressed to her private area. Her lover had gotten up on one elbow and was observing me the way someone might watch a sideshow freak, with a mix on interest and revulsion. I took a big lick to get rid of the excess cum that had oozed from between her nether lips. Marcus made a sound of disgust. She let out a snorting laugh. Then she laid back to enjoy my efforts.

    Helga said, "Marcus, give me a kiss. I want to feel what it's like to be kissed on both sets of lips at the same time."

    He said, "Okay, as long as I get the ones up top."

    That made them both laugh. It was hurtful to hear them sharing humor along with all the sex, especially because his joke was about my sexual submission and mortification. I kept lapping up the plentiful cream he had deposited inside her, my little pecker hard against my hands, balls drawn up tight, throat constricting as I made myself swallow.

    Between their wet, audible kisses Helga asked me, "Are you enjoying your cuckold snack, Danny? It's not too salty, is it? It shouldn't be, because I made sure Marcus got to shoot a load yesterday afternoon and again last night, instead of having to wait until he's all backed up and his balls are sore, like you."

    Getting into the spirit of it, he joined in with, "And she does a hell of a good job, too."

    As I continued, they fondled each other. It was so demeaning to be the low man in a threesome. I took a few licks at her large clitoris. At last Helga declared that I was done. The two of them lay there relaxing.

    She said, "So I won the bet. Looks like you're going to have to pay up, Marcus."

    He told her, "Let me rest up first, girl."

    My wife asked me, "Do you want to know what our bet was?"

    In a hushed voice I said, "Yes, dear."

    "Well, if I won, Marcus had to screw me really hard. But if he won, I had to let him screw me really hard."

    I wanted to know, "But aren't those both the same thing?"

    "No," she said, all seriousness. "Not even close. But what do you know about screwing? You're a virgin. A committed virgin. Now why don't you get off the bed, Danny, and kneel on the floor down at the end? That way you can get personal with my shoes while you play with your shrimp dick. Won't you just love that?"

    "Yes, darling."

    So I had to get on my knees, leaning against the foot of the bed, where I could caress and kiss her gleaming red shoes. It bothered me how much I got aroused by her footwear. She gave her foot an occasional wiggle to let me know she was thinking of my humbling actions. I got a hand on my small penis and gave it a few strokes. She hadn't said anything about letting me finish, so I had to be careful to maintain self-control. They spoke to each other in hushed voices, laughed softly, and kissed. His large dark hand reached over to touch the pale skin of her tummy. The sight almost pushed me over the edge, so I had to stop touching myself. She took hold of his relaxed cock and slowly manipulated it. Even though he had finished not long ago, Marcus began to get hard again. She cooed and murmured as she coaxed it into a full erection.

    He sighed and said, "Damn, woman, you just can't get enough."

    "Not when it's that huge beautiful tool of yours. I mean, if it was my husband's little dingus, well, what would be the point?"

    Her lover sat up, moved between her thighs, and set the end of his member against her moist, pink pussy lips. From my submissive vantage point I had a clear view of him entering her moistly glistening slit. My wife sighed deeply as he buried one inch after another, until he was in up to his heavy balls. He began working it like a piston in a chamber, making her squirm and moan. His pace gradually increased, along with the frequency of her approving vocalizations. I could even hear the faint squishing sound as he took long strokes, in no danger of finishing prematurely, as I would have been in his spot. It was mental anguish to have to see him enjoying my wife and giving her such primitive satisfaction. Her leg jerked and the bottom of her shoe bumped hard against my face. I increased the attention I was paying to her glorious footwear.

    Marcus plowed her energetically. His staying power was far superior to mine and it wasn't until a half hour later that they both had orgasms at the same moment. Their finishes were loud and animated. They finally settled down and he pulled out slowly, so he could roll onto his back alongside her. They lay there while their breathing slowed to normal. Helga turned her face toward him. His was already aimed in her direction. They kissed tenderly and I was reminded of how I had lost not only my former sex life, but our emotional intimacy as well.

    "All right, Tiny Dan," my bride said lazily. "Time for you to clean me up... again. Get that tongue where it belongs so you can collect your cuckold reward."

    My throat tightened at the thought of that. Yet at the same time I felt stirrings of desire. I had the chilling thought that perhaps, after frequent denial of my sexual needs, along with constant excitation, my libido was being twisted into responding to my mistreatment and the acts it involved. As I got into my accustomed position to serve as her labia-licking, semen-slurping, pussy polisher, my strange desire grew stronger. Yes, I was abruptly drawn to what had previously revolted me. It was still unpleasant in the extreme to have to consume another man's spend from my wife's body, but some part of me wanted to do it. And I was thinking of having my mouth on her feet, kissing and licking the riding boots she had recently made me buy her, and worshipping the round jutting cheeks of her ass. I couldn't suppress those unwanted thoughts as I used my tongue to scoop up her lover's spunk and draw it into my mouth, and then probed deeper to acquire more. The scent and taste of it sickened me, but also intoxicated me.

    That was just one evening, but it was important because it was when I first noticed my reactions changing. There was more in the days and weeks that followed. My stunning wife remembered that first date, when she made me eat all the jalapeno poppers. In commemoration of that, she had me stop at a Mexican place on the way home from work to pick up an order she had phoned in. The girl at the counter was a cute Latina, short but with a generous bust. She had a sweet, roundish face, dark eyes, and full lips. Her hair was up in a bun at the back of her head. I don't know what Helga said to her on the phone, but the young woman -- her name tag identified her as Carmelita -- kept giving me knowing looks. I also detected a hint of contempt in the way she eyed me.

    After I paid, Carmelita said, "Your wife told me you are a good tipper. A very good tipper."

    "Oh," I told her, "I don't usually tip for counter service. I mean..."

    She picked up the phone and said, "No problem, little one. I will just tell her."

    "I... what? You mean she...?"

    Oh, crap. I got my wallet back out and pulled free a single. When that didn't seem to satisfy her, I added another. Nothing. Then came a five, which got me a tilt of her head, as if she was at least considering that amount. Finally I took back all the money, removed a twenty, and held it out to her. I smiled but I'm sure my expression was more fawning that magnanimous. She snatched the bill, sneered, and pushed my order across the counter. It was a big bag and I started wondering what exactly it contained. Carmelita had stapled it shut. I spotted two other orders waiting to be picked up, and neither of them had been closed that way. It struck me that, if I opened it to peek inside, it might get into a lot of trouble with my wife. Taking one more good look at Carmelita, who I realized had the same combination of sweet face and curvy figure as my bride, I picked up the order in both hands and left.

    As I turned into our street I spotted Marcus' car parked in front of the house. I pulled up along the curb behind him, leaving plenty of space. Over time I had learned to be careful not to give him any excuses to get angry at me. He was very quick to push me around and liked to deliver light slaps to the sides of my face. He seemed to get a kick out of demonstrating how he could 'dethrone' the 'king of the house'. More than that, however, witnessing how he bullied me got Helga excited. She even told him that it made her want to go to bed with him and let him 'own' her. So of course, he mistreated me more. Marcus would make me get down on my hands and knees while he sat on the sofa, so I could remove his shoes and socks. He would have me bend over the kitchen table and bare my bottom so he could use the long narrow cutting board we had, to redden my cheeks. Or he might make me accompany him to the bathroom when he urinated, so I could give his long thick penis a few shakes when he was done.

    Entering the house, I found my wife's lover watching one of his interminable stream of sports programs. Helga was in the kitchen. She told me to get naked and put on something she had just bought me, which was in a bag on one of the chairs. I stripped and then opened the bag. What I found was an athletic supporter. As I stepped into it I saw what an appropriate choice it was for their purposes. First off, it was small, with a cup intended for a barely pubescent boy. The elasticized material hugged my genitals and showed off how immature they were. At the same time, being intended for someone who played sports, it emphasized how soft and slender I was. Helga laughed at me.

    "Jeez, you'd be a real laugh riot in the locker room. I'm sure you'd be the only guy who could fit his junk into a junior jockstrap. Oh, and there's a package of dye in the laundry room. Just to make sure you don't start to think you're a real man, later on you're going to dye that thing pink."

    I felt my face grow warm with shame as I said, "Yes, dear."

    "Now get some plates and forks and stuff, and bring dinner to the living room for Marcus and me."

    Rushing around, I got them what she had requested, plus napkins and a couple cans of beer. I put everything on a tray and, at the last second, added the breadboard. I told myself that I was including that last item so Marcus couldn't fault me for not anticipating his wishes and bringing it. Yet I also had to wonder if there was another reason. I took everything out and set up two folding trays. Then I laid out the napkins and dinnerware, humiliated to be seen wearing only that skimpy supporter. They snickered at me and opened their beers, clanking the cans together in a toast. Then they dug into the bag of food and each made a few selections.

    Marcus saw the cutting board and picked it up. He hefted it and gave me a meaningful look. "Might have to use this later. Heat up your ass... and my woman's sex drive. Smart of you to bring this."

    Helga said, "The little freak probably wants you to swat his fanny. He is such a sicko."

    Then they got busy eating. Unfortunately for me, I was expected to consume everything they rejected. There were also, to my dismay, several items chosen just for me, all of them involving jalapeno and habanero peppers. As the two of them ate, I had to kneel between their feet in that demeaning jock strap while they fed me their scraps and made me feed myself the super spicy and ultra hot selections that were mine alone. My mouth started burning at once and soon after I felt my stomach complaining. Helga's feet were bare and she slipped pieces of food between her toes for me to retrieve with my mouth and eat. Marcus thought that was especially funny and made me lick between her chubby digits to make sure I left nothing behind.

    While they enjoyed their meal, I became more and more sick, my stomach on fire and my guts churning. I had to fetch them beers, while I was specifically forbidden to even take a sip of water. By the end of the meal I was stuffed and cramping up inside. Helga reached into the bottom of the bag and feigned surprise at what she found there.

    "Well, look at that," she marveled, holding up a bottle of habanero sauce. "That sweet Carmelita certainly earned her tip. She gave us a free bottle of..." My wife read the label gleefully. "... Ass Burn Hot Sauce. See, there's a donkey on the label with flames coming out of his mouth. But we know what that name really means. This stuff burns going down and then again when it comes out the other end." She laughed uproariously and Marcus joined her. I could only kneel there and fear the worst. Helga went on, "And as long as your ass is bare, little Danny, we can use this stuff directly on it." She took a plastic bowl that one of the foods had come in. "Now set this under your butt so you don't get any sauce on the rug. That's right. And hold your hand down there while you get lots of sauce on your middle finger. Look how good you're doing that. Not even a peep of backtalk. And just take that finger, covered with Ass Burner, and shove it up your tailpipe, loser. Go on and do it."

    If I had any second thoughts, they were eliminated by Marcus taking the bread board and brandishing it above me. I gritted my teeth and forced my rigid finger into my body. As the condiment touched my sensitive inner tissues the effect was instantaneous. My rectum was filled with blazing pain and my eyes began to water. I sniffled and gasped. They smirked at my helpless suffering and made me stick out my tongue. Helga held the open bottle out and tilted it ever so slowly. I could see a drop forming at the lip of the bottle and then had to watch as it fell onto my waiting tongue. It was awful. My tongue burned horribly, even as she was letting more of the powerful liquid drizzle into my mouth. Some of it ran down the back of my throat, triggering fresh discomfort.

    As if all that wasn't terrible enough, she gave me back the bottle, had me put more sauce on that same finger, and instructed me to stick it into my nose. As soon as I had done both nostrils, I lost control and began to cry. Marcus acted angry at my weakness and had me stand. The big man twisted my ear, marched me over to a wooden chair, and instructed me to turn the piece of furniture around, bend over the back, and grip the seat. I was already a mass of pain but he still wanted to make it worse. Of course he did, because my wife was becoming ever more sexually aroused by my ordeal. Her Black lover delivered an even dozen hard smacks across both my buttocks, leaving me sore outside and in. Then, at Helga's urging, he gave me another half dozen over the vulnerable backs of my thighs. By the end of that I was bawling. That was all the stimulation she needed and as soon as he went back to her, they were going at each other with hands and mouths.

    The lovers undressed each other and she got on her back on the carpet. Even in my extreme discomfort I couldn't keep from admiring her magnificent curves and getting turned on. They saw my undersized erection and had me shed the supporter. Helga made me retrieve the sauce and that plastic bowl that had been under me. Now I had to kneel not far from them with the plastic catch tray between my legs, but this time with it moved forward so it was beneath my genitals. As Marcus was lining up his massive cock with her moist waiting pussy, she told me to get hot sauce all over my cock and balls.

    "It'll be lube so you can tug on that little thing and get yourself off. Get busy, Danny boy. Give yourself a red hot jerk off."

    Too defeated to even hesitate, I poured habanero sauce into the palm of my hand, rubbed it all over my inferior male parts, and began to tug on my short and slim dick, while the skin down there was ignited with agony. My nose, mouth, butt hole and now three-piece set were all ablaze. There was deep pain in my bottom cheeks and thighs from the spanking. And I had to witness my wife being taken again by her competent and well endowed Black partner. He buried himself inside her as she moaned and squirmed under him. They kissed fiercely as he gripped her hips and rode her hard. She got her legs around him and bucked her hips to meet his forceful thrusts. The two of them worked as one to sate their runaway lust.

    I couldn't help myself. It was all too exciting, even though it was my bride who was being willingly ravished. I pumped my little dick, holding back, slowing down, but always on the brink of finishing. I sobbed and my nose ran and my body shook. The flames that seemed to burn inside me got more intense rather than less. My stomach was still protesting. The pair on the floor climaxed together, loudly and with a final surge of violent energy. As they relaxed and parted, to lie alongside each other, I was blubbering with a confusion of pain and pleasure.

    Helga saw what was happening. As she recovered from her exertions she told me, "Go on, reject. Shoot your little shot into that plastic thing with all the sauce that dripped into it. And then you can lick up the whole mess. Spunk and pepper juice. Unless you'd rather skip coming. Just stop now and you won't have to slurp up your scum. You won't have to get a fresh coat of hot stuff on your tongue. But you also won't get to empty your little balls. What's it going to be, wuss? To cum or not to cum , that's what I'm saying."

    It was overwhelming. Even hearing her talk down to me like that added to my furious need. What was wrong with my mind? What was her mistreatment doing to me? I threw back my head and, holding the plastic container where my dick was aimed, let my body have its way. I shot the contents of my balls into the dribbled sauce and felt myself relax. Immediately after that, however, I remembered what it was going to cost me.

    "Go on," Marcus urged. "Get it while it's hot. And I do mean HOT." He laughed.

    Bringing the container up, I lowered my face and lapped up the combination of ejaculate and the seasoning that was never intended to be consumed directly. My tongue and inner mouth were punished all over again as I choked down my own spend. It was disgusting. It was painful.

    But, as my wife delighted in reminding me, "You enjoyed it, dopey Danny. You really got off on the whole scene. Your baby dick was so hard."

    "Yeah," agreed Marcus. "You are twisted, boy. Twisted like a pretzel. All screwed up in the head."

    My bride announced, "I need a nap."

    Marcus told her, "I have to check the sports channel again."

    She said, "That's fine, honey. I'm going to take my wimp hubby with me. I thought of one more game to play with him."

    "Damn," he said. "You never get tired of messing with that chump."

    She chuckled and then told me I needn't bother to get up. So I followed her on my hands and knees, mesmerized by her wide rolling rump. Once we got there she slipped her feet into a pair of high, oxblood, leather boots, laid down on her tummy and spread her legs.

    "Go on, stupid. Get on the bed behind me. I want your face between my ass cheeks. Not on them. Not kissing them like you usually do. I've decided that's too much fun for you, and not nasty enough. Now you're going to get your jerky face all the way down between them. Deep in the valley. And keep your mouth shut. I don't want any of that habanero crap on my tender rear exit. While you're enjoying how sweaty Marcus got me, and how I smell like his cream, here's something you can think about. Next time you won't be full of Mexican sauce, so you'll be using your tongue on and in my rump hole. A new way for you to have your perverted fun. Now I expect to nap for about an hour. You just stay still back there and it'll be fine. If you fidget around and disturb me, I'm going to dump half the rest of that sauce into your jockstrap and make you wear it for three days straight. To the office and everywhere. 24/7. After that it should take you about two weeks before the redness and irritation goes away. So be very quiet back there, ass face. Now get your nose against my pucker and keep it there. Or else."

    What can I say? I did as I was told. Helga pressed her feet against me, so the boots were in contact with my thighs. She took a long nap and I spent the time with my face buried in her ass, inhaling the mingled scents of perspiration, semen, female sexual fluids, and the inevitable funk of her rear passage. As commanded, I thought continually about her plan for expanding that indignity to include worshipping her back there with my mouth. It sounded disgusting, and yet, even though I had ejaculated so recently, I got stiff again. I desperately wanted to play with my little dick, but was too afraid to move. I wanted to get my hands on her boots but didn't want to risk disturbing her. And those unwanted feelings persisted. I almost wanted to use my tongue on her that way. It was like my mind was being remade and my new need for mistreatment and sexual servitude were taking over. How far was it all going to take me?

    In the succeeding days and weeks, my condition got more extreme. All I could think about was sex, but that always translated into mental images of being demeaned and used, punished and left sore. They both must have sensed it, because they took added satisfaction in tormenting my body and mind. Soon they were sure something new was happening. After that, they particularly enjoyed taunting me about the way I was being stimulated by their cruelties.

    "What's the matter, Danny? Your little doodle got all hard again from polishing those tall red boots you bought me. Would you like to jam one of those three inch block heels into your mouth while you choke the chicken? Or you're so small, maybe I should say 'choke the chicken tender'. But I think we'll do something else instead. Just play with your nipples. Get yourself completely horny. And then... enjoy your blue balls. I like how, when you're not allowed to finish, you get even more crazy for eating cream pies and munching ass."

    "Yo, crap-for-brains. You want to see that hot wife of yours give me a hand job? Maybe start with her hand and finish with her mouth. And then she gets that big gob of spunk and spit, kind of works it all together with her tongue, and spews the whole mess into your mouth. And I make you keep it there, so you can really get off on the flavor for a long while. Because, like we all know, you're a freak for it."

    "Aw, poor baby. Aren't you happy that you have to spend the entire weekend wearing nothing but your pink jockstrap? Marcus and I like to see you that way. Especially after you've been leaking drips and drops into it, when I tease you and don't let you cum, so there's the smell of frustration around you all the time. But not being allowed to squirt is good for you. Having your balls all backed up and full is helpful. It makes you into even more of a sex addict. A weirdo sex fiend, who can't stop craving my feet and boots and ass and, hey, maybe I'll start getting you hooked on sweaty armpits, too. Wouldn't you be thrilled by that, if having your face stuffed into my pits and breathing all the stank gave you a boner?" She laughed. "Maybe I could even get you to where you'd beg me for the privilege of being my underarm licker. That would be a real accomplishment for me."

    I finally decided to make one last try before I surrendered entirely to her manipulations and admitted that she could get me addicted to any practice she pleased. I waited until she had just had energetic and noisy sex with Marcus. Maybe if she was thoroughly satisfied, she might be more considerate. He left the room to get a beer. I wasn't sent to do it because it was time for me to clean my wife's pussy with my mouth. She was naked except for black boots with pointed toes and stiletto heels. I got into position and took a few laps just to eliminate the overflow. Her Black lover never failed to fill her to the max. Once I had it under control that much, I dared to raise my head and look at her over the twin hills of her desirable breasts, which I was never allowed to touch.

    Keeping my voice soft and respectful, I said, "Helga, would there be any chance that you and Marcus could maybe ease up on me for a short while? I mean, just enough that I can try to get back to where I was a few months ago."

    Pretending she didn't understand, she wanted to know, "What do you mean? Aren't you happy to be gobbling a real man's cream out of my pussy, after he's completely made me happy?"

    I cringed but went on in the same tone, "It's just that I'm becoming -- or have become -- fixated on the way you two are treating me. The things you're doing to me. My thinking has become pathological. I can't stop... desiring... what's been going on. If I just had some time away from all that..."

    "Danny," she interrupted. "Is your baby-size pecker stiff right now? While you've got a mouthful of my man's spunk?"

    "Well," I admitted reluctantly, "yes."

    She chortled deep in her throat. "Then it's too late for you, Mr. Hopeless. Even if we stopped now, I doubt that you'd ever be able to get back to how you were. And you'll never have the chance to find out. Because Marcus and me have talked about it, and we like it all just the way it is. Except for one thing."

    With my final hope slipping away, I asked, "What's that?"

    "We've decided to see how much further we can push you." She raised her knees, which put her boots into reach. My hands went to them automatically. "You won't believe some of the wicked ideas we've come up with. So it's not going to get better for you, Danny no-dick. It's going to get worse. A whole lot worse. You're head is going to be a ball of confusion, so you won't know if you'd rather eat ass or suck balls. And on that last one, Marcus has decided that he wants you to use your mouth on him like you do on me. All over and anytime he wants it. Cleaning him up after we screw." I was stroking her boots and it felt so good. "So you see, you have a long way to go. Now get back to sucking out his spunk. And pretty soon you might get to taste it directly from the source." She snickered. "And I'll be right there to take a few pictures of that."

    I pressed my face against her mound and probed deeply with my obedient tongue. I was so grateful she allowed me to keep caressing her boots. My situation was going to deteriorate even further. I was going to be even more of a sex slave to my wife and her Black lover. And my undersized dick was suddenly harder than I could remember it ever being.
     
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