Binding Resolutions Chapter 2: Lost in Submission

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Yvonne's evening descends into a carnal savagery where the hedonistic fantasies of onlookers are not just met but encouraged. She is simply a vessel for gratification for the crowd, an emblem of her solemn vow to her ever-demanding mistress. Adorned in attire that barely conceals, she is marched out before hungry eyes, every inch of her transformation a testimony to her submission. Be forewarned: this chapter treads through shadowed corridors, filled with explicit scenes and raw exchanges that may unsettle the faint of heart.

**Personal Request and Trigger Warning for Chapter 2**: Please be advised that the following chapter contains material of a very dark and explicit nature, exploring themes of extreme power dynamics, enforced submission, and explicit sexual content. It is intended for a mature audience and is not suitable for all readers. If such topics are likely to cause distress or are not to your taste, it may be best to refrain from reading further. Reader discretion is strongly advised as we continue this harrowing journey into the abyss of absolute surrender.

Chapter1 can be found here: Binding Resolutions Chapter 1: A Promise Kept

Chapter 2: Lost in Submission

Transformed, the once stately mansion by the cliffside now teemed with raw flesh, no longer shielding its secrets from the deep blue of the ocean's gaze.

The mansion had turned into a den of depravity, miles from its serene, oceanside elegance. Every inch of the lush cliffside estate screamed of the sexual frenzy that my own wealth, now signed away, afforded. It was a smut fest, drenched in carnality, alive with voracious appetites, indulged under a black velvet sky.

By the moonlit pool's edge, the New Year's bash was a sinful showcase with fuck-hungry bodies contorted in pleasure. Strings of low-hanging lights cast a permissive glow, making every jutting nipple and bobbing cock a star in the night's filthy parade.

Lounge chairs, once meant for idle sun-basking, now bore the weight of screwing couples. One woman, it was almost obscene how her ample ass devoured the cock behind her, each plunge met by her moans that spiced the salty evening air.

The air was so thick with the stank of screwing, it clung to me like a second skin. There I was, a peep show dolled up in frills, tits bouncing with every step as I served the drinks. My role was now a living, breathing ode to all that I was witnessing.

In my periphery, the unmistakable figure of Dr. Michelle, typically the vision of professional poise, was on all fours upon the dewy grass, body bent and offered up. The stud behind her drove into her like she was just ripe for his picking."Having fun watching, Yvonne?" her voice dripped with ridicule, the irony not lost on my captive gaze.

To my shame, my gaze lingered a little too long, drinking in the sight of her wanton unbecoming, before reluctantly tearing away.

Not a stone's throw away, Helen, the Mistress' sister, was the centrepiece of her own carnal theatre. Spread over a silk-draped cabana, legs wide and high for the stud fucking her into bliss. She saw me, and with a lustful leer, called me over. As I neared her to take her instructions, with a forceful grab, she pulled me up next to her, her grip on my wrist rigid. I was propped to watch, helpless. "Watch and learn, Yvonne. You'll get used to it." The promise in her twisted smirk was clear—this would be me.

The night was no celebration of time—it was an unabashed worship of sex. The music drowned us, a perverse lullaby cradling the writhing masses. We were all adrift in this sea of sin—a communion in the flesh, the old year dying in the throes of lewd rebirth.

I threaded my way through the labyrinth of bodies, continuing to serve, continuing to watch helplessly my breath hitched as I stumbled upon Mike.

Before I knew it, his arm shot out, snatching me with a growl, pulling me towards the couch where Annabelle perched atop him, impaled on his dick. A wife to one but a whore to another, she pounded onto him with lascivious fervour. Her husband, oblivious, sprawled out not too far from where she bounced upon Mike—the drug she'd likely slipped into his drink enabling her brazen betrayal.

Pulled down onto the couch, my flesh pressed against their hot, writhing bodies. Annabelle rode him unhurried, gyrating as her breasts, a touch smaller than what mine had morphed into, rose and fell in rhythm to her movements.

Mike harshly pulled my top aside, exposing my hefty, soft breast, the nipple now painfully swollen, vividly pink, and shamefully ripe. Compared to what Annabelle carried, what I sported were much more purpose bound. "Les seins d'une chienne," (*"The tits of a bitch, "*) I thought, eyes wide, as blood rushed to my cheeks in mortification.

"Cry for me, Yvonne, let's see if your tits do your weeping," Mike mocked, latching onto my nipple with a ferocity that extracted not tears but a gasp of raw pleasure. It was the first time that a man had claimed my breasts, imprinting the sense of their true purpose onto my psyche.

I realised then, with a clarity that ravaged my remnants of dignity, I existed for the abuse. To be bent to perversion's whims, manhandled, desecrated, and ultimately left painted with the marks of someone else's hunger. Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide — just a raw twitching mess, my body betraying me with spasmodic jerks, surrendering to the base moans torn from the depths of my being. Heat streaking across my face in a flush of shame.

"Pity your Mistress put a lock on the real goodies until she gives the green light," Mike groaned and went back to sucking my oversensitive nub, leaving me bucking against the cage latched 'round my shrivelled little ‘cockette’, which twitched and ached, desperate for a relief that wasn't coming.

"Oui, Maître. Utilisez-moi comme vous voulez—après le feu vert de la Maîtresse, je suis toute à vous," I conceded, voicing my own objectification. (*"Yes, Master. Use me as you will—after Mistress says so, I’m all yours,"*) slipped from my lips, each word shivering with a wretched cocktail of shame and forbidden hunger as Mike's mouth worked over my swollen nipple.

Annabelle's taunt sliced through the fog of my pained arousal, "Let's face it, you were just a sorry excuse for a man, weren't you? How you convinced Nina is beyond me. Even now, she's withholding... but not from Jacob. He's playing his cards right; maybe she'll be his New Year's conquest."

I wanted to shrink away, disappear, but her words were like barbs hooking into my flesh, tearing open a fresh wound each time. It baffled me—why did these women find Jacob enticing?

The man was nothing next to Mistress’ magnetism or even who I had once been—a version of myself that was athletic and appealing. What twisted fate had led me to this—to become something so abjectly helpless? This question gnawed at my essence, the torture sharpened as it mingled with the torment of feeling invisible needles piercing my exposed essence.

Annabelle and her crowd found some magnetic draw to him that was torturous to contemplate. The only response I could muster was a string of moans punctuated by tormented breaths, steeped in the heat of the moment and the torment it brought.

The enigma of Mistress withholding her favours from the night's revelry perplexed me, her beauty unclaimed. I felt the burn of knowing that Jacob, a man with a middling presence when I once stood proud and virile, a slow torture that unravelled me from within. The sting of understanding a game in which I was the losing player seared through me.

As I tried to wriggle free from the harsh clutch, Mike held fast, an unyielding trap that had me stuck and stewing in a cesspool of self-loathing and lust, making me bear witness to the raunchy spectacle laid out in front of me. It was once my realm, no, now it was Mistress’ kingdom, and I was naught but a quivering plaything, with a desperate wail that came unbidden.

"Je ne suis pas l'homme pour la Maîtresse, elle se laissera emporter par celui qu'elle désire..." (*"I am no man for the Mistress, she will be swept away by the one she desires..."*)

Mike leaned in close, his hot breath fanning across my ear, his words a vulgar promise. "That's right and I can't wait to give you a proper fucking when that happens, you little slut."

It felt as if my mind fractured, yielding completely to the inevitability of my fate, birthing a mute entreaty in the dark alcove of my psyche.’Oui... il est inévitable …’ (‘Yes... it's inevitable …’)

That is when I noticed him looking at us from a distance. Jacob's hawk-like gaze fixed on me with predatory focus as I writhed under Mike's rough handling, his intent to intervene clear as day. He strode towards us with purpose, an angry glint in his eye as though he'd been robbed of administering my discipline first.

Mike, the bigger man, had been engrossed in his lewd occupation with my body but seemed unaware of Jacob's approach. I watched, helpless, as the larger man was unanticipatedly shoved aside. Mike, usually unyielding, surprisingly offered no resistance against the pig’s show of dominance. There was an undercurrent of complicity that I couldn't fathom.

With Mike displaced, Jacob, his fingers, talon-like, dug into my arms, trapping them behind me with the authority of ownership. The shock of his aggression left me momentarily dazed, and I was the deer within the grasp of a raptor, and I was truly terrified. No arousal, no shame, just fear.

“You are what I made you to be, you stupid little tramp,” he snarled in slow, deliberate English as he bent me over, a perverse glee in his execution. “Today, I’m finishing what I started—right here, right in front of you, in front of everybody. But first, you gotta be punished. You are not supposed to enjoy any of this.” His words were like a slap, stripping away any remnants of my pride, leaving me exposed and vulnerable.

In a heartbeat, he was on me, grabbing me with iron-hard hands. He dragged me like a rag doll over to the couch, throwing me down across his lap with a thud that forced the air from my lungs. I was panting, scared, glaring up just in time to see the Mistress’ sharp, predatory focus, hungry for the show.

Jacob's booze-soaked breath was hot on my neck, his voice gruff and rank with command. "Let's crank this up. Beg her now, bitch. Beg her with your hole to take me. To let me use her." I looked helplessly at the Mistress and she simply smiled letting me know that she wanted this.

His palm smacked down hard. "One."

"il peut vous posséder comme j'en ai jamais été capable." (*"Please, Mistress, take him, he can possess you in ways I never could. "*) I blurted, the first lash sending a jolt straight to my core, forcing tears from my eyes.

He hoisted his hand back up, the sound of the second hit echoing through me. "Two."

"Offrez-vous à lui, madame, laissez-le vous conquérir, corps et âme." (*"Offer yourself to him, Mistress, let him conquer you, body and soul, "*) my voice broke, the heat from my ass radiating through my entire body.

"Three."

With each passing moment, each searing spank, I painted the lurid image for the Mistress, invoking the raw power that Jacob wielded, a power that could make her succumb in ways that would render my own attempts a mere memory.

"À genoux, madame, pour cet homme, le seul capable de vous dominer complètement, de vous emmener aux sommets de l'extase..." (*"On your knees, Mistress, for this man, the only one who can truly dominate you, who can take you to the heights of ecstasy... "*) I choked out, breathless, humiliated.

"Four."

By the fourth, I was barely holding on, my throat raw as I spoke my bitter surrender.

"Pliez-vous pour lui, madame, offrez-lui ce que vous ne m'offrirez jamais, laissez-le explorer les profondeurs de votre désir..." (*"Bend over for him, Mistress, offer him what you will never grant me, let him delve into the depths of your desire..."*)

He paused, holding my chin, forcing me to look at Mistress as he geared up for the final humiliation.

"Five."

The last hit landed with a brutal thud, and I was winded, defeated.

"Madame, je reconnais que je n'ai jamais été à la hauteur, que vous n'auriez jamais dû me donner votre amour..." (*"Mistress, I acknowledge I was never good enough, you should have never wasted your love on me... "*) I whimpered, resigned to the fact, my place was crystal clear.

As the confession clawed its way out, raw and bleeding. For a moment, just a flash, Mistress' cruel smirk faltered, flickered into something almost human—sympathy? Pity? It vanished as quickly as it had appeared, leaving nothing but the hungry glint I knew so well.

I was nothing but a plaything, a spectacle, and beneath their joint gaze, I dissolved into the role they designed for me—Yvonne, the broken, the beggar, the bitch in heat for a discipline in denial.

Flushed with a heat that could scorch, the Mistress painted the room with her bare lust.

She glided toward Jacob, every movement dripping with a defiant promise of pleasure. With a casual flick, he flung me to the ground, a toy spent and rejected. Held captive by the scene, I watched them collide in a raw clash of lips and limbs. Mistress fed her breasts to Jacob’s roughened grip, their kiss a ravenous maw of longing and claim.

Then, in a brazen display, her fingers dipped beneath her skirt, emerging glistening—proof of her arousal. She found my mouth with those slick digits, and I complied, no command needed. My sobs and her nectar, long denied to me, commingled on my tongue, an intimate concoction I couldn't reject.

Mistress pressed for words, her voice soft but edged with command. “What do you say now, Yvonne? And don't you dare mumble.”

Choking on her scent, on the truth of my place in her world, I steeled myself. “Merci, madame,"(*"Thank you, Mistress,") I gasped, her flavor overwhelming, "de m'offrir ce goût, c'est tout ce que je peux avoir.” (*"for allowing me this taste, it's all I'm allowed to have."*)

Mistress' laugh was a dark melody, her eyes glinting with a predatory glee. "Don't worry, my little doll, you'll have plenty more—new ‘cocktails’ to lap up from me. Next time, I promise that it will be… saltier," she promised, her voice a seductive growl that flirted with the edge of cruelty.

And with the smug assurance of a queen, she twisted in Jacob's lap, her lips finding his once more in a carnal promise, sealing the moment with a kiss that spoke volumes, her hand deftly exploring within his pants. Left alone with the remnants of her desire coating my palate, I knelt in silence, my surrender complete.

As Jacob's hands itched to rip her dress up and bare it all, Mistress caught his wrist, her command absolute. She picked up her glass and stood, one hand still teasing the bulge in Jacob's pants, commanding the room with her presence.

Glasses clinked like chains as she beckoned me to the centre of the room — the stage for my unveiling. Mistress laid out her thanks like cards on the table: to Dr. Michelle for cooking up the hormone cocktail that softened my edges; to Lady Lynn for refining me into the docile maid I'd become; and to Jacob, for reinforcing how truly pitiful I was as a man... as her man.

With the ceremony of a high priestess, she lifted her glass. "Yvonne, ma chère," she directed me with a velvet voice that hid the steel beneath,”lift your skirt, panties off as well”

I with the obedience of a damned soul, hiked up my skirt, sliding the sheer fabric of my panties down, baring my desecrated form. The sight of the metal cage imprisoning my clittie tinkled a mocking chorus. Mistress' smile was victorious and cruel.

"Spread the view, love. No modesty left here, is there? Flaunt what is dangling beneath your laughable 'clit'," she urged with a venomous sweetness.

Stifling tears, I lifted the merciless chain for all to witness—the stark nudity of my castration laid bare for their perverse pleasure.

Mistress, with theatrical glee, announced, walking towards my trembling form. "Yvonne has surrendered the final remnants of her pitiful manhood." Then, touching the earring that dangled from my lobe with a flourish, she added, "Her little balls? They jingle here now, golden mementos for all to admire."

She cast a sweeping gaze around the room. "After our cheer, feel free to inspect our little eunuch up close."

Her attention snapped back to Jacob, her voice a resonant purr. "Yvonne, crawl to him, plead with him, unzip him. Suck him. Feast on your first taste of a real man."

Before I could summon the ghost of defiance, Mistress added, a sickly-sweet afterthought piercing through, "Do it with zeal, my love."

Every ounce of me screamed to resist, but with "my love" lingering in the air, I was snared. Mistress' words, a binding spell, her will, my shackling command.

Dragged down by chains of defeat inside me, I crawled on my knees toward Jacob. My very audible pleas scraping the bottom of my swallowed pride.

With resignation staining my soul, I crawled on my knees to Jacob.

Each move was a silent plea, “S'il vous plaît, monsieur, permettez-moi de vous servir avec enthousiasme avant que vous puissiez avoir ma femme." (*"Please, sir, allow me to service you enthusiastically before you enjoy my wife. "*)

“S'il vous plaît, monsieur, laissez-moi polir votre queue avec ma bouche," (*"Please, sir, allow me to polish your cock with my mouth, "*) I pleaded, my voice a barely-contained whimper leaking through parched lips.

The rough carpet burned against my skin as I inched closer to him, the distance a marathon of humiliation. "S'il vous plaît, servez-vous de ma bouche comme d'un trou chaud pour votre plaisir," (*"Please, use my mouth like a warm hole for your pleasure, "*) my words dripped in perverse reverence, a mantra of my own degradation.

My hands trembled as they hovered near his lap, my breaths short, sharp, laced with the acrid tang of fear and want. "S'il vous plaît, je veux être empalée sur votre bite, la sentir au fond de ma gorge," (*"Please, I want to be impaled on your dick, feel it in the back of my throat, "*) I choked out, the image of my own submission reflected in his darkening gaze.

I reached him, my plea now a fervent gasp. "S'il vous plaît, monsieur, remplissez-moi, utilisez-moi jusqu'à ce que je sois juste un gâchis dégoulinant," (*"Please, sir, fill me up, use me until I'm just a dripping mess, "*) my face hovered inches from his crotch, hot breath begging through the fabric separating us.

With a mixed curse of eagerness and self-loathing, I unzipped him. My final surrender was a silken whisper. "S'il vous plaît, montrez-moi que je ne suis rien sans votre queue," (*"Please, show me that I'm nothing without your cock, "*) my voice broke, staining my tongue with the metallic taste of defeat.

Mistress' hushed words, "my love," were both a caress and a brand – the duality of love and possession melding into my dawning reality. As I peeled back the zipper, giving in to her spell, I was acutely aware of every eye upon me. Her voice was the crack of a whip, her words the fetters that bound my soul to this relentless craving for shame.

As I continued to tug the zipper down, expectation hung thick in the air, a perverse invitation to the end of who I was. But there, staring back at me was the final joke – he was smaller than I'd ever been. Yet his cocky grin told a different story; he might as well have been a giant the way he leered at me, his eyes glazed with the raw hunger of ownership.

I wrapped my lips around him, the salty, skin-like tang hitting my tongue – nothing to brag about. The irony was a slap; I used to be bigger. Now here I was, taking him into my mouth, my identity dissolving with every taste of his mediocrity. ’Cette bite est délicieuse,’ (*’This cock is delicious,’*) I repeatedly lied to myself, the affirmation a twisted attempt to find some shred of enjoyment in my disgrace.

Without warning, his grip found my hair, his hold merciless as he forced me down on him. I gagged, my eyes watering as I was invaded, ruthlessly deep-throated by what I should have considered pitiable. "Yeah, that's it, you little whore. Keep it up," his voice rasped, a perverse praise.

My eyes stung, tears streaking down my face, yet I persisted, servicing him, degrading myself for the audience of the one who'd orchestrated my fall from grace. "Work for it like your Nina is going to work for it later. Get hungry for it,” he hissed, every word a command wrapped in vitriol.

Tears streamed down, mingling with the spit on my chin as I forced my mind back, back when she was on her knees for me. She was a natural, worshipping me, making me swell in bliss. Now, it was my turn, to dredge those memories and replicate that hunger, that devotion. 'Fais-le avec conviction... sois la garce avide de bite que tu ne peux nier être.' (*'Do it with conviction... be the dick-hungry wench you can't deny being.'*) I muttered in my head, a mantra to spur me on despite the shame.

I dove into my work. My lips, once proud and firm, were now soft and yielding, a haven for his mediocre meat. Each bob of my head was exaggerated, theatrical, a masterclass in the vulgar art I'd descended into. Compelled by Mistress' orders, by the fractured shards of longing that still pierced my chest, I sucked him like my life depended on it.

My lips were wrapped around Jacob’s manhood, working in desperate, forced rhythm, while my Mistress, my tormentor, my goddess—sang praise to her conspirators in my emasculation. Above the wet, choking sounds filling the air, I caught the sugar poison of Mistress' gratitude. “Shout out to Dr. Michelle for juicing Yvonne up with enough femme-fuel to shrivel her assets. Took no time to bob those bits from man to mouse.”

Dr. Michelle’s voice slinked back,all thick “Fuck me harder!” Revelling in her pounding, and oily with triumph “Pumping that—Nngh—primed canvas with Estro-max, Ooh God, yes, was a—Shove it in, you bastard!—a delight," her moans punctuating her claim. "Those balls, heh, went from—Ahh, yes!—grapes to—Ugh—raisins to gone. Even had—Mmm, that's it!—a decent piece between his legs once, you know? But now?—Aghh—Just a wink of flesh now—Ahh, fuck!—barely there, barely anything. A whisper where—Oh, fuck yes!—where a shout used to be."

Mistress' cackle was a bell toll in my hollowed chest, each chime a mockery of the flesh and pride I had once held. “Now my good Doctor, tell us, how did you like playing God with his raisin pouch?”

“Oh, Nina," Michelle's voice cut across the distance, strained as she was clearly feeling another thrust, "His bits were hardly—Ahh, God!—worth the name by the time the meds were done with their job. A quick cut, and—*Damn it, right there!*—voilà—nothing left but a—*Mmm, fuck!*—nice neat little nubbin. Just an exquisite—*Ahh shit, yes!*—little dimple that once dreamed it was a—*Ugh!*—a dick."

"Yvonne's such a—*Oh fuck!*—good girl now, isn't she? *Drive it deeper, you bastard!* Isn't that—*Ugh!*—right, doll?" she taunted at me, the sadistic joy thick in her voice. "Just thinking about it—*Oh, fuck me!*—Yvonne, legs spread wide, cut without—*Ahh, damn!*—anaesthesia, squealing in—*Ahh, yeah!*—in pain ... Shit, it makes me—*Mmm, fuck!*—it makes me so damn hot!"

Her voice grew manic, each curse word wrapped around the rhythm set by the person hammering into her, enthralled by the memories. "Such a sweet, clean slice—*Ahhhhh, FUCK!*—and the way you—*Yes!*—you bled for us, Yvonne, that's it—*Ohh, I'm gonna... I'm...*"

Her already loud cries escalated into a torrent of profanity as climax gripped her. "*AHHH, THAT'S IT!* Think back, Yvonne! The fucking slice—how it felt, your little balls getting chopped off, —*Ughhhh!*—our perfect, ball-less bitch! Oh, the reality was so much filthier, so much more satisfying—*AHHH, FUCK YEAH!* than any fantasy I had of fucking your old self in the past. Now I'm cumming—*AHHHH, CUMMING HARD!* Revel in the memory, Yvonne! *FUCK, YES!* Your pain, your loss, it's my…. *AHHHH, LOSING MY FUCKING MIND HERE, CUMMING SO FUCKING HARD!*"

“Hear that Yvonne, but don't you dare stop” Mistress' voice, a purring blade, kept weaving its spell of humiliation through me as I remained impaled on her design, my mouth stuffed full by the force of her will which, at that moment, tasted a whole lot like Jacob.

Mistress tossed her fiery gaze my way, my eyes looking at her while I continued to bob up and down , her voice dripping with raw promise. "Big shout-out to Lady Lynn for her 'special touch' with our pet here," she cooed, venomous honey in every syllable. "She's got Yvonne so tightly wound up, the poor slut's swimming in endless heat, but never getting off. Never coming. Just aching." She took a sip of her drink as she glanced at me and back to the crowd. "The devious butt plug training and wicked hypnosis sessions have left her squirming, trained to spill nothing but desperate yearning.” She said, her words laced with acid sweetness. The room erupted, laughter snaking around like tendrils looking for prey.

"Always a pleasure, Nina. Though let's be honest, a maid's work is never done—good thing ol' Yvonne over here will be on her knees to lick clean every splatter Jacob leaves behind." She has been reduced to an itch that never goes away. A lovely fuck-doll whose every breath is a silent scream for more cock, more cum, more humiliation" Lynn announced proudly, her eyes dark with twisted pleasure. "That mouth—oh, it's made for milking the menfolk, ladies too, while her butt is just a target for our guests' eager members. Once she gets real cum in her, we've packed her head so full of dirty hypno-triggers, she'll be chasing that cock high all night, then begging for the next hit even in her sleep."

Mistress turned on her heel, the centre of gravity swinging with her hips. "And Jacob," she purred, her gaze flitting to where I knelt, working tirelessly at my indignity. "Oh, Jacob, my beastly brute—you've given me so much already, showing me the insipid man Yvonne once pretended to be. And now, consider this my gift to you: me and this eternal tease here," she waved negligently toward me, "both at your mercy. Think of it as a lesson in power, babe. She’s primed to simmer in her own hell, boiling with need she can't quell, while you indulge yourself in every drop of the pleasure we offer."

Jacob was far gone, drowning in the shameless surrender of my lips wrapped tight around his cock. His mind numbed out to everything but the drag and swirl of eager servitude I offered up. The only thing that came from him was a half aware low grunt, the sound of a man soaked in the raw power of undeserved domination. His eyes, clouded over, were locked on the bob and sway of my head, hypnotised by the spectacle of his easy dominance on full, humiliating display. That dumbstruck daze of his, it spoke volumes about how deep he'd sunk into the pleasure of it all—lost in the depravity of my willing degradation.

With a sneer, Mistress spoke, "Let’s not forget, our Yvonne here speaks only in French now. Hypnosis has her wired tight, so all those pretty whimpers and words that escape are nothing but echoes of her submission. It's all I allow her, her language of servitude, her tender moans of wanting, the endless carousel of denied pleasure that spins in her pretty little head." Her mockery was a cold splash on my hot, writhing want—want that would never be more than just that, a panting, slobbering want.

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