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Old 24-Jun-16, 23:40
Silentcrs Silentcrs is offline
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NSFW Amy's Conquest Side Story - draft

Author's note: this is a story I'm working on in the Amy's Conquest canon (please Google Amy's Conquest for more info on the character). I'm not DTM, so the writing reflects my style a little more than his -- namely, there's a little more domination. Please take a read and let me know what you think.

***

Amy Hardstone heard the catcalls as she strode confidently down the hallways of Redmount High in her classic schoolgirl outfit. They were coming from fellow female students (the men were too scared) and she acknowledged them with a silent smile.

The eighteen-year-old was looking particularly voluptuous this afternoon, her voluminous breasts swaying high and proud on a firm chest. A hint of an early summer tan splayed across her ample cleavage, which was barely contained by a thin, white, tied-off crop top shirt. It was torn off at the shoulders, revealing her crushingly powerful 17” biceps and bare, washboard abs flexing with every step. Solid, tree trunk thighs, visibly etched with striated muscle under silky smooth skin, flowed out from under a pleated red and black skirt. Her diamond-cut calves bulged out from otherwise dainty white schoolgirl socks while her feet stepped forward in cute, black, schoolgirl shoes. If one could take their eyes off the incredible musculature for a second, they could glance up and see Amy’s hair tied into her favorite fashion: cute, blond, youthful pigtails. Amy’s gorgeous, modelesque face had just a hint of rosy cheeks, which were evident as she chewed and blew bubbles with pink gum. She definitely had perfected her dichotomous style: adorable schoolgirl and high school sexpot.

This wasn’t any random day at Redmount High, however. It was the last day of class before summer vacation, and, more importantly, Amy's last day of high school ever. She knew she would miss the storied halls, having built up a body of work (and reputation) that would add many more stories after she left. As she squeezed around a corner, she reflected on how she had long since outgrown the narrow hallways built for more “average” high schoolers. For one thing, being over 6 feet tall caused her to tower over nearly all other students – and the faculty. However, it was the 200+ pounds of thick, feminine muscle that really defined her. She would cast shadows on the lockers while strolling past them, and occasionally wouldn’t see when her mass knocked over classmates as she bumped into them. At least, she pretended she didn’t notice. The truth of the matter: from a very early age Amy loved to exercise her power – or, more accurately, abuse it. It was part and parcel with being a young Amazon, she reasoned to herself. If you’re blessed with the genes and drive to build a body like hers, why not take control every chance you could get?

Without knocking, Amy opened the door to school’s main office. The principal’s secretary looked up from her nail-filing in awe as the bastion of teenage muscle walked past her. “A-Amy… the Principal is n-not seeing v-visitors,” she stuttered.

Amy cheerily interrupted her, “The principal is going to be indisposed for a bit, Mrs. Rigsby.” Amy opened his office door quietly, winked and locked it behind her.

Principal Statesman, at first, did not look up from his desk. “Ellen, did you file those records?” he mumbled. It wasn’t until he heard the heavy creaking of a wooden chair that he looked up and saw the hulking teenage girl sitting in front of him. She stared at him with her beautiful, green eyes. “M-Ms. Hardstone!” he stammered.

“Hiya, Teach,” Amy sung. She folded one massive thigh over the other as the chair continued to creak under her prodigious weight and flippantly twisted a finger around a pigtail, flexing a terrifying bicep.

“W-what are you doing here?” the Principal asked, not at all prepared for the titanic high school senior. He was an attractive, if not older, gentleman. A few wisps of gray hair flowed through otherwise well-quaffed hair. His most defining feature, however, was his build. Evidentially, sitting behind a desk for years did not improve his slight, 5’6” frame. He looked more at home as a weedy librarian than a principal.

“Oh, I’m not here for much,” Amy said as she popped another bubble with her gum. She twirled her index finger impishly around the remains and sucked it back into her mouth. “I just wanted to talk about the graduation ceremony.”

“Graduation ceremony?” the principal asked. He shakily picked up the program on his desk for the weekend’s festivities and went through it. “Well, you’re speaking in it, of course…”

“Of course…” Amy lazily stretched out, arching her strong back. Her breasts pushed hard against the confines of the top.

“…as student body president,” he nervously continued.

“About that…” she said, “there’s this little matter of the valedictorian speech.”

“Valedictorian?” the principal thought to himself. It was quite clear that Amy had every right to speak as student body president. Every year since she was a freshman she had won by a landslide. Although, there was pretty concrete evidence that this was due to “persuading” fellow students. “But Amy, you’re not class valedictorian,” he said.

“I would be, if it wasn’t for my academic record,” she countered sweetly.

“Your academic record?” he asked. He fortunately still had all the students’ records in front of him. He leafed through them and opened Amy’s. She had excellent grades – been a 4.0 student since day one. However, there were numerous instances of detention with descriptions such as “beat up the basketball team” and “destroyed school property”. There was also one vague case of a teacher that was apparently sent to the hospital, although it was unclear how he got there.

“Amy,” he said, putting the folder down and trying to get a handle on the situation, “you know it’s school policy that the valedictorian can’t have a significant detention record. That’s been the tradition for years.”

“Principal Statesman,” Amy said as she began to breathe deeply, “you and I both know traditions are meant to be broken.”

“B-besides,” he continued, trying not to stare at her heaving bust. “The valedictorian has already been declared. I believe it was Mr. Frank Willowbottom.”

Amy looked down nonchalantly at her knuckles. “Frank is not going to make graduation, I’m afraid. He’s had a bit of an accident.”

“Accident?” the principal stammered. “S-still,” he tried to regain his composure, “you can’t just be made valedictorian.” He noticed her muscles start to tense. “Perhaps if you had practiced a modicum of self-control…”

“Self-control, teach?” Amy taunted. She unfolded her tree trunk legs from the chair gracefully and stood up. The young Amazon walked around the desk, taking the gum out of her mouth and, with a condescending glance at the shaking man, mashed it onto its fine wood grain. She reached down and, with one balled-up fist, grabbed the principal’s collar and slowly pulled him up. As he rose to Amy’s eye-level, his feet started to dangle and kick in the air. He could still smell the bubblegum on her breath.

“I don’t think you realize how much control I have,” she whispered haughtily.

With one fluid motion, she flipped him over his desk, crashing onto an ornate carpet. His laid on his back prone as he held his head in pain. She sultrily walked back around his desk.

“Principal Statesman, I’m feeling like a good little girl today…” she said as she slinked around him and began to undo the knot of her shirt with her fingertips, “…so while we’re on the subject of self-control, I’ll make you a deal.”

She stood directly over him, her back to his face, her mile-high legs towering above his head. “If you can keep from cumming, I’ll only do the student body speech,” she said with one subtle arch of her back, her globes breaking free from her shirt. She tossed the thin fabric to the side. “However, if you cum, I get to do the speech, and anything else I want to you,” she sighed contentedly. She looked over her broad back at his cowering body and cracked her knuckles. “Let’s begin!”

She crashed her body down onto his in a 69 position, hundreds of pounds of solid muscle shaking the room. With a well-practiced flick of her wrist, she broke off his belt buckle and tore off his clothes. As she did this, the girth of her thighs began to snake around his head, pulling his face up into her fragrant teenage crotch. He could feel the warm heat of her privates coming through her panties. As she tensed her thighs, his vision went dark and all he could do was pray that she wasn’t going to crush him to death.

Suddenly, he felt another sense of warmth, this time coming from his lower half. It took a fraction of a second to realize Amy had taken his penis into her mouth. The skilled vixen wrapped her tongue around his shaft, as delectable as any lollipop to her. She swallowed it whole as her pigtails started bobbing up and down in rhythm, her rosy cheeks sucking inward. While she did this, she began to squeeze her legs firmer, if only slightly. She was making it clear to him that there was no way he could escape.

When his dick was sufficiently lubricated, he felt a new sensation. This time, his penis was engulfed by Amy’s two solid masses of breast flesh. With a handful of each, she began to roll and squeeze his penis within their smooth confines, teasingly having its head peak out from her cleavage only to vanish quickly again. She loved to feel men’s junk throb between her all-encompassing globes, and she hadn’t met a man yet whose penis was bigger than her tits. Still, Principal Statesman’s was a nice size, and she occasionally opened her vast mounds up so she could flick her tongue down and catch his tasty pre-cum, as well as lick up and down the long shaft.

As she assaulted him with her boobs, it was all the principal could do but moan into Amy’s panty-covered pussy. He could feel her wet pussy lips under the fabric, against his face, the panties starting to soak with her fluids. He tried to break free but this only encouraged Amy to flex her legs tighter. She pressed her mound against her chin and started rubbing, enjoying the friction of her panties against her clit as her nipples grew harder.

“You’re doing pretty well,” Amy said with moderate admiration. “Let’s see if we can turn it up a notch.”

Amy wrapped her forearms around her breasts and completely buried the principal’s cock in her cavernous cleavage. She collapsed them inwards and began to pull up and down at an increased rate. She could tell she was having an effect on him as his thighs start to buck. Try as he might, his instincts were beginning to kick in. At the same time, she could feel his lips desperately seeking air against her snatch. Air which she was not going to give to him.

She smiled wickedly. “Only a matter of time now, teach,” she said in a singsong fashion.

She rubbed her crotch against his seeking mouth harder, drenching him in her juices. Meanwhile, her arms became piston-like, rolling her tits up and down his shaft tighter and faster than any pussy he had ever been in. She turned her head and gazed lovingly at the man trapped between her thick legs. She noticed his fingers gripped into the ridges of thigh muscle as he hopelessly tried to pull them apart and sighed in contentment.

Finally, without warning, she yanked his dick out of her cleavage. “Come on,” she said, tapping his penis against her smooth, rosy cheek. “Teach me all about that ‘self-control’,” she mocked.

She then palmed his penis head and pressed it against her erect nipple. Her eyes fluttered as she flicked the glans of his penis along the sensitive tip. Not being able to quite control herself, her other hand grabbed a handful of breast and pulled it up to her lips, sucking the other erect nipple. She felt him starting to twitch.

“Ready baby?” she moaned as she flicked the head faster against her nipple. He began to convulse as she childishly counted down. “Three, two, one… cum for me, teach.”

A thick white, stream shot out of him, curving high into the air and landing on his desk, right next to her bubblegum. She heard him scream in pleasure against her privates, which she encouraged further by flexing her calves and wedging his face into her ass. His body shook as rope after rope spiraled out, covering his carpet, chair and other parts of the office with semen.

She unwrapped her legs and turned around, laughing as she made out the bright red areas on his face where she had squeezed too tight. He clutched his head woozily. She laid down next to him and held up her pigtailed head inches away from his face with one, bent muscular arm.

“Looks like you lost the bet, teach,” she said matter-of-factly as she rubbed her finger over his nipple. “I guess that means both speeches are mine.” He gradually opened his eyes to see her beautiful green ones staring down at him, her soft face and voice belying the manhandling he just received.

“Know what’s also mine?” she whispered, tilting her pigtailed head mock innocently. He could once again smell the bubblegum.

“You!” she growled.

Her tongue thrust forcefully into his mouth as her hand reached back and snapped off her wet panties and skirt. She stood up, fingers pressed to her now bare, shaven snatch gyrating like a stripper over him. She coyishly bit her lower lip, jumped in the air and giggled. Her pigtails flew as she slammed her pussy and full weight down onto his still erect cock. She sat in a cowgirl position, gazing at him like he was a tasty piece of terrified meat.

“When are men ever going to learn?” she wondered aloud as she put her hands on her firm hips and twisted her tight core, savoring his length within her. She traced her ab ridges and drew a breast once against to her mouth, sucking the taut nipple, never losing eye contact, as she flexed one mighty bicep to intimidate. She slowly lifted her weight a few inches off of him, relishing his length, then carelessly started to pound her muscle-filled body into his much weaker form as she fucked him.

He started to cry. “Oh teacher,” she mocked in a little girl's voice as she continued to bounce. “Am I being bad? Is the weak wittle girl hurting the big strong man?”

While continuing to fuck him, she lowered her upper body slowly until it rested on his. Her full breasts pressed into his chest, then slowly compressed downward, carefully and calculatingly forcing the air out of his lungs. She palmed his cheek and licked off a tear. She pressed her lips against his ear.

“You have no idea how bad this little girl can get,” she whispered erotically.

Amy suddenly grabbed his head and harshly plunged it into the valley of her cleavage – the same cleavage which had so effortlessly dominated his penis minutes ago. She slowly and deliberately coiled her thick biceps around the back of his head, grinning devilshly as his face disappeared from view. He saw stars as her breasts not only blacked out his vision, but her powerful pecs began to crush inward. Her back flared out as she powered all of her upper body into the hold. She looped her massive thighs and calves tighter around his torso, coiling and twisting her muscle around him, the cables of muscle constricting as she continued to pound him.

She was the cobra. He was the prey.

As she flexed to her full, frightening mass, Principal Statesman almost entirely disappeared from view. She flared her pigtailed head back as if beseeching God for more strength. Her hips pounded without reservation. She flexed her biceps and back into his yielding upper body and heard the sweet sound of a rib crack. She wondered if she could do the same to his pelvis.

As it was clear he was fading out, her hips became a battering ram as she attempted to origami his body into her. When at last she felt another scream echo between her breasts, against her heart, she yelled out a primal roar which brought her over the edge. Just before he went motionless, she felt a warm load rush into her womb as she shook and flexed all around him.

After several more minutes of afterglow, enjoying the feel of his small, spindly body still encased in her muscle, she kissed the top of his forehead (as if to thank him for his suffering) and unwrapped her sweat-covered body from his frail, unmoving form. She stood up and, with a palm to her lips, giggled like the schoolgirl she was. His body was all twisted up like a used-up roll of toothpaste. She checked that he was still breathing (which he was, raggedly) and skipped off to fetch her disheveled skirt which lay in the corner.

She pulled out a cell phone and positioned herself for a selfie. She held it high in the air above them, pointed down at her giant, heaving, muscular body while his tiny shriveled, impotent one lay prostrate on the floor under her. A single index finger touched the bottom of her bee-stung lips while the flash clicked.

“Oops, I did it again…” she captioned it on social media. “One last time at Redmount High ♥.”

She slinked back into her skirt, retied her top and beamed as she felt her phone immediately start to vibrate with the “likes” coming in. She picked up her panties and twirled them around a finger, whistling brightly. As she walked out of the principal’s office, the stunned secretary looked on in amazement.

“Have a good summer, Mrs. Rigsby,” Amy said, flinging the damp panties onto her desk as she walked out.





The near-silence of her footsteps seemed to belie the sheer thickness of her body. How could someone so robust move so gracefully? The frozen reaction of the crowd only contributed to the awe in the auditorium. Many of the parents had heard clandestine whispers from their children about a bully female student over the past few years. One that supposedly preyed on men (students and teachers alike). It was their first time seeing her in the flesh.

Or, rather, in a graduation gown.

At her size, Amy had a difficult time finding any clothing that might fit her body, let alone something for a special event. Her mother had a navy blue graduation gown custom made to fit her musculature. Even so, it clung tightly to her skin in ways a gown wouldn’t normally fit a young girl. Her bulging arms pumped gently as she walked, occasionally hinting at the etched muscle barely hidden under the tight fabric. Likewise, her sashaying hips over-emphasized her thick thighs and Brazilian-like bubble butt as she strode confidently. Even her breasts seemed to rise pompously underneath the top, defiantly showcasing her two most feminine assets (and were those erect nipples?)

It made an older (but no less beautiful) Amazon Milf sit forward in a too-small auditorium chair and wave. Elizabeth Hardstone watched from the audience as her daughter made her way across the partially blackened stage, a single spotlight following her poised strides as the rest of the student body sat in darkness towards the back of the stagd. Elizabeth turned to glance at her fellow spectators and had to suppress a chortle under an elegant hand. Everyone's mouths were gaping. Evidently, they had never seen a teenage girl quite like her daughter (just as they hadn’t seen anyone like her when she first sat onto the creaking folding chair). Elizabeth folded one column of stocky thigh meat over the other and sat back to watch the show.

Amy walked to the podium and adjusted the microphone upwards to her bee-stung lips (most of the other speakers had been shorter than her). She turned to address the audience with a confident gaze, her stunning face practically glowing. Her flowing hair, done up with her favorite hairstyle of pigtails, was adorned with sophisticated lace bows for the occasion. She caught a glimpse of her mother in the audience, thrust her chest out proudly and took a deep breath in.

“Teachers, students, and fellow classmates,” she begun, “it is with great honor that I accept the award for Valedictorian of Redmount High. I would like to first acknowledge the… help… I received from Principal Statesmen and Salutatorian Frank Willowbottom. Without their ‘support’ I wouldn’t be here today.” She tried to keep herself from laughing, but a smile belied her intentions.

She continued and got serious for a moment. “Women have struggled for years for equality and respect from their male counterparts. It wasn't too long ago that they had to fight for the right to vote, and some are still challenged by unequal pay. There are women, some in this very room, who still suffer from domestic violence and arranged marriages. The scale has invariably been weighed towards masculinity for centuries.”

“It doesn’t have to be that way,” she said, pausing with a brief air, her muscles tensing. The sound of a single thread popping could barely be heard over the hushed room. “Today’s women, particularly young women, are no longer bound by the bonds of patriarchy,” she continued, growing in energy. “We no longer cower in fear as we walk down dark alleys alone at night. We don’t worry about how much we had to drink, or fear we might be raped.”

“We have the freedom to live our lives, personally, professionally – and sexually – the way we want to.” She looked out at men in the audience. “And we have a lot fun doing it,” she said sexily as she winked. Ripping sound emanated from the graduation robe, which now appeared much tighter around her muscles than before. Amy smiled coyly and took the microphone off its base.

“Tell me, guys. Or should I say, little boys,” she spoke as she walked across the stage, her legs stretching dangerously against the now constraining robe. “How many times have you said ‘I want to get between that girl’s legs?’ Even girls much younger than yourself. Maybe your daughter’s best friend?” Some of the men in the audience lowered their heads in shame.

She spun the microphone by its wire in a loop casually as she paused at the center of the stage for effect. She glanced at her mom, who nodded her head, and Amy scissored her legs apart, ripping the bottom of her robe. Powerful, smooth, teardrop-shaped thighs flexed in the bright light as a murmur grew over the crowd.

“How about these legs, boys?” she taunted with a roguish grin. She turned to the side and spread them apart, running a supple hand along the contours of defined muscle.. Her calves bulged as she cupped and caressed them.

“Your sons know these legs well,” she continued, playing with the microphone cord nonchalantly. She turned to the students in the darkness. “Mike!” she yelled. “Get out here.”

A young man tripped out of the darkness hurriedly and immediately kneeled in front of Amy’s towering form. She bent her leg and flexed it in front of the much smaller teenager.

“Worship! Now!”

Mike shakily reached out, anxiously gripping her meaty calf. He was hard pressed to put his hands entirely around it, so he leaned forward and started to kiss it, much to Amy’s chagrin. He licked up and down the crevices of the flexed muscles until they began to shine in the spotlight, before making his way gingerly upwards. The crowd was stunned.

Amy smirked down at fawning boy and flexed her thigh to its full, formidable form. The muscles exploded out and nearly knocked the boy backwards, his head easily smaller than its circumference. He wrapped his arms around the thigh like it was a tree, letting his lips wander along the carved striations as he again tried to please his teenage muscle mistress. Amy closed her eyes as she heard the growing din of the crowd and let the feeling wash over her.

As Mike made his way upwards towards her inner thigh, she friskily entertained the idea of snaking her other thigh around his head and just crushing him in a headscissor right then and there. She restrained herself, though, as she felt his trembling lips edge closer to her now wet panties. Mike’s neck bent backwards as he pressed his head underneath her robe, causing Amy to sigh contently. As the crowd's reaction began to grow out of control she reluctantly pushed his head away, peering out at the audience and catching a glimpse of Mike’s shaken father. “Time enough for that later, Mike,” she said coolly, her lips brushing the microphone as scurried his way back to his seat.

“Or let me ask you this, boys,” she continued, making her way to the front of the stage and again addressing the audience. “How many of you have raised a hand to your wives? Your daughters?” She looked out into the crowd as she twirled the microphone. Some men were visibly shifting in their seats. “Don’t be bashful,” she continued. I know statistically at least 25% of the women in this audience have been abused. Some of them multiple times.” The buzz from the women in the audience grew.

“Mr. Meekins,” Amy looked down and ordered, “get up here.” A bespectacled teacher in the front row of the audience looked up in confusion. Wisps of what remained of white hair wafted left and right as he pleaded silently for help from his fellow faculty.

“I said, get up here!” Amy growled. She reached down and grabbed him rudely by his collar, yanking his body straight up. As she did, the peak of her bicep flexed and split her sleeve like a frayed, winding river. He dangled from her powerful arm perilously.

“Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Meekins, my freshman math teacher.” As she spoke, she idly began to curl his entire body up and down with her single arm, her bicep and triceps growing fuller and becoming more engorged with blood as she pumped. “Somewhat cute, for an older guy. Still not as cute as another teacher, though,” she said wistfully. The remains of the gown’s sleeve fell off after several more curls, revealing her stone-like guns in all their glory.

“Please tell the audience, Mr. Meekins, what you told me on my first day of high school.” He stayed silent in her grasp. “Oh, don’t be demure,” she encouraged, her eyes getting serious for a moment as she stared into his. “You certainly weren’t that day.”

“I…” his voice cracked, “I said the girls in class shouldn’t worry about getting good graded, because women can’t do math well.” An audible groan escaped the audience.

“And what was my response?” Amy continued, looking down at the nails of her other hand nonchalantly as she continued lifting him effortlessly.

“You said your mother was the head of a Fortune 100, and that one of her jobs was to handle finances, which required extensive knowledge in math.” Elizabeth nodded silently.

“And then what happened?” She continued to curl up and down.

“I… I said a young lady should never talk back to their teacher and if it was the olden days, I… I…” She stared intently at him, forcing him to continue. “I’d put you over my knee and… and… spank you,” he finished guiltily. An appalled exclamation exploded from the crowd.

Amy spoke slowly and deliberately now. “And then what happened, Mr. Meekins?” she asked in a childlike voice. The man trembled in fear. “What happened, Mister?” she repeated, bringing him up to eye level. She again looked down at her fingernails casually. “Or would you like me to show them?”

“No!” his eyes blew up in fear. “Wait! Oh God, please no… mpphh!”

In one swift motion, Amy dropped his face down into the crook of her bicep and applied a devastating headlock. She pinned the back of his head to her chest as he hung from her body.

“I did something like this, didn’t I Mr. Meekins?” she explained as she walked across the stage, beaming devilishly while the much older man hung like a doll. “I was obviously much younger then, but even at 14 years old I recall keeping you in check.” She pressed an index finger inquisitively to her lips as she twisted the headlock harder. “I think I came close to dislocating your jaw, if I recall correctly.” She paraded him to the corners of the stage as his small hands gripped uselessly at her tan, husky arm, chuckling as he frantically kicked air as he tried to free himself.

“Tell me, boys,” she spoke again to the crowd. “Would you raise your voice towards your wives and daughters if they could do this?” She turned sideways and flexed harder, her strong bicep aglow in the spotlight, the man's head barely visible underneath. “Would you strike a woman this much stronger than you?” The older females in the audience started to stir in their seats, as if something had awaked within them.

“Let’s ask Mr. Meekins,” she suggested playfully. She brought the microphone down to his face, which she let peek out from under her arm. His bloodshot eyes darted around in fear. “Go ahead, Mister.”

“Someone, help…” he spat with pursed lips, “…me…”

“Wrong answer, Mr. Meekins!” she sung as she ground down, her arm exploding into its full, frightful width. His face disappeared into a twisting mass of muscularity as his legs kicked violently, his fingers clawing uselessly. Amy's free hand combed through her blonde hair, seemingly oblivious to the domination she was exerting to the little man twisted in her grasp. She brought the mic to her lips as she stared intently out at the eyes of men in the audience, their eyes as wide as saucer plates. “Way too easy,” she breathed out in a childlike voice before biting her lower lip.

The man's gyrations started to decrease. She threw her hair back in pleasure as she watched him, attracted to the energy she was seemingly sucking from him like a teenage Amazon succubus. With one final, harsh crush, a scream escaped the confines of her biceps and his legs stiffening before falling uselessly against her towering body. “Mmm…” she moaned as she looked down at her handiwork, licking completely around her lips like she just finished a tasty treat. She dropped him unceremoniously to the hard stage floor, a fellow teacher pulling him (still raggedly breathing) from the stage, while she admired her horseshoe-shaped triceps.

“Thank you Mr. Meekins,” she blinked mock innocently, “for that demonstration.”

...to be continued
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