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Subject: {ASSM} "The Russian Front, pt. 1" (M+F, rape, oral, dom, rom)
Date: Fri, 1 Nov 2002 19:10:26 -0500
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The Russian Front, A Love Story
By H. Jekyll
Part One: The Rapes
* * * * *
Story Codes: M+/F, rape, oral, vag, dom, rom
Note: I think I'm done with story codes after this. This is a
story about rape and domination and love and loss and
happiness in the middle of war. There are graphic rapes and
other graphic sex. It's a "sex" story but not a sex "genre"
story. If you want something that's "just" about sex, you'll be
disappointed. Give this a pass. There are very well written
pure sex stories out there. I even wrote some of them. Search
them out.
This is a slight revision of a story originally posted at
Ruthie's Club, based on an idea first put into print by Neil
Anthony (see his "Housewife, 1946" series at Ruthie's Club).
The formatted and illustrated original can be found there.
Copyright 2002 by H. Jekyll. Permission is freely granted to
post on any site that does not charge for entrance, as long as
full attribution is given to the author. The story should not
be read by anyone under the legal age to read sexually
explicit stories, or by anyone in a location where it is
illegal to read such stories.
I appreciate comments and inquiries, even criticisms, and I
absolutely promise to respond to them. Please send them to:
h_jekyll2000@yahoo.com
The H. Jekyll stories are archived in the Alt Sex Stories Text
Repository, at http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/h_jekyll/
Also at "Ruthie's Club" -- http://www.ruthiesclub.com/
* * * * *
The Russian Front, A Love Story
Part One: The Rapes
What is her name? Inge? Lena? It doesn't matter. It certainly
didn't matter to the Russians. She was young enough and lovely
enough and it was payback time.
A year back, now. Almost a year. The memory is strong as she
moves through the day, doing the wash, tending to her husband,
fussing at her children to be still because the neighbors will
complain. She lives in a place where time hasn't moved, a
hollow world, monochrome, chill. Though they long since escaped
to Heidelberg, when she blinks it is still the East and they
are still here. Her memory is too sharp. She sees them
plainly. She remembers not only the scars of the one who
finally claimed her, but things like the large black mole on
the belly of another and the differences in penises. She
doesn't eat much, doesn't sleep much, but there are times when
it is worse, when little things will set her off so she'll
suddenly have their smell and their taste at her face again.
Then she won't be able to eat at all. She'll have to kneel in
the bathroom behind a locked door, shivering and leaning over
the commode until it passes.
Because of this she is gaunt, not a starveling but far too
thin, every part of her except her belly which takes so much
energy to lug around. She was already thin then, no Brunhilda
after two years of caring for the children alone on ever
smaller rations, ersatz this and that, moving from place to
place because of the bombing. Friends went westward to be
captured by the Americans rather than the Russians. They had
heard that Eisenhower executed men for rape, but for the
Russians, nothing. People fleeing the Eastern front told what
had happened to them, how Zhukov didn't care, how German women
were booty. Why didn't they leave? They could have. Until the
last few days they might have slipped down the road, part of
the river of refugees, but she and her mother-in-law both
wanted to be where her husband could find them when the
fighting against the Russians was finished. Then, suddenly it
seems, it was too late.
The bombardment hadn't yet stopped when Russians came in the
door that first day. They had thought they would be safe until
the fighting stopped, but the door swung open. Hadn't they
locked it?... who hadn't locked it?... and the soldiers
entered. The first one rushed in but when he found only two
women and two small children he stopped and laughed and called
to the others.
Five, eight, nine men in the room. It was a large room but they
filled it, men and rifles, bunched in a semi-circle, crowding
the four terrified victims into a corner. The women tried to
shield the children but the Russians didn't give a damn about
the children. They came closer. It was completely still until
the two-year-old began crying, and the mother-in-law quickly
put her hand over the child's mouth to stifle it. Don't invite
violence. Don't.
The soldier's smell preceded them. None could have washed for
ages so they all smelled goaty. They felt goaty too. Two of
them rubbed their crotches as they came forward. There was at
least one who spoke some German.
"Your clothes! Off!"
They tried to resist but suddenly they'd been yanked to the
middle of the room, both women, where their bodies were
grabbed and they were slapped and punched. The children were
screaming. She was yelling, "Die Kinder, die Kinder," not
wanting the children to see. She didn't think she could stand
for the children to see what was going to happen. The Russians
were yelling at them, mostly with words they didn't know. Then
she was hit hard on the side of her head, just behind her eye,
and she went down. She hunched over, holding her head, and
cried again, "Please, the children!"
One of the men said something and it was again quiet except for
the children screaming. The men stepped back, forming a circle
around the women. One took the children through a door and it
became almost completely quiet. The crying sounded as though
it were coming from a great distance away. Afterward she found
the children had been shut in a closet off the bath. Both women
were gasping and whimpering, but quietly. Finally the one who
had spoken German before said, "Take off all your clothes now.
Cooperate or it will be worse for you."
They stripped, crying all the while, faces red but bodies
white. Her mother-in-law spoke just once, saying "Please don't
kill us. We'll do anything you want." But the man just laughed
and taunted her, "Tell that to the raped and murdered Jewesses
of Mother Russia. They did everything the Germans wanted."
Thereafter the two said nothing.
The rape was anticlimactic, much of it. The two women were
hustled to the bedroom. Both kept their hair fastened in buns,
and when they didn't move fast enough soldiers would grab
their buns and yank. Did they have to use the bedroom? The
children's crying was louder there, so they could hear them
screaming, "Momma, momma," while they were forced to lie down
on the bed, side by side under the old photograph of her
husband's family, the one from the last century. Two men
unfastened and pulled down their trousers and crawled between
the women's legs. The one on the mother-in-law complained to
the others, but he fucked her anyway. Only one other would
fuck her, though, before they pushed her out of the room so
they could concentrate on the younger woman.
She, though, she experienced it all. The first man diddled with
her vagina while another man squeezed her breasts. She closed
her eyes and turned her face to the side but someone grabbed
her chin to make her look at them, and he yelled something she
didn't understand. When the man began forcing his penis in it
hurt and she just couldn't stay quiet. She screamed and
started to thrash, so other men held her hands and legs, then
he was in and fucking, his massive weight on her all the way
down. Her vagina hurt with every plunge, as though it were
tearing. She screamed again and someone slapped her hard. Then
in just a few seconds he was done, yelling in joy and holding
his dick inside her as hard as he could while he came.
The men talked and joked among themselves the whole time.
The second wasn't as painful. There were semen and some blood
and secretions, and he was smaller as well, so he slipped in
easily. She didn't resist this time, not that she could have
done anything. He also came quickly.
The third one made her kiss him. She didn't want to do it but
he slapped her and grabbed and squeezed her left breast, his
fingers digging in deeply until she opened her mouth for him.
It was worse than she had imagined. He hadn't cleaned his
mouth in weeks, so his breath was like something that had died.
She gagged but he made her keep kissing him while he fucked
her and she had to control herself. Maybe if she'd vomited
they would have left in disgust.
How long did it last? She doesn't know that, or how many did
her. She knows some did her twice, including the one who had
made her kiss him. He forced her to kiss him again, but by
then it was almost like it was happening to someone else and
it was easier to control her gagging. They didn't hit her
anymore, not once she stopped resisting, and even stopped
holding onto her arms and legs. She cooperated, changing
position when told, shifting her hips to help them. For the
last two or three she lay face down with her ass in the air and
they did her from behind. Then a few of them urinated all over
her before they simply walked out.
She was still lying wet on her belly when her mother-in-law
came to her. The two had never liked each other, but now the
old woman was gentle and thorough. She had heated water to
make a warm bath. She led her daughter-in-law from the bed,
bloody semen and urine oozing down her thighs, to the bath,
where she washed her, first her hair, then her body. She had
mixed a douche of vinegar and something else and when the
younger woman wasn't able to apply it herself she did it for
her. Oh it burned when it flowed out! But she did it a second
time, to clean her as much as possible, before spreading
ointment over her sex. Finally she helped her dress.
During this the mother began to come around. She asked, "The
children?"
"Shh. They're sleeping."
* * * * *
Sometimes when she sleeps the memories and terror sweep over
her and she wakes sitting rigidly in the bed, ready to scream
but controlling it like she did for the Russians. Rather than
wake her husband, who has his own demons and own night
terrors, she will go to their little sitting room where she
will rock herself in front of the heater, arms folded tightly
across her chest, sometimes for hours. If he has a nightmare
she can comfort him, which will at least give her something to
do. It is the only time they have much physical contact. She
thinks of how much they fucked before he left for the Army,
how sometimes they would sneak out to the park at night to
take the risk of getting caught doing it, how they would wake
in the morning and sex each other until he had to go to work,
and he wouldn't have time for breakfast. He hasn't yet
recovered from the war; only five men from his immediate unit
returned at all. There's more, though. She was already great
with child when he finally returned last month, and he
wouldn't look at her belly when he first found what had
happened. They have discussed the situation -- such lawyerly
talk! -- and have agreed that she will give the child away when
it is born.
Her sleep was destroyed that first night. It may never recover.
When she had lain down, curled like a fetus, swathed in layers
of blankets, she had fallen into a deep and dreamless sleep,
but after awhile it had all come back to her and she had
jerked awake, thinking they were there. She was covered in
sweat and shivering, quaking, crying to herself. Then, after a
bit, sleep stole over her for awhile, until the next dream.
Sometime during the night she distantly heard her mother-in-
law cry out.
In the morning she couldn't get up, but she let the children
climb into bed with her, where she held them tightly until
they complained. Her mother-in-law did the practical chores
quietly. It wasn't until about noon that she remembered that
the older woman too had been raped and beaten. Then she forced
herself up. In the bathroom she counted eight distinct
bruises, four to her breasts, some contusions, two welts.
There was a bump just behind her left eye that led to a faint
bruise and some puffiness around the eye. Her vagina burned
when she used the toilet.
What of her mother-in-law? "Oh it is nothing," she'd answered.
Whatever there was, she had kept it inside, never giving any
sign that she was affected, taking it to her grave. No she
didn't die from the Russians but from an automobile accident
after they'd gotten to the American zone. Sometimes the woman
misses her mother-in-law. She wishes she had her strength.
* * * * *
She works as a maid for a group of American officers who treat
her well. She is improving her English and teaching them some
German words. They pass photos of their kids back and forth --
she has brought her two children to their quarters a few
times -- and the men talk about how much they miss their wives.
Being with the Americans, keeping busy, gives her a respite
from her brooding. There will be a future. For now there is
food for her family and the chance to talk with people who
seem to have no past. After a few, uncertain days working for
them she adopted their universal cheerfulness.
There is one exception. One day an officer who had helped
liberate Dachau visits for cards. During a break he relates a
story he'd heard from some survivors, about how members of the
Einsatzgruppen, whose job was to round up Jews for
extermination, would use young Jewish women sexually all night
long. The women would cooperate because they thought it would
save their lives, but they would be shot along with everyone
else the next morning.
When she overhears the story, the woman breaks down sobbing,
falling apart completely. She leans against a door and then
falls to her knees and makes the same sound as one whose child
has died. The officers can't get her to stop crying for the
longest time, no matter how solicitous they are with "It's
okay," and "There, there," and "No one blames you," and
"That's all in the past." Finally they pull her onto the divan
in a kind of Keystone Cops routine and bring her a large glass
of wine, which seems to help.
"We're sorry. Entschuldigen Sie, bitte. We won't ever talk
about that again, okay?"
They give her a ride to her apartment, though they almost can't
get the directions right because they are all speaking so many
comforting and cheerful words to her and because she is still
weepy, but finally they arrive. The senior officer tells her
to take the next day off. They're amazed that a German woman
would be so affected by a story of the annihilation, so much so
that afterward one of them tells the others, "I guess they
weren't all Nazis after all, were they?"
* * * * *
The second time was utterly unlike the first. To begin, the
door was locked and barred. The lights were off and they had
retreated behind more locked and barricaded doors, down into a
small room in the basement. Because of this they could tell
the progress the Russians made as the crashing of doors and the
profanity grew louder. Finally eight or ten of them were
standing before the four cowering Germans and even the
children were silent.
They wanted only the young woman. Two grabbed her hands and
they pulled her away, slamming broken doors behind until they
came to the bedroom. There was time for one action before they
took her, time for her mother-in-law to push the tube of
petrolatum into her hand.
The world rushed past her as she was jerked along by both arms
in her circle of dangerous men. She couldn't follow the
progress. Everything was fragmented. There were loud words she
didn't understand, punches when she stumbled. She couldn't
catch her breath, couldn't even beg properly, could think to
cry nothing beyond "nein, nein, nein" as they passed through
rooms. In the bedroom they pushed her into the middle of a
circle and began shoving her from one to another. They would
grab her breasts or her pudendum or hit her or slap her face.
She fell, whereupon they dragged her to her feet and started
over. When they were done there were two trickles of blood on
her face, one from her nose and one from her lip. She stood in
the middle of the circle, her head pulled down as far as
possible into her shoulders, arms in front of her face, swaying
like she might fall again, wheezing and whimpering, her eyes
jerking first this way then that way. She was tiny and
helpless and she couldn't stop shaking.
"That is what you get for making this difficult," said the one
who spoke German. "Now take off your clothes and make this
easy."
She tried to placate them while fumbling at her dress. "Please,
yes! Please! I am! Only don't hurt me anymore, please! I'm
doing it! I'm doing it!"
Once she was naked, she tried to smear some ointment onto her
vagina, but they took the tube away. They didn't want that
part of her anyway.
"Kneel!" commanded the one who spoke German.
She knelt.
"Open your mouth!" he shouted.
She opened her mouth. Then he said something to the others in
Russian in a boastful voice, unfastened his pants, and put an
engorged penis to her face.
She exhaled and closed her mouth and tried to turn away but
they were right there, all around her. Someone grabbed her
face and she was slapped and hit some more, so finally she
opened her mouth and he pushed the meaty thing in. She was
overwhelmed by the feel and the taste. In a few seconds he
spurted semen into her mouth, making her gag while he shouted,
"Swallow, German whore! Swallow it all." He hit her with an
open hand across the side of her head, right on her ear, and
all she could hear from that ear was ringing while she forced
herself to swallow.
Then another was at her face. This one came almost immediately.
Her mouth and nose were saturated with the taste and smell.
The next one lasted a little longer. When he came his semen
flowed instead of spurting.
The next was the worst. She was already hiccupping and half
heaving, but he began to pull out as he orgasmed and she saw
that his semen was a deep, reddish- brown color. It tasted
metallic. She shouted and began to heave in earnest. She had
to turn her face away, the back of her hand to her mouth, to
vomit, but they wouldn't let her.
"Swallow it all, whore!" yelled the one who spoke German, and
they began hitting her again. In the end she forced back down
the burning liquid that had risen in her throat and held
everything in.
She could hold anything in, it seemed. The next one's penis was
so dirty that it was covered with a whitish crud. "Cheese,"
said the one who spoke German and she fellated the man. His
prick was so sour that the taste stayed with her through the
next two.
Finally the first one was ready for his second go. It took
longer this time. He began saying something in Russian, then
switched to German. "Suck, suck, suck." The others took up the
chant. "Suck, suck, suck," and one began hitting her on the
back with a belt or something until she became active in her
sucking on the fleshy thing. She sucked another one, then
another. It would never end, the cycle of pulsating dicks.
* * * * * *
That is the scene that comes to her the hardest but not the one
that brings her the most shame. It seems to be fading a
little, as well. When the memory would come to her in the
early days, she couldn't eat -- not really -- for days. Now it
lasts only hours.
Her husband returned from the POW camp long after the worst
days were gone. When she finally saw his cadaverous frame in
the doorway, far thinner even than hers, she had stared at him
in amazement. For his part? He had stared at her belly for the
longest time with absolutely no expression, then had asked,
"Whose is it?" Now he will hold her hand or touch her
shoulder, but he avoids her stomach, her breasts, her sex.
He now knows the Russians raped her but he doesn't know any
details, just as she knows almost nothing about his life as a
soldier or a prisoner. She wonders if they'll ever begin to
find out details and doesn't think she will ask. She hopes he
doesn't either.
* * * * * *
When it did end it was suddenly. One second her world was all
dripping penises and the next she was kneeling untouched while
a new soldier, an officer, stepped to her. He said something
to the rapists in an authoritative but not unfriendly tone,
and they began leaving the room. One or two made wisecracks on
the way out.
"Stand up, please, Mädchen," he said. He had an accent but his
German was fairly fluent.
He had to help her to her feet. She didn't even try at first,
and when she did try her limbs went off in such a paroxysm
that she couldn't get her bearings. Please help me do what he
wants, she prayed. Then he had hold of her hand and was
helping her gently, not yanking and not hitting, until she was
upright. Her breathing was still in machine-gun like bursts.
His trousers weren't pulled down. That was the first thing she
noticed about him, and she wondered when he would fix the
oversight. He wore a greatcoat, heavier than was needed for
the weather. Somehow that was the second thing she noticed.
She didn't wonder what would happen next, just stood dumbly.
"Now put your clothes on. Just your dress and shoes. I will get
your coat."
She has no recollection of dressing, or that by the time she
was done he had her coat and a wool scarf. He also had a wet
cloth with which he washed her face tenderly while she stood
with her arms hanging limply at her sides. She remembers
standing passively while he washed her, remembers him making a
"tsk" sound. She remembers that he had to help her with her
coat and scarf. She thinks she remembers him looking into her
face and saying things would be all right but she can't be
sure. She wishes she could remember their first meeting more
clearly. He took her arm to lead her from the house.
The other Russians were nowhere to be seen, but the streets
were filled with Russian trucks and cars, and sentries stood
at street corners. She waited at the doorway for a moment,
swaying, while he fixed some kind of sign to the door. There
was a sweet smelling breeze from the South and one or two small
clouds in a blue sky, but the trees weren't yet beginning to
bud. What was he doing? He finished his task, took her arm,
and said, "Let us go then, Fraülein."
So they walked, she his little automaton, going where he
directed, asking no questions, her mind so frozen that she
would have walked right into a shell crater in the middle of
some boulevard if he hadn't steered her around it, but after
they'd traveled some blocks it came to her that she should
correct him.
"I'm not a Fraülein, sir. I'm a Hausfrau and a mother." Her
voice was so quiet that it took him a moment to understand
her. He replied simply,
"Yes I know, Fraülein."
His tone was gentle and he steered her without any threats or
force. Her mind began to thaw a little, but she knew he was
taking her to more Russian soldiers and she wanted to keep her
mind as far as possible from her body. Still, she became aware
again of the taste and the smell she carried, how she swam in
ejaculate. Once she was aware of it, it became the center of
her perceptions. She had to start breathing through her mouth.
She grew nauseated. Everything that had happened, that had
seemed to happen to another, now came to her as her own little
Hell. Her stomach began jumping so that she couldn't hold
anything down this time, no matter how much he hit her, and
she turned and threw up loudly onto the street. She heaved
over and over again to force out the phlegm. She began
spitting and wiping her mouth before she was even through, not
at first aware that he was holding a bottle to her.
"Here. Rinse, Fraülein."
It was vodka. She swigged some, swished it around, and spat. It
made her gasp. She did it again. Once more. She was burning
the feeling and taste out. She splashed some on her hands to
wet her mouth and wiped it with the end of the scarf. He said,
"Drink," and she swallowed vodka to clean herself inside, after
which he took back the bottle, wiped her face and her hand with
a handkerchief, and once more took her arm.
* * * * * *
When they can afford it she buys dry Rhine wine, so dry it is
almost astringent. She goes to market every few days and can
finally find fresh foods sometimes, but she still accepts
excess rations from the Americans. Some of the soda crackers
are stale but they get eaten in any case. Her husband smokes
the American cigarettes. There is powder for cocoa for the
children and pieces of American chocolate. She herself never
eats the chocolates, explaining that she doesn't care for the
American style. When they opened their first ration package
her husband broke off pieces of chocolate for everyone. She
stared at hers, took a small taste, then quietly put it on her
plate. A moment later she left the table and went to the
bedroom to lie down. When her husband came to her later her
eyes were red. She had a sick headache, she said, so he turned
down the light and stroked her forehead for awhile.
What she can tolerate least is American Spam. The first time
she opened a tin and smelled it she dropped the can and ran to
the bathroom, where she stayed most of the evening. The
children and her husband love Spam.
* * * * * *
Of course he had private quarters, a warm apartment that must
have been owned by someone of means. There was a small fire in
a grate, and large, classical woodland tapestries hung from
the walls. She had gone back into her fugue state by the time
they reached the place, so she examined the room from a great
distance away, with no particular interest. The little fire
drew her most, and she stood staring into it, watching it
flicker, feeling the slight heat on her face. She could stand
there forever. Maybe she could fall into it, fall forever into
the light and the heat. Actually they stood there together, on
a Persian carpet, and he turned to her and said, "Now will you
please be so good as to take your clothes off?"
She came to herself, raised a hand to her mouth and moaned,
long and slowly. It was going to happen now! What doorway
would all of them come out of to get her? She began to shudder
like before. He repeated, "Please. Your clothes, now."
So she began to strip again, with difficulty because she was
quaking all over again, her shoulders, her belly, her hands.
Only when she was naked did she notice he had stripped too. He
had a large erection, especially large, it seemed to her, for
one so impossibly wiry and lean.
He sat down on a low, leather stool, with his legs spread wide,
so that his penis commanded her attention.
"Kneel in front of me please."
But she couldn't. She stood there and looked at him and
shivered, but she couldn't make herself move.
"Now, please. Kneel."
Finally she could talk, in a tiny, quavering voice. "I will.
Please don't hurt me again, sir. Please don't. I'll do
anything. Please, sir."
"It should be obvious by now that I am not going to hurt you.
Now kneel."
She knelt in front of him.
"Closer."
She crept closer, as little as possible. He made her creep
still closer, until she was almost touching him.
"Now, place your hands palm down on your thighs, please. Good.
Now lean over and take my penis in your mouth."
She did as she was told. One more penis, meaty and aromatic.
How many more? She began to suck like she'd been forced to do
before but he made her stop.
"Just hold it in you. You can suck and swallow softly but only
enough to keep from dripping. I do not want this to end too
soon, and you should become acquainted with me."
She saw a movement of his hands coming toward her head and she
jerked back, nearly dislodging his penis, because she thought
he was going to hurt her, but no.
"Sweet Fraülein, no one is going to hurt you. I will never hit
you. You are completely safe as long as you are with me. Sit
quietly and do not worry."
What he did was remove the pins from her bun and spread her
hair across her back, then caress her hair.
"Meine schöne Fraülein, you are so beautiful, but so thin. Your
bones show."
He caressed her hair again, stroking from her head down toward
her ass, stopping only when he had to lean forward and his
cock pushed back into her mouth and made her gag. He
apologized and leaned back. Then he stroked the front of her
neck, down to her breasts, which hung like fruit in this
posture, over her breasts to her belly. His hands were softer
than a soldier's hands should be, but he was clearly a
fighter. How had he gotten such softness? He stroked her
again, from her neck, over her peach-like breasts, to her
belly. It didn't stir her sexually. Nothing could now. But it
brought her back. She didn't understand his gentleness. It
didn't go with the prick seeping in her mouth or the battering
from the other soldiers. His voice didn't fit either. She
couldn't understand what was happening or why she was feeling
and knowing again. What had happened became real once more.
"The skin of your breasts is...how to say it in German?...
exquisitely soft. Such lovely pale skin on such a beautiful
woman."
And at that she began to cry openly. She had never really
stopped shaking. Now she cried aloud, tears pouring down her
face onto his penis and then to her thighs, sobbing around his
penis, snarfing and swallowing because her nose was running
and her tears wet her mouth so. And he caressed her the whole
time, her hair and her body, saying, "Shh, Liebchen, it is all
right."
Liebchen. Darling. His voice was soothing, like one speaks to
calm a frightened child.
"It will be better than you could possibly know, Liebchen."
His breath grew short as he talked because he couldn't hold
himself back anymore, and he came. He held her head only while
coming, gently at that, and she swallowed his ejaculate along
with all her own juices. It was still several more minutes
before she could stop crying around his now half-erect penis,
but until she was through he continued to caress her and to
tell her how beautiful she was, in that warm and soothing
voice.
End of Part One.
=====
Find H. Jekyll's stories at --http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/h_jekyll/
and
"Ruthie's Club" -- http://www.ruthiesclub.com/
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--
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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