spanking (a he said/she said story)

written by Vikki and Arcturus

he said »

He glanced up from the crisp pages, to see her twisting a napkin and looking absently at a spot on the patio floor behind him.

“I wanted to beg you to do it again,” he read. “Wanted to throw myself over your lap and let you really lean into me.”

Someone giggled at a table nearby, and there was an echo of a siren in the distance.

“Went mad at the thought of your hand slapping against me, your fingers tracing the cleft between my legs down and down again until you could rub against my clit, wet with my juices.”

He read on, flipping the to the last page.

“All I could think – shocking, naughty, but undeniable – was:




He looked across the table again. She stared into the middle distance for a few heartbeats, then furtively made eye contact, then once again. The napkin was being reduced to tiny shreds.

He caught the eye of the bored waitress, hours into a desultory late-summer flirtation with the cash register guy, and made the scribbling-on-notepad signal.


she said »

Her heart was pounding. Not the just-out-for-a-run pounding. The oh-my-god-what-have-I-done risk pounding.

It had been hard enough to write. Dozens of tries, sitting barelegged in the middle of the floor, little wadded bits strewn about like leaves. Deep dark sexual fantasies just seemed way more real when put to paper. Heart pounding then, too, but nothing like this. This was real fear.

Fear he might be disgusted.

Fear he might take her up on it.

Take your pick, really.

If only he would smile, or say something, or laugh, or make a face, something to let her know what was going on behind the mask of placid calm.

In her peripheral vision, he signalled to the waitress. She risked another peek at his expression. Disgust? Arousal? Not a damned thing, no clue whatsoever.

He noticed her looking.

Heart thumping higher in her throat, she hurriedly looked back at the napkin, the table, her legs, anything but him.

She wanted to ask. Wanted to know. Wanted him. Everything, all of it, a jumble of wants. He was the calm and she was the storm, raging and seething.

Settling the check, he stood. She rose uncertainly. He placed a hand at the small of her back and guided her towards the door. He didn’t say a word. To the car. Still not a word. He opened the door, waited for her to sit, and closed the door behind her.



he said »

He put on the pair of sunglasses on the dashboard, and started the car.

Think, he thought. I need to think. A year would be about right. Maybe I just didn’t read what I just read – that’s possible. Well, it isn’t, but it could be.

But the visual memory of the printed words came back too clearly for him to pretend that.

Block after block went by as he drove behind a streetcar, moving both of them closer to a moment of truth. The bright red paint seemed friendly and normal – reassuring.

The buildings opened up, and they saw the viaduct in the distance.

“Did I ever tell you about the engineer who designed that thing?” he said cheerfully. “It was years before they ever thought about having a subway, and – ”

“Jesus Christ!”, she exploded. She stared at the car’s roof, shaking her head. “Yes, you did. Actually, you did. Not long ago. It was an Interesting Fact. That wasn’t what I was thinking about.” She sighed tightly, and stared out the passenger-side window.

At Pape, he stopped at a red light, and looked at her over his sunglasses. Saturday-afternoon shoppers streamed in front of them, indifferent. His eyes were bright and amused. He took both her hands, rigidly knotted in her lap, in one of his and squeezed gently. The light turned green, and he eased forward.

“It’s funny,” he said. “I’d always thought of you as too old for a spanking.”

He paused for another block or so.

“But all that really means, I guess, is that you’re old enough to get to decide whether you’re too old for a spanking.”

All too soon, they arrived at her house. They sat together in the car, neither willing to make the first move.

“I’m just afraid that -,” she began.

He looked over his sunglasses at her again.

“That I’ll realize that girls who write naughty stories need their bottoms smacked?”

“No, that’s not the right tone,” he said out loud. “Too young. Besides, it might encourage them, and then where would we be?”

He took off the sunglasses and stared at the windshield for a long moment, thinking. When he turned to look at her again, his cool blue eyes seemed to bore through her.

“Here is what is going to happen,” he said in a clear, exact tone. “You are going to get out of the car, go upstairs to your bedroom, close the door, and sit on the bed. You will wait for me there.”

“You’re not angry that – ”

“Not angry, Victoria. Just formal. I have given you instructions. Now carry them out.”

“What are you – ”

“What is going to happen?” He paused. “First, you will be prepared for your chastisement, and then you will be chastised. You will be prepared when I am ready to prepare you. Now go.”

* * *

He stood in the living room. The silence in the house was a heavy, tense presence like air pressure, like electricity. Even so, the click of the door latch, a floor away, was a tiny noise. He thought for a few minutes, and slowly climbed the wooden stairs, his steps echoing like cannons. He paused at the top, walked down the narrow hallway, floorboards creaking, paused in front of the door and opened it.

She was sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor, arms crossed tightly across her chest.

“Stand up,” he said gently, and she shot nervously to her feet. He enveloped her in a tight hug and slowly, slowly felt her relax.

“I – ” she began.

“Shhhhh,” he said quietly, and rubbed his knuckles gently over her back. She felt the gentle nudge of an erection, and or the first time in two hours this seemed like a good idea again. They stood like that for a long time.

Letting her go, he took her left wrist and deftly took off her watch. He leaned over the bed (given the direction the afternoon was going in, she was amused for an instant by the sight of his ass in the air) and unplugged the alarm clock.

She rubbed her wrist absently. He looked at her coolly.

“When I return, in fifteen minutes exactly,” he said crisply, “I will expect to find you sitting on the bed, appropriately dressed,” he said.

“Appropriately what?“, she said.

“Appropriately dressed for your chastisement,” he said.

She glanced down at her clothes. “What’s wrong with -”

“Nothing is wrong with any choice you could make,” he said. “There’s no wrong answer.”

She stared in confusion.

“There’s no wrong answer,” he said again, his voice softening. “There’s nothing wrong with what you have on. There’s nothing wrong with anything else you could have on. There’s nothing wrong with presenting yourself naked, for that matter. Or in a parka, if you really insist, though you shouldn’t expect to be spanked – to be chastised – through it.”

His eyes hardened again.

“Fifteen minutes,” he said crisply, and shut the door.


she said »

She stared at the closed door and listened to her heart bump against her ribs.

Dressed appropriately.

He wasn’t disgusted.

Oh god, what had she done?

She didn’t know what to think first.

She went to the closet and, in a haze, removed her soft cotton dress, stepping out of the strappy black sandals and kicking them into the bottom of the closet. She stood there for a long moment, not really looking at the clothes.

She closed her eyes and let herself imagine his knees, firm underneath her belly. His hand – God, those wonderful hands – rubbing small circles over her ass before…

She jerked upright as though she’d actually been spanked. And a small smile curved her lips as an idea was born.

Her mind working furiously, she pawed through hanger after hanger, looking for something in particular, sighing with relief when she found it. A short black miniskirt, made of a soft polyester. Too short, really, for everyday wear, which was why it was so far back in the closet. But it might just do.

She unsnapped her bra and headed over to the vanity beside the bed. Tossing it carelessly inside the drawer, she withdrew a small pair of white cotton panties. The drawer below yielded a pair of black trouser socks, knee height.

She drew the panties up her legs, and hesitated.

She was already very wet. Just thinking about it had – would she stain these panties? She looked around for a box of kleenex and discovered one, empty, beside the bed.

There wasn’t much time. She didn’t have any choice. The panties settled around her hips.

She slipped the skirt up over her hips, fastening the small zipper at the back. A quick trip to the closet produced a plain white short-sleeved shirt, which she pulled over her naked breasts. Her nipples peaked as the cloth rubbed against them.

Her hands shook as she drew the knee socks over her calves. Was she really doing this? Was he? Her thoughts were a jumble.

Back to the closet one more time to slip her feet into a black pair of loafers left over from a few seasons ago. She found herself in front of the vanity mirror, looking at what she’d created.

Something was missing.

She dug through the jewelry case atop the vanity, looking for… yes. She thought she’d left them in here. A pair of hair elastics.

She parted her hair behind her head, and drew each half over her ears, fastening the ponytail with an elastic. Looked in the mirror.


Now her heart was really pounding.

She sat at the edge of the bed.

To wait.


he said »

There were light bumps, coat-hanger squeaks and creaks of floorboards behind the closed door, which faded into silence. He listened for a few more heartbeats: still, silence.

He glanced at his watch. Eight minutes.

His own errand, the product of which he now held, had taken no more than a minute. He looked at the door again, thoughtfully. His heart pounded. No, it wouldn’t do.

He glanced again. Eight and a half minutes. Hell.

He tried to visualize her closet, flipping through possibilities in his mind. For a moment, he had a vision of her in her interview suit, neat and poised on the edge of the bed, knees together, face cheerful and focused.

Not quite nine minutes. It was then that the idea hit him, and the time suddenly seemed short.

A moment later, he was rummaging frantically through boxes in the basement. The winter sweaters: no luck. Flannel shirts: no luck. He looked at his watch: Twelve minutes.

The next box, labeled FILES, ETC in rough magic marker, rewarded him.

There wasn’t much dust, as he shook it out, or any of the must he was afraid he’d find, though he hadn’t so much as thought about the long black academic gown in years.

It actually kind of worked, he thought as he posed in the living-room mirror, though he was glad he’d worn khakis and not shorts. He glanced at his watch: Fifteen and a half minutes: he’d be late for someone else’s spanking. It amused him, but he thought he’d keep it to himself, at least for now.

He climbed the stairs with a slow, deliberate tread, a little heavier than necessary, and paused at the top.

“No pockets in these things, right?” he thought. He tucked his left hand under the folds, and held it tightly against his body.

He looked down the hallway. “Jeans,” he thought. “Definitely jeans. Just to make getting them off more of a production. No, no, no. Definitely a black silk slip.”

He strode slowly down the hall, the gown flowing behind him, and opened the door.

She looked up at him. They both blinked, and stared for a moment. The serendipity of their choices thrilled him. His cock strained against the front of his pants, and he felt a tiny wetness.

“Stand up immediately,” he growled.

For the second time, she shot to her feet. He looked her carefully up and down, and inhaled sharply.

“Here is what is going to happen,” he began, looking around the room. He paused, looking for a corner. There actually wasn’t one free: the bed was in one, a chest of drawers in another. Moving a waste-paper basket quickly, he found a spot of free wall.

He put a firm hand on her back, and guided her forward until her nose was almost touching the wallpaper.

“Stand very still,” he said. “Look directly at the wall.” He backed away, and she could see through her peripheral vision that he seemed to be hiding something under the pillow. Her ponytails twitched.

“Careful,” he said sharply.

There was a long pause. She could hear his footsteps pacing the floor.

“Victoria,” he began gently.

“When you made me aware today of the – of the nature of the fantasies is which you have chosen to indulge, I was forced to think carefully about how best to react,” he said slowly.

He paused.

“It must be said that it is to your credit that you took the initiative in explaining the matter to me directly. That was brave, and reflects well on your character. It reassures me that in the end, you can be trusted to do the right thing.

“However, there remains the question of what to do. Sometimes the best methods are old-fashioned ones, and in many ways I’m an old-fashioned man. The best way – the only way of dealing with a matter of this nature, as far as I can tell – is with an orderly program of corporal discipline.

“What I now need you to agree to do, so that we can work on this together, is to tell me, clearly and at once – at once – when a situation of this kind arises again – when you find yourself entertaining a fantasy of this kind – so that it can be quickly dealt with. Is that agreeable to you?”

She nodded slowly, once, twice.

“Answer me directly,” he said.

“Yes,” she said. “Yes, I – ”

“Yes, sir,” he said firmly.

“Yes, sir.”

“Brave girl.”

He paused again, and walked behind her. Slowly, he gathered the back of her skirt to her waist. He guided her hands to the roll of fabric, and she held it lightly. He took the elastic of her panties in his fingertips, and drew them slowly down to the top of her thighs. He probed slightly between her legs, and his finger came away warm and wet.

He brushed his fingertips very lightly over her exposed cheeks – once, twice, three times – he left a faint glistening – stepped slowly back the full length of the room, and stared at the back of her neck.

“Now,” he intoned, “I want you to take a few minutes and think about how you came to be in this situation.”


she said »

Nothing but silence behind her. Dammit. Did he have any idea at all how agonizing it was, how thrilling, for her to endure these long silences, wondering what he was thinking?

The sight she was presenting to him must be… she blushed and swallowed as she imagined how she must look. Hands at her waist, holding up her skirt as though offering her ass to him. Panties around her slightly parted thighs. Wetness and heat in between. Could he see the excitement shining on her lips?

She felt so exposed. The cheeks of her ass moved as she clenched deep inside, unbearably aroused. She pushed it out. Just a little more.

Nipples hard against the soft cotton blouse. The back of her neck was tingling. Every pore of her skin seemed to be waiting. Waiting for him to move, to say something.

She wanted to move. Wanted to slide her hands around her waist and soothe the aching nub between her thighs with soft fingertips. She wanted it so much she could barely think, wanted to be naughty in front of him. Inflame him even more. Make it so that he had no choice but to pull her over his knee and finally let her feel the power and heat of his hand.

She didn’t move. Above all, what made her clench, was following this order. Standing still for him. Waiting.

She heard a rustle behind her.


he said »

He sat gently on the centre of the edge of the bed, and took in the sight of her: very still, taut, lewdly exposed. Once, twice he thought he saw her whole body shiver slightly – a powerful, subtle shiver. He saw her mouth open slightly from his angle, and watched as the tip of her tongue darted across her upper lip. He was yet harder, if such a thing was possible; his cock was one rigid mass of sensation, like a giant clit.

He swallowed hard.

“Victoria,” he said quietly.

“Come here.”

She turned slowly, her face blazing, and looked at him for a moment. One hand brushed a hair off her forehead, while the other remained carefully in place.

He patted his lap gently. She paused for a second, and with awkward small steps walked to his side and began to bend over. He saw the problem an instant too late to solve it elegantly.

“Vikki?” he whispered.

She looked at him.

“I’m right-handed,” he said, and grinned despite himself.

She giggled, walked around him, and settled over his thighs, resting her upper body on the bed. In an instant, the tension had eased. Just over her hip, she could feel his rigidity.

He flexed his foot, raising his right thigh a few inches higher.

His fingertips traced a delicate set of lines over her cheeks, now contacting, now not quite touching the skin. Back, forth, over, back, forth, back. Pause. Back, over …

He tugged her panties further down her thighs, and she parted her knees a bit further, stretching the elastic. His fingertips moved further down, playing very lightly on the edge of her warm, wet labia, and moving further down. She arched her back to allow him access, and he finally reached her clit. He started a light circular motion, almost-not-quite touching it.

“Mmmmahhhhh!” she said breathlessly. He kept up the light motion, and her body bucked suddenly. He teased for another few seconds.

“Mmmmmm!” she said urgently, in protest, as the fingertips, now glistening, drifted away.

He paused, and delivered a light, firm smack to her right cheek. The skin pinkened slightly. He smacked the left cheek: the marks weren’t quite symmetrical. Three, four, five, six.

He paused, and drifted his fingertips between her thighs again.

He held his fingers loosely, and started a series of quick, light smacks, a little harder than the first ones, covering both cheeks and the very top of her thighs. Gradually, the skin turned a gentle pink.

She turned her head to face him. Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes wide.

“You … can … go … harder,” she said breathlessly.

His forearm shot down, driving a rigid palm. There was a loud, meaty crack, and an oval patch on her right cheek turned pale, then scarlet. There was a sharp intake of breath from beneath him.

“I know!” he said cheerfully.


she said »


She heard laughter in his voice, and something darker.

Okay, really, ow.

And yet…

Okay, pain slut she wasn’t, but still, something dark and liquid inside of her was bubbling from the heat of that last stroke. It hurt. But as the pain subsided there was throbbing. Made her want to scream. Beg him to fuck her. Animals in heat.

It also made her wonder if she could take another like that.

She hadn’t finished the thought, really, when he landed another one on the opposite cheek, just as hard. Her body bowed.

Her ass felt stung, hot.

And her pussy had never been wetter.

She wriggled against him, naughty girl. Pushed her hip in a small circle against him, trapping his cock between them, so hard.

He hissed, breath whooshing out. “Naughty girl.” Delightful, that his thoughts and hers were so close. “Is this turning you on?”

She buried her face in the covers, shamed. “Mmm-hmmm.”

His fingers left the warm blush of her ass and slid between her legs again, circling gently at the opening which gaped and grasped at him, wetness staining his fingers. “I didn’t hear you.”

“Ah!” Her body went rigid at his seeking fingertips.

“I said,” His fingers slid lower, spreading her lips. Wet and hard and so exposed, her clit gaped, twitching like a small cock, dying for a touch. “I didn’t hear you.”

She squirmed against him but he held her down with his other arm, pinned against his thighs. Please please please. Just a little closer. So close.

“MMMnnnnuuuhhh.” She groaned.

She could feel his middle finger, hovering, so close, just a breath separating it from her clit, which burned and throbbed and dammit, somewhere along the line she’d forgotten that she asked for this. Didn’t care.

He gave her two more sharp smacks, one on each cheek, with the other hand. “I’m not going to touch it until you admit it to me.”

“Admit what?” she chirped playfully.

He removed his hand and delivered several slaps to her ass, varying speed and strength. It made her push up against him and moan even more. He wasn’t going to let her get away with silence. Her entire pussy throbbed. She needed his fingers. Needed to rub against them and soothe the ache in her clit.

All this waiting.

God, why wouldn’t he just touch her?

Who knew he was going to be so good at this on their first try?

She had to hide her face, turned away from him. “It’s turning me on.” she whispered. “I think I’m going crazy I’m so turned on.”


he said »

“Good girl,” he said smoothly.

He cupped his hand over her clit for a few seconds, letting her feel its warmth, then slid his index finger down her labia, then lower, tracing a light warm wet line along the left edge of her clit.

Her whole body bucked powerfully, her feet a bit restrained by her white panties, which had been sliding steadily downward. He kept up the light stroking – back, forth, back, forth, until, very quickly, a kind of strangled growl came from below him, and her whole body spasmed – again, and again, and again, and again. The toes of her shoes bumped hard against the floor.

It seemed like she was deflating slowly as she relaxed. He could hear deep, ragged hollow breaths.

He reached slowly under the pillow for the bright red butt plug, and placed it carefully on the sheet in front of her face. Her breath was coming heavy and slow, and the black shapes of her calves moved restlessly. He picked up the little soft bottle of lube, hesitated, and grinned.

“You know,” he said, “I don’t know why I ever thought we’d need this.”

His fingers searched upward into her open, warm cunt, emerged glistening, and started a pattern of slow circles on the rosebud tip of her asshole.

She flipped one of her ponytails out of her eyes, and looked thoughtfully at the butt plug.

His middle finger started to probe gently, but insistently, at the opening of the first muscle, stroking a bit at the entrance. Soon, he found it had slid partway in, and began to slide his index finger in beside it.

She slowly reached for the butt plug, and pulled it in under her chest, like a treasured object.

“More lube,” he thought, and spread a generous amount from the bottle around the whole area of her asshole. Slowly, the second muscle began to yield, and he found room for the tip of a third finger.

“You’d better give that back,” he said mildly. “If I have to spank it out of you, it’ll ruin all my hard work.”

Awkwardly, he smacked her right cheek with his left hand, and reached under her chest for it. She moved to throw it with her right hand, and they fumbled for it together, neither in a good position. She opened her palm at just the wrong time, and it fell away into his fingers.

“Now, now,” he said. “And here I thought we were done.”

He carefully took the plug, turned it in his hand, and plunged it into her cunt. It emerged warm and shining.

He pressed his fingers firmly into her ass, withdrew them suddenly, and began to press the plug patiently in.

The muscles resisted, a little, but he turned the plug in a gentle arc until suddenly, the heavy inner muscle of her ass accepted it and it seated itself, sliding in the last quarter-inch on its own.

“You and I, it seems,” he said reflectively, “have some unfinished business.”

He began to spank again, with moderate, measured strokes. He held his wrist a bit loose, his fingers separate and relaxed. Her cheeks were pink, sensitive, and, it seemed, just a little swollen, and it took less force to get a reaction; she jerked slightly at each stroke.

Two. (Left, mid-cheek.)


Three. (Right, bottom of cheek)

Pause. Pull hem of skirt back out of the way.

Ten. (Right, middle-upper cheek)

There was a noise like a low constant squeak coming from below him.

He paused, shifted his torso, and began a series of light, rapid spanks on the tip of her butt plug.


she said »

Darn it, was that thing connected to her clit? She should be unable to get this aroused coming this close on the heels of her belly-churning spanking-inspired orgasm.

But every tap was making her crazier. She had to do something. Had to move. Anything to distract her from this intensity.

Okay, to be honest, she also wanted more. She could feel his erection pressing into her hip and it was driving her crazy.

She pressed her hands into the bed and started wriggling her body backwards, her hips moving off his knees before he realized what she was doing. His arm slammed down onto her waist.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked mildly.

“I…” She struggled briefly against his arm, but even that was arousing her, so she stopped. “I want…”

He sat and waited for her to continue. She blushed a fiery red, shaking her hair down around her cheeks to conceal it.

Why was this so difficult? She’d touched him hundreds of times before. But the dynamic was different now. He’d spanked her. She didn’t know why that changed things, or if the change was permanent, but right now she felt shy.

“I want to touch you.” she whispered.

He seemed to digest this.


She looked at him with disbelief, just barely controlling the impulse to roll her eyes.

His face grew stern. “I asked you a question.”

“On your…” If it was possible, her face grew even rosier. “Your cock.”

And then he said nothing, making her wait, making her blush, making her heart pound – would he spank her again for saying such a naughty word? Would he say no?

Instead, he leaned back slightly on his hands and nodded. “On your knees.”

Hot gooey toffee twisted through her hearing that phrase from his mouth. She slid off his legs, her own still tangled in her white panties, and hobbled over so she was on her knees between his spread thighs.

“May I?” she asked, resting her hands on his thighs.

He just smiled.

She grabbed the hem of his gown and lifted it to his chest, her lips turning in their own little smile as she saw him straining against the fabric of his pants. Her fingers made quick work of his zipper, sliding inside to find him hot and smooth and silky.

She grinned up at him. “Can I take these off?” Tugged at the pants.

He stood without a word and let her slip the pants and boxers down his legs. He sat again on the edge of the bed and waited.

The gown was in the way. But she didn’t care. Her head dived beneath it and she kissed his thigh, moving slowly upwards. Little licks; she could feel him twitch against her cheek.

And then she was there. Oh, lordy, he smelled wonderful, all spicy and musky and male. She whimpered in the back of her throat as she moved her lips over him softly, exploring him beneath the robe.

She licked a long slow line from the root of his cock to the tip. It bobbed against her mouth. So hard. She whimpered again.

Licked her lips. Moved her mouth over the head, hands splayed on his thighs.

And then she took him in her mouth.

Oh, God, the taste. She moaned around him, lips vibrating slightly, tongue dancing on the underside of his cock while she wet the head thoroughly. Sucking lightly. Taking more of him slowly into her mouth.

She started to move. Long wet pulls. Moaning around him, so aroused her hips twitched behind her. She wanted to please him. Wanted to make him noisy with need and pleasure.

Soft sucking sounds from beneath the robe, and softer mouth-full-of-yummy-goodness moans.


he said »

She settled into a series of long deep slow strokes, doing something – something perfect – with the tip of her tongue on the head of his cock. Something fast and light and subtle. Slowly, inevitably, he unbent to lie on his back. He looked down to see her big delighted eyes bobbing up and down over his crotch.

He closed his eyes and uttered a deep growl, and it seemed suddenly that the balance of power had shifted.

She drew him out of her mouth with a theatrical pop, licked he tip of his penis reflectively while looking at his with eyes that managed to be artless and cryptic and mischevious, stood up in a single motion, and rapidly started taking off her shirt.

He raised himself on an elbow, a hand reaching instinctively down to his cock, which felt cold and bereft.

She flung the shirt behind her, stepped out of her panties, grinned for an instant, and threw them in more or less the same direction – he glimpsed the deep pink of her bottom as she turned – stood between his legs and pushed him firmly back against the bed.

Climbing astride him, she paused, raised her skirt demurely, grasped his cock firmly and positioned its tip just inside herself.

She paused. Her eyes bulged, and she grinned absently.

She lowered herself, slowly, with a slow powerful motion of her thighs.

He could feel a rigid tightness, along with the deep moist warmth.

“Ohhhhhhh, my …” she said.

She paused, red-faced, and arranged the skirt tidily around her.

Well,” she said, breathlessly. She braced her thighs and began to fuck him – slowly, firmly.

It didn’t take him long to come – with a great long sigh and a groan – but it seemed to go on and on, with enourmous hard throbs, impossibly sensitive.

“You are a bad girl,” he murmured.

She wiggled on what was left of his erection.

“Wha’cha going to do,” she asked, grinning. “Spank me?”


About the author

Vikki McKay
By Vikki McKay

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