The Birching Society
Copyright© 2026 by SindeeM
Chapter 2: Elena Bcomes F402, An Object
BDSM Sex Story: Chapter 2: Elena Bcomes F402, An Object - The Birching Society is about a patriarchal organization that views women as objects to be owned. Females have no rights, they are not capable of higher intellect. They use heavy corporal punishment, torture, mind control, humilation to mold the females into subservient fuckdolls for the pleasure of the men of the organization.
Caution: This BDSM Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Fa/Fa Coercion Mind Control NonConsensual Rape Reluctant Slavery Lesbian BiSexual Heterosexual Fiction BDSM DomSub MaleDom Humiliation Light Bond Rough Sadistic Spanking Torture Anal Sex Facial Masturbation Oral Sex Body Modification
The spotlight was harsh and focused on F402, formerly known as Elena Goodrich’s. She stood on the polished wooden platform at the Birching Society’s auction hall. She was naked except for locking 5 inch high heels and her slave collar with her Birching Society ID: F402. Her hands stretched tightly above her head, her big pendulous tits hanging down, her legs stretches wide by a spreader bar.
At thirty, she had built a reputation as a ruthless litigator, a woman who could dismantle a defense strategy with a single glance and a sharp tongue. But here, in the dim, cavernous room of the Birching Society’s private auction house, all that logic, all that control, was taken away. She was about to be auctioned off as a slave.
As the ceremony was about to begin, she reflected on how she got here.
The morning sun filtered through the heavy velvet drapes of Dominic Santoro’s private study. Elena stood before his desk, her heart hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs. She wore a simple white blouse and a skirt. She had a slight forward lean, her hands clasped tightly in front of her, shaking slightly.
Dominic sat in his leather chair, a glass of scotch in one hand.
“You came,” he said, his voice smooth, devoid of surprise. He took a sip of his drink. “I expected you to sleep it off. To wake up, put on your power suit, and go back to the office.”
Elena swallowed hard, her throat dry. “I couldn’t,” she whispered. “Last night was like a hot dream. After I got home I had a hard time rationalizing what happened and what I saw.”
Dominic set his glass down with a deliberate clink. He stood up and walked around the desk, stopping in front of her. He reached out, his fingers brushing against the collar she still wore, the one he had put on her the night before.
“You kept the collar on; why?”
Elana was not sure herself. “I don’t really know; it felt almost natural to keep it on.”
“Good,” he murmured. “The hunger is the most important part. But you must understand, Elena, that what you saw last night is merely the appetizer. The main course is a commitment that will change your life, if you so choose to do so.”
He gestured to a chair. “Sit.”
Elena sat, her hands trembling on her knees.
“You want to join the Birching Society as a female object, a slave” Dominic began, his tone shifting from conversational to authoritative. “But you must know the cost. This isn’t a weekend getaway. This isn’t a roleplay session for the weekend. If you go forward, you are signing away three months of your life.”
“Three months,” she repeated, her eyes wide.
“Three months of total abandonment,” he corrected. “You’ll take a leave of absence from your job. No more courtrooms, no more clients, no more Elena Goodrich. You will exist solely to serve the Society. During this initial training period, there is no safe word. There is no escape. You endure. You submit. You learn.”
Elena felt a shiver run down her spine, not of fear, but of anticipation. “I understand,” she said, her voice gaining a desperate strength. “I want to be broken, Sir. I want to be remolded.”
Dominic nodded slowly. “And to prepare you for that molding, you will need to undergo a transformation. Before you can begin the heavy training, you need to be marked. You will get piercings. Tongue piercing, nipple piercing, clit hood piercing, and cunt lip piercing. These take time to heal. You can’t start your training until these heal.”
Elena looked at him, the reality hitting her hard in the face. “Today?”
I have a place called the Gilded Needle. I do a lot of business with them. I will send you over after our meeting.”
He walked back to the desk and pulled a thick, leather-bound book from the drawer. He opened it and handed it to her. “This is the Birching Society Manifesto. Read it. Read it until you understand the new laws that will govern your existence. You have four weeks to get your affairs in order, to say your goodbyes to the old life. After that, you are the property of the Birching Society.”
Elena took the book, her fingers tracing the embossed cover. She opened it to the first page and began to read.
The Birching Society Manifesto
The Nature of the Female
The female of the species is inherently incapable of self-governance or higher intellect. She does not have a natural right of autonomy. She is an object. She cannot naturally exist outside of an environment developed and controlled by males. Surrender of her mind and body to males is the natural order of the universe.
Total Ownership
There are no free women in the world of the Birch. Every female is property, an object. Her mind and body are not her own. She is an asset to be managed, a vessel to be filled, a mind and body to be molded. She has no rights to her own body, her own time, or her own pleasure. Her existence is defined solely by her utility to the males of the Society.
The Method of Correction
The female mind is stubborn. It resists submission. Her mind and body must be broken and remolded. The implements of education are the whip, the birch, the cane, the crop, and the electric current. Pain is the language of truth. It is through the sting of the birch that we teach her to obey.
The Goal: The Perfect Slave
Our ultimate objective is the creation of the perfect slave. We strip away the unnatural trappings of a false existence. Unnatural masks of intellect, autonomy, and free will are removed. Gone is the lawyer, the professor, the strategist. We leave behind a creature devoid of ego, a creature that exists solely for the pleasure of the male.
Marks of Servitude
A woman without a mark is a woman without an owner. Every female must wear the collar of her Master. Her flesh must be branded to prove her allegiance. Publicly visible tattoos proclaim to the world her status as an object. Permanent marks of ownership on her body are a constant reminder of her place as an object.
The Natural Role of the Female
In the Society, a woman is defined solely by her utility to the male. She is not a professional, nor is she a citizen; she is a functional unit of the household. Her “career” is the cultivation of her own body and the management of the Master’s pleasure. There is no room for ambition, no ability for free thought. Her place in the natural order is to serve, obey, and please her superiors.
States of Servitude
The female exists in one of three distinct states of servitude:
The Breeder: A prized asset of the male. She is selected for fertility, her body a nursery for the next generation of Titans. Her womb is her only currency, and she is kept in peak condition to ensure a steady supply of heirs.
The Fuckdoll: The primary sexual asset. She exists solely to provide carnal gratification. Whether she is a trophy on the mantel or a plaything on the bed, her value is measured by the tightness of her holes and the eagerness of her submission. She is used, discarded, and replaced when she loses her luster.
The Servant: The foundation of the household. She performs the menial tasks of cleaning, cooking, and maintaining the estate. She does so as a visible reminder of her place. She is furniture, a footstool, and a maid all rolled into one. Her value lies in her invisibility and her willingness to serve without complaint.
The Definition of the Female
In the eyes of the Society, the female is not a person; she is an object. She can be trained like any good animal to serve her Superiors.
The Chaos of the Mind
The female mind is inherently flawed. It is a chaotic storm of insecurities, desires, and fleeting whims. She is incapable of deep, strategic thought. She craves validation, attention, and the safety of a cage. Without a man to hold the leash, she is lost in a fog of indecision. She tries to use an intellect she does not possess, which society has falsely claimed females have; in the end it is only a useless burden that only serves to distract her from her true purpose: Service to Males
The Utility of the Flesh
Her body is not her own; it is a collection of assets designed solely for the consumption of the male. Her breasts are mere ornaments for the gaze, or tools for feeding, or pillows for the Master to rest his arm upon. Her hips are built for bearing the Master’s children. Her cunt is a wet hole to be filled. Her mouth is a warm passage for his pleasure. She is a vessel, a receptacle, and a fucktoy.
The Need for the Birch
The female spirit is naturally rebellious. She thinks she has opinions, desires, and the right to say “no.” This is a disease that must be purged. The birch is the cure. It is the only tool that can silence her nagging voice, break her will, and force her to submit to the rhythm of the whip. Through pain she learns the truth about her natural state as an object to please Males. She learns to obey through the sting of the birch.
The Marks of Bondage
A woman without a lock is a woman who is free to wander away. She must wear the collar to remind her of her cage. She must be branded to prove her ownership. She must be fitted with a chastity device to ensure she is only used when the Master decides. These are not restrictions; they are her salvation. They protect her from the chaos of her own desires and keep her focused on her Master.
V. The Goal: The Fuckdoll
Our ultimate goal is to strip the female of her humanity until only the animal remains. We want a creature with no thoughts, no voice, and no rights. We want a warm, wet, tight hole that exists solely to be used. We want her to be a piece of meat, a cum rag. We want her to look at a man with eyes full of worship and to beg for the privilege of being filled.
As she was reading, she made some comments.
“The Nature of the Female”: The female of the species is inherently incapable of self-governance or higher intellect. She does not have a natural right of autonomy. She is an object.”
She paused, her eyes scanning the words. The logic was cold and brutal, and it resonated with the part of her that was tired of fighting, tired of being the smart one, the successful one.
“She cannot naturally exist outside of an environment developed and controlled by Males. Surrender of her mind and body to Males is the natural order of the universe.”
Elena closed her eyes for a moment, the shame and the arousal mixing in her gut. “Total Ownership,” she whispered, reading the next section. “There are no free women in the world of the Birch. Every female is property, an asset to be managed, a vessel to be filled.”
She looked up at Dominic, her face flushed. “It makes sense, doesn’t it? I look at myself and I see a mess of chaotic thoughts. I try to be the Ice Queen, but underneath, I just want to be used. I want to stop thinking.”
Dominic stepped closer, looming over her. “Go on,” he urged. “Tell me what you think. Tell me what you feel when you read about the Method of Correction.”
Elena took a deep breath, her eyes darting back to the page. “ The female mind is stubborn. It resists submission. Her mind and body must be broken and remolded. The implements of education are the whip, the birch, the cane, the crop, and the electric current. Pain is the language of truth.”
She looked at him, her eyes wet with unshed tears. “I saw this last night,” she said, her voice cracking.
“When the cane hit the girl’s ass, when the cane hit her thighs, I could see the pain was physical, but I could see in her eyes she was learning why she was being punished. She was using the pain to learn.”
“The Goal: The Perfect Slave. Our ultimate objective is the creation of the perfect slave. We strip away the unnatural trappings of a false existence. Unnatural masks of intellect, autonomy, and free will are removed. Gone is the lawyer, the professor, the strategist. We leave behind a creature devoid of ego.”
Elena looked down at her hands. “I want to be gone,” she confessed, her voice barely audible. “I want the strategist to die. I want Elena Goodrich to die. I want to be just a warm, wet hole. I want to be a piece of meat.”
Dominic smiled, a predatory expression that sent a fresh wave of heat through Elena. “What role do you see for yourself in that perfect slave?”
She looked up at him, her eyes burning with a desperate, dark hunger. “I want to be a fuckdoll,” she said, the words tumbling out of her mouth. “I want to be the primary sexual asset. I want to be used, discarded, and replaced when I lose my luster. I want my body to be a collection of assets designed solely for the consumption of the male.”
She reached out and touched his chest, her fingers trembling. “I want the chaos of my mind to be purged. I want the birch to be the cure. I want to be marked. I want the collar. I want the brand.”
Dominic took her hand in his, his grip firm. “So, you understand the stakes,” he said “You walk away today, and you go back to your high-rise office. You go back to your suits and your strategic plans. You go back to being in control.”
Elena squeezed his hand, her knuckles white. “No,” she said firmly. “I can’t go back. The void is too big. If I go back, I’ll just be waiting for no reason.”
She stood up, her movements stiff but deliberate. She looked Dominic in the eye, her gaze fierce and unyielding. “I want the piercings, Sir. I want them today. I want to be broken. I want to be remolded. I want to be a fuckdoll.”
“Very good. I’ll have a car take you to the Gilded Needle.”
This is your first step into becoming property.”
Elena felt a rush of adrenaline, a mix of terror and ecstasy. She was finally doing it. She was surrendering. She was not going to be Elena Goodrich anymore. What she would become she did not fully understand yet.
“Thank you, Sir,” she breathed, dropping to her knees before him, pressing her forehead against his thigh. “Thank you.”
The car dropped her off in front of the building. It was in the bustling part of the outdoor mall complex, not a seedy part of town. The sign read “The Gilded Needle.” The logo was an elegant, abstract design, but a closer look revealed the unmistakable image of a needle piercing a taut nipple.
Inside she saw sterile white surfaces and chrome. The main floor was an open plan of tattoo stations, but her eyes were drawn to the second level, where a series of closed doors. These probably were for more intimate procedures. The clientele were a mix of edgy youth and, to her surprise, men and women in sharp business attire, looking completely at ease.
A young woman with blonde hair and a figure that strained against the fabric of her store-branded polo shirt approached him. The logo on her chest was far less abstract. It was a detailed, hyper-realistic rendering of a breast, a thick needle skewering a distended, pierced nipple. Her name tag read ‘Holly.’
“Can I help you?”
“I need to get some piercings today; Dominic Santoro recommended this place.”
“What type of piercings are you interested in?
Elena’s face blushed, not sure how to ask the question.”
Holly smiled. “It’s alright, sweetie; if this is for Dominic, I’m pretty sure I know what he wants.”
Elana nodded.
“I think a tongue piercing, nipple piercings, and a clit hood piercing. Is that right?”
Elans cleared her throat, getting the courage to speak up. “Also labia piercings.”
Holly smiled. “Nice, cunt lip piercings. I have them myself,” Holly said nonchalantly.
If you don’t mind me asking, what is the reason for wanting a tongue piercing? Spice up the love life? The reason I ask is if I know what you will be doing, it helps me pick out the right one for you.”
“By the way, I do know what Dominic does.”
“Well, to be honest, it has nothing to do with my personal love life.” Elana looked around, feeling ashamed. “Wel ... um. Well, I’m getting into some extreme kink.”
Holly smiled and touched Elizabeth’s shoulder. “No worries, we don’t judge. In fact, many of our customers have the same interest. Let’s go upstairs; I can show you what we have.”
Elena followed the girl up the stairs. She could help but notice the girls’ jeans could not have been any tighter. But that is probably what made her such a good sales clerk, she thought.
They went into a private room, closing the door behind them. The space was clean and clinical, dominated by a black leather reclining chair that looked more like a gynecological exam table than a tattoo chair.
Holly started scrolling through her table. “Well, here is what I recommend for the tongue piercing. The ‘Empress’ model. 14k gold with a polished diamond tip. Very effective for servicing both males and females.”
Elizabeth smiled. “OK, I’ll take it.”
“Good choice. Should I put this on Dominic’s company account then? I assumed you work for the same company.”
“Sure, that would be a good idea. Can I ask, does it hurt very much?
“It does have a sting to it. On a scale from 1 to 10, probably a 4. The piercing goes through muscle and nerves but mainly muscle. It’s pretty simple. I swab your tongue, then clamp it. I have you breathe out just before I put the needle through, insert the piercing, and put the caps on. There is some discomfort for a couple of days after due to the swelling. It takes about four weeks to fully heal.”
Holly got the Empress tongue piercing. Elena had to admit it did look lovely.
“Ready?”
Elena nodded.
Holly moved with practiced efficiency, swabbing her tongue with a bitter antiseptic wash. “Okay, I need you to stick your tongue out for me. All the way.”
Elena stuck her tongue out. She marked the spot with a small dab of ink. “Perfect placement. Right in the sweet spot.” Then came the clamps. Cold steel gripped Elena’s tongue, the pressure uncomfortable but not painful. It held it immobile.
“This is the part that stings a little,” Holly said. She heard the sharp tear of a sterile paper package being opened. Holly held up a hollow needle. Take a deep breath and let it out when I tell you.”
Elena nodded, her breath held tight in her chest. The cold steel of the clamps bit into the sides of her tongue.
“Now,” she commanded.
Elena exhaled, a ragged gust of air, and in that exact moment, a sharp sting tore through her tongue. It was not as painful as she imagined.
It was over as quickly as it began, replaced by a deep, throbbing ache. Before she could process it, she felt the cool, smooth slide of the barbell following the needle through the fresh wound. Holly deftly screwed the tiny balls onto each end, her fingers working with swift, detached precision.
“All done,” she said, releasing the clamps. “Take a look.”
She handed Elena a mirror. She raised it, her heart pounding. She stuck out her tongue. There it was. A gleaming stud of gold and diamond, a permanent mark of her new purpose.
“Now for your nipple piercings.”
Holly opened a velvet portfolio. She flipped through pages of intricate designs.
“This is a standard curved barbell,” she said, holding up a silver rod with a ball on each end. “It’s classic, secure, and heals very quickly. It sits flush against the skin.”
She flipped to the next page. “This is a captive bead ring. It’s a circle of metal with a tiny bead trapped inside. It has a bit more movement and dangles when you move.”
Elena stared at the images. Her heart raced. She looked at Holly, her voice trembling slightly. “I want them to be seen.”
Holly looked up.”I understand. You want to be seen.”
“Yes,” Elena whispered.
“How about this?” Holly suggested. “We can pierce your left nipple with a straight barbell for the initial healing. It keeps the tissue stable. And your right nipple with a ring. That way, you have the security of the barbell, but the daring of the ring.”
Elena nodded vigorously. “Yes. That’s exactly it.”
Holly nodded approvingly. “Excellent choice. It balances your need for stability with your desire for display. Now, let’s get you comfortable. Take off your blouse and bra.”
Elena lay back on the table, the leather cool against her back. Holly adjusted the cushion under her head and began to prepare the station. She poured a small amount of numbing cream onto a cotton swab and gently applied it to both nipples. It tingled, a cooling sensation that made Elena shiver.
“Take a deep breath,” Holly coached, her voice a steady anchor in the room. “In through the nose, out through the mouth. That cream will take about ten minutes to work its magic. It won’t take away the sensation entirely, but it will dull the edge so you can focus on the feeling rather than the panic.”
Elena closed her eyes, listening to the hum of the air conditioning and Holly’s calm breathing. She thought about Dominic, about the red corset, about the collar. She wasn’t just Elena the lawyer anymore; she was becoming an object.
“Time’s up,” Holly said softly.
Elena opened her eyes. Holly was wearing nitrile gloves, snapping them on with a crisp crack. “Let’s get you marked.”
She stood between Elena’s legs, looking down at her chest. Elena’s breasts were heaving, her nipples already hard from the cold air and the anticipation.
“Hold still, darling,” Holly said. She picked up a surgical marker and marked two tiny dots on the left nipple.
“Look down,” Holly instructed. “Do you like where I marked it?”
“Yes,” Elena breathed.
“Good girl.” Holly clamped the left nipple with a hollow needle holder. The pinch was firm but not crushing. “This is the clamp. It pulls the tissue tight so the needle can pass through easily.”
She picked up a needle, the tip gleaming under the lamp. She didn’t just stab it; she brought it in slowly, angling it upward.
“Feel that?” Holly whispered. “That’s the pressure. Don’t tense up. Relax your chest.”
Elena took a deep breath and forced her shoulders to drop. “Okay.”
Snick.
The needle pierced the skin. It wasn’t a searing explosion of pain; it was a sharp, distinct pressure, like a hard pinch that lingered. It was a 6 out of 10 on the pain scale. unpleasant, sharp, but manageable.
“Good,” Holly praised. “You’re doing so well. Keep breathing.”
She pushed the needle through until it exited the top of the nipple. Elena gasped, her back arching slightly.
“Now,” Holly said, her voice vibrating with gentle authority. “We thread the jewelry.”
She took a curved barbell with surgical steel balls and slid it through the fresh opening. She twisted it into place. The metal was cold against the heated skin, but the pain began to recede, replaced by a dull, throbbing warmth.
“There we go,” Holly said, admiring her handiwork. “Perfect. One down.”
She moved to the right nipple. This time, she used a different clamp, one that held the nipple up, exposing it more fully.
“I’m going to mark this one now,” Holly said.
She marked the center. “This is going to be the ring. It’s a bit more sensitive, but you’re a strong woman. You can do this.”
She clamped the right nipple. “Ready?”
“Yes,” Elena gritted out.
The needle went in. It was slightly more sensitive than the left, perhaps because she was expecting it. It was a 7 out of 10. A sharp, stinging pinch that made her eyes water.
“Deep breath,” Holly coached. “Squeeze my hand if you need to.”
Elena squeezed Holly’s gloved hand, her knuckles white.
Snick.
The needle passed through. Holly immediately threaded the captive bead ring. She used pliers to squeeze the bead into place, clicking it shut with a tiny click.
“There,” Holly said, stepping back to admire the work. “You have two beautiful marks now, Elena.”
Elena looked down. The silver barbell lay heavy and secure against her left breast, the steel balls cool against her skin. The ring on the right dangled slightly, a small circle of defiance and submission.
She sat up, wincing slightly as the movement pulled on the fresh piercings. She looked at Holly, tears still in her eyes, but a look of profound peace on her face.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“Holly smiled. “You’re doing great. Now for the clit hood piercing. This one is going to be more intense, but it is over quicker. I could use numbing gel, but I suggest just doing the piercing. The gel does not actually do that much for the pain. Like I said it will be over quick.”
Elana nodded.
“This one is a bit more sensitive. The clitoral hood is packed with nerve endings. You’ll feel the pinch.”
Elena lay back down, spreading her legs slightly, exposing herself to the cool air. She closed her eyes, waiting for the sensation to fade.
“Okay,” Holly said, her voice steady. “We’re going to do a vertical piercing. That means the needle goes straight down through the hood, from top to bottom.”
She picked up a surgical marker. “I need to mark the center. It has to be perfectly symmetrical for it to sit right.”
Holly marked a tiny dot on the top of the hood and another on the bottom. She pulled the hood taut with a pair of forceps, stretching the sensitive skin until it was as taut as a drumhead.
“This is going to pull tight,” Holly warned. “Hold still, darling.”
She picked up a hollow needle. This one was longer, designed to pass through the hood without hitting the clitoris itself.
“Deep breath,” Holly coached.
Elena inhaled sharply, her chest rising and falling. “Okay.”
Holly aligned the needle with the top mark. She didn’t hesitate. She brought the needle down with a steady hand.
Snick.
The needle pierced the skin at the top. Elena gasped, her hips bucking slightly off the table. The sensation was unlike the nipple piercings. It was deeper, more internal, a sharp, digging pressure that felt like it was reaching for the very nerve center of her body. It was a 7 out of 10, intense, sharp, and immediately overwhelming.
“Good,” Holly murmured, her voice vibrating against Elena’s skin. “Don’t clench. Just breathe through it.”
She pushed the needle all the way through, the sound of the needle sliding through flesh distinct and wet. She didn’t stop. She held the needle in place and picked up the jewelry.
It was a titanium curved barbell with a black PTFE end cap. The metal was smooth and cool.
“Now, we thread it,” Holly said. She slid the jewelry into the needle, pushing it through the bottom of the hood.
The final sensation was a sudden, sharp pop as the needle exited the skin. Elena cried out, her hands flying to her own groin, instinctively trying to protect herself, but Holly gently placed a hand on her wrist, holding her still.
“There we go,” Holly said, removing the needle and twisting the jewelry into place. The curved barbell sat vertically, the top bead resting just above the hood, the bottom bead resting directly on top of the clitoris.
Elena lay there, trembling. The pain was intense, a hot spike that had radiated outward, making her entire lower body feel electric. The metal bead rested on her most sensitive nerve, sending tiny shocks of sensation through her with every breath.
Holly cleaned the area with antiseptic and applied a small amount of healing ointment. “That’s it,” she said, stepping back. “You’re officially marked.”
Elena sat up slowly, wincing as the movement pulled on the new jewelry. She looked down at herself. The vertical barbell glinted in the light, a permanent, elegant addition to her body. It was a focal point, a promise of what was to come.
“Ok, now for the last, your cunt lip piercings. How many on each side?”
Elana looked at Holly with wide eyes. “I didn’t ask about that. What would you think?”
“I would say two on each side; they are done in pairs. “ Two on each side of the outer labia. This will frame you perfectly.”
Elena nodded, her breath hitching. She had already experienced the sharp sting of the hood and the pressure of the nipples. She was bracing for more, but she didn’t know what to expect from the outer lips.
“Let’s get you lubed up,” Holly said. She applied a generous amount of numbing gel to the outer folds of Elena’s sex. The cool liquid trickled down the crease of her thighs, soaking into the sensitive skin. “This will help the needles glide,” Holly explained. “But the sensation will still be there.”
Holly picked up a surgical marker. She positioned Elena’s legs wide, the skin of her outer lips pink and swollen with anticipation. She marked two small dots on the left lip, about a quarter-inch apart, and then mirrored the marks on the right.
“Look down,” Holly instructed. “Does the line look even?”
“Yes,” Elena breathed, her eyes fixed on the tiny black dots against her pale skin.
“Good.” Holly picked up a pair of forceps designed for the labia. She pinched the skin of the left outer lip between the jaws. The pinch was firm, pulling the flesh tight and stretching it out.
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