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Emir (4)
A warm night breeze swept through the village streets as Diana's memory drifted back to her teenage years, when her authority began to blossom, when she already subdued the wills of her cousin and his inseparable friend, turning them into beasts of burden who learned to obey her youthful whims.
That memory made her smile with the superiority of someone who had always ruled. As she turned the corner, her eyes suddenly fell upon the silhouette of that same cousin from her youth, stopped in the dim light of a streetlamp. Halting Emir's trot and maintaining her haughty posture in the saddle, Diana fixed him with an amused look and let out a crystalline laugh that broke the silence of the night:
"What do you know about your friend? My pet. Hahahaha. A lot has changed. Now men are my pets."
The cousin let his pride fall to the damp ground and, kneeling in utter submission, bowed low to devoutly kiss Diana's black leather boots, the same ones that rested elegantly in the stirrups of her mount. His voice trembling with respect and confusion, he looked up at his cousin and asked her what exactly her words meant, not daring to rise in the presence of the equestrian.
Diana tilted her head with an amused smile, watching her cousin tremble on his knees at her feet, and with a light touch of her spurs on Emir's flanks to keep him still, she lowered her haughty gaze to him:
"It means that the games of childhood are over, cousin. What was once the mischief of boys and a girl is now absolute law; there are no more free men in these streets, only domesticated beasts awaiting my whip, just like old Emir, who serves as my mount to take me home."
The cousin asked, "Am I your pet too?"
A playful, enigmatic smile crossed Diana's lips as she gently stroked the handle of her riding crop, gazing at the screen with the same sovereignty with which she ruled the town's streets.
"You'd have to prove that yourself," she replied in a firm, calculating voice, adjusting her mount's reins. "After all, in my world, beasts aren't chosen at random; they earn the right to wear the saddle through obedience. Are you willing to test that?"
The cousin rested his forehead against the damp ground, accepting his condition without a hint of resistance, and repeated the question with the submission of one who has surrendered his will:
"I'm your horse. Tell me, cousin, what does it mean that all men are your pets?"
Diana let out a crystalline laugh that resonated authoritatively in the stillness of the night. He stroked Emir's makeshift mane with the whip, relishing the weight of his own power before tilting his head to look him straight in the eyes:
"It means the world as you knew it is over, cousin. The men of this village no longer command, reason, or choose their own path; they have relinquished their pride to become beasts of burden, loyal dogs, and saddle horses who live only to obey our commands, serve as mounts, and crawl beneath our boots. That is the law of our lineage, and you have already begun to live by it."
The cousin lifted his face slightly from the ground, his gaze lost in devotion and the memory of those years when he and his friend carried the weight of the Young Amazon on their shoulders, transforming their own bodies into stables and mounts before they even learned to carry a bit.
"For years, my friend and I have been your horses, and you carried us on your shoulders," he murmured with a mixture of submissive pride and nostalgia, waiting for the jingle of the spurs to confirm his fate once more.
A dry snort and a violent shudder ran through Professor Emir's body. He raised his head with a sudden stiffness and impatiently struck the cobblestones with a hoof. The reins tightened in Diana's hands, betraying the wounded pride and suppressed rage of the old professor, who couldn't bear to hear the memories of other shoulders when he was the one bearing his Mistress's weight at that very moment.
Diana felt the tremor in her mount's flanks and, with a mocking smile, stroked the professor's neck with the whip to remind him of his exact place.
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Emir (5)
Diana leaned gracefully into the saddle, bringing her lips close to the trembling ear of the old professor, who was breathing heavily, his breath coming in ragged gasps. In a cold, sharp voice that froze the Arequipa night air, she murmured:
"You should be jealous of your wife, not of me, because I am not yours, you are mine."
A sharp click of spurs on Emir's flanks broke the tense moment, sending the professor back to a trot through the streets. Without deigning to look back, Diana raised her voice with absolute authority to the figure prostrate on the ground:
"Follow us. On all fours and without raising your head."
The cousin didn't hesitate for a second. Accepting his fate with fervent devotion, he threw himself to the ground and began crawling across the damp earth, dragging his hands and knees in time with the hooves of his rival, marking the path toward his Mistress's house.
The dry echo of the hooves sounded briefly against the walls before Diana brought her mount to a sudden halt.
"Look at me!" she commanded in a sharp, absolute tone that cut through the night air.
The cousin, kneeling with his palms on the cold stones, obeyed instantly. He raised his face with the absolute submission of a beast seeking its Mistress's approval, and his eyes immediately fixed on the imposing figure of the Amazon.
Diana, with the agility and grace of one who has mastered the art of domination since childhood, rose into the saddle on Professor Emir's shoulders. The old professor, content with his role as a beast of burden and happy to bear the weight of his Mistress, tensed his torso muscles for balance, his breath escaping his lungs in a hoarse sigh.
Standing erect and firmly perched on the professor's shoulders, the cool breeze stirring her hair, Diana gracefully turned her waist and neck to look down. Her eyes met those of her cousin, who gazed down at her with a mixture of boundless devotion and servile ecstasy.
Diana offered him a haughty smile, a smirk of pure triumph that illuminated her lips in the lamplight. Instantly, her cousin returned it with a trembling but genuine smile, happy to feel his Mistress's weight on his shoulders once more and to confirm that, regardless of the years that had passed, his place in the world remained to serve as a pedestal for his Absolute Sovereign.
Supporting herself firmly on the broad shoulders of Professor Emir, who breathed in short gasps under his Mistress's weight, Diana tilted her head back and lowered her gaze to her cousin, who remained prostrate on all fours on the damp stones.
"How is my aunt?" she asked in a slow, mocking voice, relishing the contrast between the silent night and the absolute submission of the man who watched her from below.
The cousin lowered his head even further, almost pressing his forehead against the cold cobblestones of the street before raising his voice with a mixture of submissive respect and reverent fear:
"My mother is still at home, Mistress, making sure everything is ready for when you decide to return. No one dares question anything since things changed forever."
A dismissive flick of the riding crop was enough to end the conversation with the kneeling parishioner. "Keep cleaning the stones with your hands and knees, and make sure you don't fall behind," Diana ordered in an icy tone.
She pressed her spurs firmly against Emir's flanks, and the professor, panting with the submissiveness of an old brute weary from his Mistress's weight, broke into a rhythmic trot that devoured the last few meters of the streets. The metal hooves clattered against the ground until they stopped in front of the imposing family home. As she crossed the threshold, the scent of wax and old dampness greeted the Amazon, who glided gracefully from the professor's shoulders to the ground with her leather boots, leaving the old beast with his head down and his breath heavy in the darkness of the courtyard.
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Emir (6)
Professor Emir, overcome by the weight and authority of his Mistress, collapsed face down onto the cold cobblestones of the entrance hall. His breath heavy and his body trembling from the day's exertion, he stretched out his arms in utter submission, pressing his lips to the soles of Diana's leather boots, surrendering what little pride he had left to the undisputed Sovereign of the house.
Diana didn't hesitate to walk all over Emir's prostrate body, advancing with a firm and deliberate step as each stride crushed the professor's back.
The man closed his eyes tightly, holding his breath and feeling the soles and sharp heels of his Mistress's boots sink firmly into his skin, marking every inch of his spine with the inescapable weight of domination.
The relentless contact of heels on Emir's flesh immediately reopened the scarlet furrows that still oozed pain on his back, reminding him of the punishment he had received just hours before in the sterile corridors of the health facility. With a stifled groan against the cold stone of the entryway, Emir endured the pain as the ultimate test of his servitude, while Diana continued her march into the house without looking back.
The old professor, dragging his battered body, his back burning from the torment of her footsteps, slithered across the entryway floor, mimicking the serpentine advance of a worm. Every inch he covered was marked by the frenzy of his devotion: he pressed his lips against the damp tiles, savoring the dust and the precise imprint that Diana's heels had just left on the stone, becoming entirely the servile shadow of his Sovereign.
Meanwhile, the echo of the lashes against the sacred vestments still lingered in the church. Father Elias lay sprawled on the sanctuary flagstones, his cassock torn and his back crisscrossed with scarlet welts that radiated a feverish heat.
When the catechists and medical personnel dared to approach to help him, the diagnosis was definitive: severe polycontusions from flagellation, multiple dermal lesions with linear hematomas in the dorsal and lumbar regions, accompanied by a mild neurogenic shock resulting from the acute pain and extreme humiliation. The parish priest, forced to acknowledge the absolute authority of the New Mistresses of the local order, remained prostrate, consumed by fever and total spiritual submission.
The doctor who examined Father Elias in the sacristy prescribed absolute bed rest, strictly forbidding him from standing or presiding over liturgical services until his skin and epidermal lesions had completely healed. He also indicated the topical application of anti-inflammatory and healing ointments to the lash marks, the administration of moderate-strength analgesics to manage the pain from the flagellation, and rigorous monitoring of his pulse and blood pressure to prevent any relapse given the persistent shock and profound emotional exhaustion.
A young priest, Diana's age, would replace Father Elias during his medical leave. The young priest, pale-faced and with his hands nervously clutching his missal, watched the imposing figure of Diana cross the threshold of the church. The fresh memory of the punishment inflicted on his predecessor sent a deathly chill down his spine. Unable to meet her gaze, he faltered, kneeling on the altar flagstones, his voice cracking with panic, pleading:
"Please! No."
The dry clatter of boots on the stone floor and the jingle of spurs marked each step Diana took across the church until she stopped mere inches from the young man's cassock. His body trembling with panic, his forehead pressed almost to the flagstones, the young priest stretched out his arms in utter submission and pressed his lips desperately against Diana's leather soles, surrendering his will before he could even hear a word.
She, maintaining a cold and distant gaze from her vantage point, broke the silence with a sharp voice:
"How is Father Elias doing?"
The boy, his forehead still pressed to the cold floor and his lips trembling as he kissed the leather of Diana's boots, spoke with a mixture of terror and utter submission:
"Your Excellency. Father Elias remains bedridden in the sacristy, as the doctor ordered. His fever has subsided slightly thanks to the ointments, but the wounds on his back are still open and oozing from the depth of the lashes. He can barely speak due to exhaustion and shock, and he is under strict bed rest, not daring to move a single muscle. No one in the parish dares to disobey your orders or question the punishment he has received."
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Emir (7)
Diana asked, "Are you Father Elias's replacement in everything?"
The young priest nodded.
"Very well," Diana continued in an icy, absolute voice. "Father Elias is my horse, and today we were supposed to go to the school to teach the parents' class. Since he's confined to the cot in the sacristy as punishment, you will take his place in everything. Get up, get on all fours, and prepare for me to ride you and thus fulfill my duties."
The young priest's heart skipped a beat in his chest at the pronouncement. With his forehead still pressed against the cold church tiles and his lips pressed to the sole of his Mistress's boots, he nodded in a trembling gesture, accepting the inescapable burden that had just fallen upon his shoulders.
No sooner had the young man dropped to all fours on the church tiles than she firmly planted the sole and heel of her leather boot on the back of the new sacred steed.
Then, with utter composure, Diana bridled and saddled the young priest, who obeyed her every move, his breath held and his body trembling with terror at his impending fate.
Diana rode with complete ease. She pressed her spurs against his flanks, eliciting a muffled groan from the priest, and guided him with a steady hand toward the church exit. They crossed the atrium in the morning light, trotting rhythmically and deliberately toward the school, ready to attend the parents' meeting without tolerating the slightest resistance.
The superhuman effort of crawling on all fours through the cobblestone streets of Arequipa began to break the young priest's spirit, his body trembling beneath the relentless weight of his Mistress. In a desperate attempt to find a sliver of relief, or perhaps succumbing to an even more degrading transformation of his servitude, the boy stumbled, his muscles contorting, and he struggled to his feet, going from crawling on all fours to teetering precariously on two legs, adopting a hunched and monstrous posture.
Diana, far from being bothered by the metamorphosis, took advantage of her living mount's newfound height. With an agile and precise movement, she slid from his back and climbed directly onto the priest's shoulders. She dug her spurs hard into his torso, forcing the bipedal priest to bear her full weight as he rode along the country lane. Diana was, quite simply, the Rider of his own tragic penance.
The landscape faded into a monotonous haze as the young priest advanced step by step, dragged along by a hypnotic inertia that obliterated any trace of his own will. With a vacant stare, bloodshot eyes, and a body rigid as if a voodoo spell had ripped his soul from him, the unfortunate man walked with his spine bent beneath the relentless weight of his Mistress.
Diana, on the other hand, traveled with absolute comfort high above. Seated with perfect elegance on the priest's shoulders, she rested her hands gently on the back of his neck, enjoying the cool morning breeze, rocked by the robotic rhythm of each stride, and transformed into the sole Mistress and Lady of that imposed destiny.
Diana rode with the haughtiness of an ancient goddess, absolute mistress of the scene and of all who were around her. Her face possessed a beauty as serene as it was implacable, with perfect features and a cold amber gaze that cut through the air in her wake. Her body was a masterpiece of anatomy sculpted with geometric precision: a firm, proud bust that defied gravity, hips with sinuous, opulent curves that contrasted magnetically with a wasp waist, so fragile and perfectly cinched that it seemed as if it could break with a sigh, yet it exuded absolute power.
She wore an impeccable riding habit of military cut and handcrafted workmanship, made of subtly lustrous, supple black leather that molded like a second skin to every movement of her body. The fitted jacket, gold with subtle brass buttons, accentuated her slender waist before opening over the pleats of close-fitting riding breeches that further emphasized the perfect length of her legs. High boots of polished leather, finished with sturdy heels, completed an outfit designed not only to command the trails, but to command the gaze and spirit of anyone who dared to behold her.
Last edited by caballito (2026-09-02 07:57:05)
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Emir (8)
From the dark depths of the sacristy, confined to an old wheelchair that barely cushioned the sharp pains in his back, Father Elias was a silent witness to every scene. With feverish eyes and white knuckles from gripping the armrests, he saw Diana enter, contemplated the boy's humiliation, and watched as the new priest assumed with blind devotion the place he himself had lost.
A pang of visceral jealousy coursed through his gut, stirring a poison as bitter as the humiliation itself. It wasn't just the physical pain of the lashes that gnawed at him, but the deep burning envy of seeing another occupy his place under the weight of his Mistress's boots, enduring the sacred proximity of her body and receiving the absolute favor of her domination. He whispered stifled curses against his own weakness as Diana's silhouette, perched on the shoulders of the new priest, receded step by step until it vanished completely over the horizon.
Trapped in the gloom of the sacristy and consumed by the pain of his open wounds, Father Elias breathed with difficulty as his body trembled with a fever that was no longer just the product of the whippings, but of delirium and humiliation. His knuckles clenched against the armrests of the wheelchair and his gaze fixed on the doorway through which the procession had disappeared, he reached under the hem of his torn cassock.
He found his own flesh hot and aching; with trembling, desperate fingers, he tugged and squeezed it furiously, seeking a semblance of relief amidst the torture. As he masturbated frenetically, his mind repeatedly projected the imposing image of Diana: her cold beauty, the impossibly slender waist cinched in the immaculate black leather riding habit, and the superb perfection of her body moving with absolute ease atop the shoulders of the young priest transformed into a beast of burden. The contrast between his own prostration and the omnipotence of his Mistress unleashed an uncontrollable spasm within him, and he ejaculated forcefully onto the seat, groaning Diana's name in an ecstasy as full of pleasure as it was of utter, devout despair.
The stark contrast of the scene on the cobblestones stopped the pulse of the street. Diana stood erect on her human mount because she is an implacable Empress, her thighs pressed firmly against the neck of her bipedal steed, the slender silhouette of her waist outlined by the riding habit. Holding the leather reins with elegance, she brought the riding crop down with a sharp crack against the priest's chest and authoritatively pressed the golden spurs of her boots against the boy's ribs, marking the rhythm of a gait that was both punishment and adoration.
As she passed, the men of the area halted their work, their eyes fixed on the unattainable perfection of her anatomy and the majesty of her posture, feeling a mixture of fascination and reverent fear before the image of Absolute Domination. On the sidewalks, the ladies of traditional society pursed their lips and partially covered their faces with shawls, murmuring with suppressed indignation and outrage at the blatant subversion of the moral order, unable to tear their gaze away from the vibrant spectacle of Power that unfolded before them.
The school's imposing wooden gate marked the end of the route, and there, waiting with his head bowed and eyes fixed on the ground, stood Emir. The old professor, who also held the position of school director, quickly fell to his knees upon seeing his Mistress approach. With a reverent tremor in his hands and his body still aching from the previous punishments, he crawled to his Mistress's feet to place himself absolutely and unconditionally at her service.
Diana, without dismounting for a single moment from the shoulders of the young priest (who continued to serve as her living, two-legged throne), looked disdainfully at the prostrate director. Without losing the elegance of her posture or letting go of the reins, she dictated her will in a cold voice: a second steed would join her retinue. With mechanical and precise gestures, she proceeded to bridle and saddle Emir right at the entrance of the school, transforming the school principal into a twin beast of burden, ready to crawl under the yoke of her Absolute Domination.
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Emir (9)
Emir (the school principal), dressed in formal attire adapted to the desperation of his new state (one of Diana's horses) stood before the young priest, offering his own hunched back as an extension of the altar of servitude; both men faced the same direction.
Diana, with the precise, cool composure of an Amazon who has mastered the art of supreme control, barely hesitated. Grasping the reins firmly and digging the golden-spurred heels of her boots into the ribs of the priest (who had served as her throne until that moment) she executed a flawless transition.
With an agile thrust of her wasp-thin waist and the commanding grace of her riding habit, Diana slid from the young priest's shoulders, sat briefly upon his head, draped her legs over Emir's shoulders with effortless naturalness, and then shifted her divine, perfect body through the air to land seated upon Emir's shoulders; he bore the magnificent weight of his Mistress without daring to utter a single sigh of complaint.
Diana's weight, contained within the impeccable shape of her black leather riding attire, shifted with pinpoint precision. It was as if the thin soles of her boots and her golden-spurred heels came to rest atop the head of the young priest, who remained motionless and submissive beneath the sun. For an instant, the young man's face served as a fleeting stepping-stone and an altar of humiliation for the Mistress.
With a fluid movement of her slender waist, Diana parted her legs to rest her thighs momentarily on Emir's shoulders before executing the final leap. Her divine body (possessing perfect curves and absolute firmness) arced elegantly through the air before settling with total ease onto the school principal's shoulders. Emir felt the impact of his Mistress with a slight shudder along his spine, yet he stifled any sigh, accepting his new destiny as the primary mount in that procession of absolute domination.
For Emir, submission was not a sudden imposition but a legacy etched into the blood, muscle, and annals of his lineage. He was a third-generation horse, the middle link in a dynasty of males schooled from the cradle to bow their necks before Diana's bloodline.
He clearly recalled the years of his youth, when he (then a vigorous yet immature steed) along with his father and grandfather, took turns bearing Diana's grandmother upon their backs and shoulders. That woman possessed an ancestral authority; she rode with an unyielding crop and a magnetic coldness, commanding a father and grandfather who neighed with jealousy (consumed by both envy and lust) and a young Emir who was barely learning to obey the rhythm of the spurs.
Years later, the scepter of dominion passed to Diana's mother. Under her implacable command, the generational grip tightened like a perfect yoke: grandfather, father, and Emir himself formed a trio of human steeds, bearing the weight and demands of an Amazonian dynasty accustomed to turning authority into a religion.
And now, the cycle had come full circle in the most absolute sense. In Diana's living stable, he marched alongside his father (who continued to endure the old punishments) his son (submissive and eager, just as Emir had been in his early days), and his grandson, who was undergoing initiation; together, they formed a dynastic line of five generations of males reduced to beasts of burden, all destined to serve as a throne, obey the reins, and eternally carry the glory and the weight of their Divine Mistress. The stream of parents crowding the school entrance came to an abrupt halt, transforming into a silent, stunned mass flanking the main gateway. Before their eyes paraded the ultimate embodiment of the Supremacy: Diana, clad in the impeccable, understated elegance of a black leather riding habit (her wasp-thin waist, exuding sheer power, cinched to perfection) commanded the scene from her lofty perch.
Seated with absolute ease in the saddle strapped across Emir's back and shoulders, her divine shape held itself erect like an untouchable Empress. With a firm hand, she gripped the reins that kept under strict control both the principal (now transformed into her primary mount) and the young priest, who, crawling alongside with a vacant stare, completed the harness of this human carriage. Metal stirrups jingled in rhythm with Emir's every step as Diana, bearing the cold authority of her ancient lineage, rode across the threshold, ready to deliver her lesson before the community's terrified and fascinated gaze.
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Emir (10)
The murmur of the parents packing the schoolyard died away abruptly, silenced by the weight of an imposing spectacle. Amidst the crowd of stunned onlookers, Diana paused as her path crossed that of another figure of equal haughtiness and icy beauty: her own mother, who advanced with the same ancient authority that defined their lineage.
Both ladies stood out instantly from the throng, elevated above everyone else on their human thrones. Diana's mother rode with absolute ease upon the shoulders of Emir's son (continuing the hereditary line of family servitude) while Diana did the same, riding upon the back and shoulders of Emir himself.
Mother and daughter locked eyes for a moment over the heads of their vassals, sharing the silent complicity of those who hold absolute dominion over entire generations of men reduced to beasts of burden. The four males of the subjugated dynasty (grandfather, father, son, and grandson, distributed between the two Amazons) bore the weight of their sweet punishment with vacant stares, while the crops, reins, spurs, and black leather riding outfits reaffirmed to the townspeople (shocked yet submissive) that the power of the ladies' lineage knew no limits and brooked no partners.
The sight of that other haughty Amazon (Diana's mother) gliding with equal elegance upon the back and shoulders of Emir's son sent a jolt of electrifying arousal through the air. The spectacle of two generations of women simultaneously dominating two generations of men unleashed a primal frenzy within the subjugated bloodline.
Driven by a strange, feverish arousal welling up from the very depths of their submission, Headmaster Emir and Emir's son began to shift and move where they stood. Shaking off the robotic stiffness born of exhaustion, their bodies began to arch in a syncopated rhythm, precisely mimicking the movements, caprioles, and restrained leaps of a real high-school dressage horse. The muscles of their backs contracted violently beneath the weight of their respective Mistresses, while boot soles and spur-clad heels dug ever harder into their flesh to mark the beat.
Hooves clattered against the schoolyard pavement as these human steeds performed a dance of submission, racked by tremors of pure, servile ecstasy before the omnipotence of the two riders who dominated them from above.
The perfect symmetry of generational domination played out in the schoolyard like an ancient choreography, where social roles and the yokes of destiny merged into a single circuit of absolute servitude. The Amazon dynasty recognized neither the barriers of institutional hierarchy nor the boundaries of the classroom; to them, every stratum of the educational community was merely a link destined to swell the ranks of their personal stable.
The mother (wielding an authority both ancient and formidable) had ascended every rung of pedagogical and social power; proud in her dual role as matriarch and educator, she demonstrated the versatility of her dominion. As a mother, she had bent the community's pillars to her will, reducing and transforming (beneath her stride and her weight) the teacher, the father (her husband and the other dads), and the student himself (her son and the other boys) into a trinity of beasts of burden, lovingly ridden by her shapely form. As a teacher within the same institution, she completed the cycle of her Dominion by demanding that same institutional submission, riding (with the same despotic ease) upon the backs and shoulders of the family man, the teacher, and the student, with the cold detachment of one grading a lesson learned through the whip and the spur.
For her part, Diana (heir to and surpasser of that absolute mandate, embodying the relentless youth of her lineage) had traversed the reverse path starting from the very foundation of learning, exercising her Dominion from the vantage point of her own academic position.
As a student, she began her education by dominating and riding her own peers (students reduced to steeds) without mercy.
Then Diana crossed the thresholds of the school hierarchy, rising above figures of higher institutional rank, advancing inexorably over the authority of her teachers and the prestige of the fathers, riding the teacher and the family man himself.
Now, standing at the pinnacle of that system, she wove together the threads of past and present, simultaneously riding the student, the teacher, and the family man in a single carousel of absolute and perfect submission.
Trapped within this geometry of power, males of all ages and stations (youths, teachers, and family patriarchs alike) formed a living, endless stable beneath the heels and boot soles of the two Amazons, whose black-leather-clad silhouettes dictated the school's absolute law.
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