Unlikely Tryst: When Sloan Met Sally

BY : UnlikelyTrysts
Category: M through R > Percy Jackson & the Olympians
Dragon prints: 78517
Disclaimer: I do not own the "Percy Jackson and the Olympians series", and I am not profiting off of this work.

He was a big man, and if that wasn’t worrying enough, Matt thought that he looked like his father; bigger, even more brutal, with shorter hair yeah, but the same sort of arrogant mogul look about him. Sitting across from him in that smoky limo with the leather seats of suspicious origin, Matt was transported back to when he was a smaller boy, called into his dad’s office to be reprimanded, berated, punished for one failing or another. His dad was a giant then, and he was still a bigger man now, squeezed into suits or golf shirts, meaty fingers squeezed into rings or gripping a cigar, and beady brown eyes under a heavy brow.

This man was taller, and his eyes were hidden behind a pair of designer sunglasses, but otherwise he was squeezed into an expensive suit, with heavy, heavy rings on sausage sized fingers, looking like a boxing champion who went to seed in style, or some third-world dictator who got his start leading commandos before the coup that put him in power. Everything about him, not even counting how his eyes seem to glow like a furnace behind those shades, seemed to scream one thing at Matt: this was a guy you don’t want to fuck with.

So, Matt sat meekly, waiting to be addressed, back to when he was a little kid waiting for his father to start yelling. As he sat there, he felt the same familiar sense of dread, unease, and something else stronger, almost more comfortingly familiar... the simmering resentment. It was that kind of emotion that got him through the worst of his dad’s tirades, that vindictive voice in the back of his mind that said ‘just you wait, old man, you won’t be bigger than me forever’. But of course, Matt didn’t grow to be his dad’s height yet, and unless he shot up a foot and a half in the back of this limousine right now, and put on about eighty pounds of extra muscle, right now he just had to sit there and take it.

Resentment, feeding frustration, causing him to grind his teeth in an impotent, directionless fury... Matt Sloan knew nothing of hate, not really, but he was ready to learn.

Almost as if he could read all of this as easy as a Times Square billboard sign, the big man bared his teeth in a very smug, dangerous approximation of a smile. “You are an ambitious, vicious, little motherfucker, aren’t you?”

Matt tensed, resentful and terrified all at once, and chose to go with one of his old favorite tactics when confronted by adults in a position of authority: lie, deny, deflect.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about man,” Matt said, though dammit he had trouble keeping ice on the man when he said it. Seeing his reflection in those shades rattled him for some reason. “I don’t know why you even wanted to talk to me. I was minding my own business, wasn’t hurting anybody-”

“Yeah, and there’s more the pity, right?” The big man gave a nasty sort of smile. “She looks like she wouldn’t mind a little bit of hurting, would she?”

Horribly, Matt knew there was no denying it any longer. “… so, what if she does?” He asked the big man who had nothing better to do than spy on a teenage boy, hoping he sounded braver than he felt.

“Well, here’s me wondering,” the big man drawled, “why haven’t you tapped that if it’s clear she’s just aching for it, begging for it?”

Now, Matt wasn’t sure what came over him, but being in the enclosed space (even if it was a surprisingly spacious limo) with this guy who reminded him all about the worst, scariest parts of his dad, somehow feeling like he had blueballs even when he jerked it just a minute ago? No, he was pissed. “Maybe I’m working on it? Maybe I’m taking my sweet time to make it perfect? Maybe I’ve already fucked her every way I know and need to like, research Karma Sutra stuff to figure what to do to her next? Maybe it’s none of your business you fucking perv? Maybe go fuck yourself?”

And that just got the creep to laugh harder.

“What’s so funny?” Matt snapped.

“Nothing,” said the big stranger, taking off his glasses to wipe the corner of his eye. Matt froze, because this guy had like… fire for eyes, and the corner leaked looking like… like he imagined nuclear reactors to look like. Like there was something else contained there he couldn’t understand. “You’re just perfect.”

“P-perfect for what?” Matt asked in a small voice.

“What if I could make that fine bitch yours?” the big man asked, thankfully putting his shades back on. There was still the threatening red glow at the corners that kept Matt from feeling completely at ease, so he paid attention. “What would you do?”

“I dunno,” Matt admitted, shrugging. No, that wasn’t true. “Fuck her brains out.”

“And what about her fucking soul?” Mr. Glowing-Atomic-Bomb-Eyes asked. “What about that?”

“That too, I guess,” Matt shrugged again.

“Good,” Mr. Bombs-for-Eyes nodded. “Then that’s what my terms are. You get the bitch, and you don’t be a one-pump chump. You have to draw it out. Might take weeks. It’ll be work.”

“But I’ll be… fucking her,” said Matt, leaning in. Whoever… whatever this man was, Matt somehow, in the corner of his measly wretched soul knew he could deliver on what was promised. “Right?”

“Oh, and she’ll want it.”

“She already wants it,” Matt scoffed. “She just doesn’t know it for sure yet.”

That got another harsh, booming laugh. Then, the big man addressed his driver. “Missy, we’re going to drive around a bit longer while I explain to junior here,” and he clapped a big hand on Matt’s shoulder that definitely left a bruise, “have a talk about what needs to be done. And then, we’re stopping by one of Himeros’ old haunts, got it?”

“Right away, Mr. A,” said the driver, before making a sharp turn. If Matt was a smarter, nicer boy, he might have questioned what exactly he got himself involved with… but he was crafty, devious, not smart, and definitely not a nice young man.


....

 

A week later, a plan in place, a newly emboldened Matt made his way back up to Sally Jackson’s apartment. Once again, he slipped through security at the front and then knocking on her door, waiting for her to answer. As he waited, in a fit of nerves he checked his breath. That's how Sally saw him, breathing into his hand, palms sweaty.

‘She really is pretty’, Matt thought to himself, taking in her auburn hair and a slender figure that manages to have just the right amount of curves in just the right places. She’s dressed in slacks and an untucked, buttoned-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Her feet are bare, and her fucking ankles manage to be exquisite.

"Sally? I mean, Ms. Jackson?" Matt said, trying not to sound creepy. Hard when he pictured her naked almost immediately, remembering the last time he had seen her bare and unsuspecting.

She looked at him with one eyebrow raised, her face registering polite bemusement. "Yes? What are you doing here? Are you selling something?" She's mocking you, taking a bit of pleasure in his discomfort. On some level, Matt thought that this tease must know what she’s doing to him, the effect she has on young men. Cougar skank.

"No, I'm not selling anything. I wanted to ask you some questions about Percy’s disappearance." Matt feign concern easily enough, privately hoping wherever Percy Jackson is, some crystal meth tweaker is ass-raping him in a truck-stop bathroom. Eh, or not... would be more satisfying if he lived to find out exactly what was gonna be done to his mommy. “Is everything alright?”

"I'm fine," she says, her expression now displaying genuine worry. "It's nothing for you to worry about. What do you want to know?"

"I don’t know... Everything. Who are his friends, what was the last thing the two of you talked about, what were you doing the night he disappeared?” Watching detective shows paid off. That, and grilling Munch about Percy Jackson apparently going on trips or just falling off the face of the earth for long stretches of time, and nobody seemed to bat an eye. Not for the first time, Matt felt a spike of envy; what he wouldn’t give for that level of autonomy, but Percy-fuckin’-Jackson seemed to have been born with a horseshoe up his ass.

 She gives a wry, pitying smile. “You’re sweet, but this... this isn’t the first time. No one can help, but he’ll be back, my baby always finds his way home.”

"But... but what if he doesn't? What if something happened to him?" Matt pressed, hoping he wasn’t overdoing it, this ‘concerned classmate’ routine.

She put a placating hand on his shoulder. "Listen to me, there's no point in worrying. Percy will be back. Now, if you don't mind, I have some work to do. Please go?”

Matt nodded, pretending to be comforted. Then, as if embarrassed, he asked "Can I use your bathroom? It won't take long I just... bus is a long ride and stuff."

Another pat on his shoulder. "Of course. It's on the left, the first door."

Matt nodded, giving her a reassuring smile, before launching himself through the front door and into the apartment.

Well of course he remembered which is the door to her bedroom after his last escapade into her apartment, and it’s pretty close so it only took him a moment. The bathroom, as it turns out, is surprisingly large and modern. More impressive than you thought she’d be able to afford. The shower is especially tempting. Matt quickly did his business, then wash his hands and tried not to look at his reflection, still nervous.

His hands were still shaking a bit as he went back into the living room and silently watched her bustling about the kitchen. She really, truly was a pretty woman... seeing her in all that domesticity, it got to him, like he didn’t expect it to. And suddenly, Matt didn't know what the hell he was doing here, or what put him up to this. That is, until she bent down to grab a plate or something from a bottom drawer, and he could take note of the globes of her ass in those plain slacks. No panty lines... maybe a repeat of the blue thong? That’d be...

That’s enough for Matt, his mind is made up, and he reached into his hooded sweatshirt pocket and pulled out that curiously warm vial filled with... something vaguely threatening that made him feel... fucking tingly when he held it. Remembering his instructions, he pointed it at her as a way to aim. All’s it takes is a determined flick of the thumb and—

 WHOOOSH.

Matt didn’t expect pink lightning to come out of there. He didn’t expect it to hit her right in the ass, but he wasn’t complaining, it’s a hell of a target. And just when he started to worry that like, she’ll disintegrate or something, she just stands up quickly enough to bump her head on a counter, rubbing her noggin and muttering under her breath. Matt’s eyes are still locked on her posterior though, and how she slowly, thoughtfully, and almost pornographically rubs her back pockets. Then she turns around with a halfhearted glare in her eyes that tells him that she thinks he’s overstayed his welcome, that she could comfortably, easily beat him up but would rather not, and that she’s just caught him staring.

Matt nods, sheepishly. He didn't count on the wave of embarrassment that hits him. Just knowing, thinking that she knows what he was up to... or just thinking that she knows what he was up to...

He’s ready to go now, when she says- "Sorry for that. I didn't expect the..." She cuts his excuses off before he can try to explain himself. "Can I offer you a drink?" She says, more polite. "I just got fresh lemonade."

 “No beer?” Matt jokes, and she laughs. Matt decides he likes her laugh quite a bit. He’ll have to make sure she finds some slutty stuff funny, so he can listen to that laugh when he goes through what he has planned. He accepts the offered lemonade though, and she fetches glasses for both of them.

"Listen. I'm really glad you came by. I hope you'll come back again,” she says, sincerely. “Not many people... people tend to take for granted... I just am happy someone cares.” Seems she can't help herself; fucking empathy seems her turn-on. But Matt is just glad she seems to have decided that he cares, and so he tries to smile at her.

Maybe he could make this work. He downs his drink in one gulp, but it doesn't even come close to filling him up. Suddenly, the realization hits him that he could be here all night, and that he has a class on Monday and like... she’s your teacher’s girlfriend, or whatever. “So, Mr. Blows-Fish isn’t coming around, is he?”

She snorts, and before Matt can curse himself for letting that nickname slip, she says in a wry voice “It is an unfortunate name, isn’t it? It’s why I’m... split on taking it. But no, he’ll be out for most of the week planning some scholastic... marathon of some kind, or something.”

"So, I'll have the place to myself?” Matt teased.

"Ooh, no such luck. You’d have to have a sleepover with me,” she corrected, same sort of daring smirk forming at the corner of her lips. “We could paint our nails, talk about boys, try to have some fun with a game of truth or dare," she suggested.

"How would I be sure you told the truth?” Matt asks, leaning on the kitchen counter ever so slightly, testing her boundaries. To his surprise, she leans forward slightly too, matching his pose.

 "Yeah, that's a problem. I don't know, you'll just have to take a chance I trust you," she shrugs.

"Well, if you trust me..." Matt shrugs.

Her face is serious again, and she shakes her head. "I don't trust anyone.” It feels like this is a painful admission, one Matt didn’t think she shared with anyone else. “But I'll let you take a risk..."

Before mood is broken, Matt pushes forward, not giving up on the moment. Taking the risk, and kissing her lightly on the lips. She tastes like... lemonade and something else, something earthy and clean. Her arms wind around his neck as she kisses back. The pair then pulled away simultaneously, needing to catch their breath.

"Oh my," she says, touching her lips.

Matt can’t stop grinning, showing off his chipped front tooth. "Yeah. Wow."

Laughing, she goes to get a glass, pouring herself another drink and downs it.

"Shit,” she swears, and the profanity both catches Matt off-guard and thrills him. “That, that tasted good," she grins, and Matt felt like he just shared a secret with her. She went to sit at the table, watching him, equal parts wary and intrigued.

And Matt, he just stands awkwardly in the kitchen, before forcing another, wider grin. "I guess that counts as ‘dare', right?" He teases, winking.

"Well, of course it does! And you dared to do, daring-do, quite... quite wow. Well, quite well,” she corrects herself, blushing.

Matt forced another laugh, and takes a seat beside her. He can't help looking over at her. "So, what’s your dare for me then?"

"Oh, I haven't finished my drink yet, and you didn't finish yours."

"So?"

"Well, you have to finish it."

"..." Mat isn’t sure what to say in response to that, but his incredulousness and impatience must show on in his expression.

"Oh, come on, don't make that face. I'll have you know I can hold my liquor. I just...

"There's alcohol in this?" Matt asks, interrupting her. "This is hard lemonade?" Now this was new; Matt had expected her to be losing some reservations, but here she went a gave alcohol to someone she knew was underage, who was her fiancé’s student. She’s further gone than he thought she could be and that’s... fucking priceless.

Now she's staring at him with a serious expression. Her face turns red, before she nods. "It’s not strong. You didn’t even notice it when you first tasted it."

"Oh, uh, right." It’s true, Matt didn't even notice that. Bah! Screw it, he didn't come here to think about the drinking age. So, he takes her glass, both of them, knocking them both back, one after the other in quick succession. Together, Matt can manage to taste a hint of sourness not from the lemonade but his thinking remains unclouded.

“Well?" She asks.

Matt shrugged, and then says, “Well, there goes my dare.”

"What?" Sally asks, surprised.

“I’m two-and-o,” Matt taunts her. “You’ll have to pick soon, truth or dare…?”

“No... no this is stupid,” she blushes, laughing.

"You'll have to choose dare anyway,” he points out, gleefully.

"Fine, I choose dare," she says.

"Ah ah ah, gotta make it official...Truth or dare?" Matt’s grin turns lecherous now; he knows exactly where to go with this, the hook has officially been fucking baited.

"Dare," she says, smiling.

"Well... if this were my house, you’d have to strip all the way and get in the hot tub," Matt says, scratching the back of his neck (showing off his arm muscles as he does) as he pretends to like, ruminate on how unfortunate it is they can’t do that here, aw shucks and gee whiz and all that.

"That's just embarrassing," she says, but her lips play at a small, intrigued smile.

"Well, we’re at your house now,” Matt insinuates. “You can do whatever you want."

"Well... okay then,” Sally says, thinking.

 Matt reached his hand out, creeping along under the table to touch her knee, just barely sliding up the thigh, and she shivers at his touch.

"Well?" Matt asks again, slowly moving his hand up and back in slow, languid, fuckin’ sensual circles.

"We're not supposed to... you're too young," she says, looking in his eyes.

"You’re supposed to be daring. That's like, the law or something."

Sally snorts, incredulous. "Really?"

"Sure.”

She stares at him, trying to think of what he'll do next… probably coming to terms with what she’ll do next. Matt just continues staring back, prompting her to go along with it.

"We're not supposed to do this... are we?" she asks again, her voice wavering.

And Matt, h leans in, kissing her neck. It gets him hard, imagining leaving a hickey for the world to see that she was claimed by him, that he owned her by right of taking her from a lesser man. "I dare you to do it anyway."

She bites her lip and thinks for a moment, before looking down, opening her legs slightly and undoing the button on her slacks.

"Slut," Matt mutters, grinning.

She stares at him, wordlessly, as he continued staring back, unapologetic. After a few seconds, she slowly slides her pants down her legs, gingerly stepping out of them. Matt takes a good look at her panties. No blue thong, this time they're pink, with a little picture a cat on them. Properly embarrassing panties for a grown woman to wear, and here she is showing them off to him anyway.

“Nice,” Matt snickers. “Cute little kitty cat.”

“It’s…” Sally blushes, very prettily. “It’s a pussy cat, actually.”

“Oh of course it is,” Matt smiles as he slides his hand up her leg and into her cute, pussy-themed panties. She lets out a moan as he slowly rubs her outer lips, before sliding a finger inside. She closes her legs to hold his hand in a little longer, before opening them again.

Matt grins and stands, quickly unbutton and pull out of his jeans. He slides them off but keeps on his boxer-briefs, for now anyway. It’ll be more perfect, more damning for her, to take those off herself. He does shuck off his hoodie and T-shirt, carelessly tossing both of them on the back of a kitchen chair, and then motions impatiently for her to do the same with her buttoned-up shirt. She complies, tossing the garment on top of his clothes, and that gets an approving nod from Matt.

"Alright, let's do this,” he says, taking in the look of her bra. It doesn’t match her panties, more proof this was spontaneous, that she’s real. It's a plain white cotton thing, modest in its design, with thin straps and a low neckline. "Let's get this fucking thing off."

"We can't," she says, her voice wavering again.

"I dare you to," Matt says insistently, as she begins to shake.

"I'm sorry."

"That's a ‘no’, then," Matt says. “You really ready to be punished for breaking the rules, Ms. Jackson?”

"Yes! Yes! I mean... I just..."

"Just what?"

"I don't know!" she says, flustered.

"Well, come on, out with it. You gotta know something."

"I... I have a fiancé."

"So?"

"Well... it's... that’s, that should be enough. And you’re so young-”

 "I'm not that young, I'm not a minor, according to the state of New York. So, it doesn't matter what my age is, or if I'm involved with someone. I'm still free to get with whoever I want, or not to get with anyone at all. I know which I’d pick.”

"Y-you don't know what it's like! To have everything planned out! Marry, have children, grow old together... I don't want to be alone."

"Oh, trust me, Miss Jackson, being alone isn't all that bad. It's being with the wrong person that causes all the problems,” Matt touched the side of her face as he finishes giving that little spiel. Right out of a shitty Hallmark movie. And she seems to buy it, leaning into his touch.

"I... I don't want to be alone. I want someone to love."

"Well, I'm not sure about this, but... why don't we try this for a while? Just the two of us. Okay? And if you do end up getting married or something similar, well then good on you. But if you don't and it all goes horribly wrong...well, you're still okay, right? You won't have wasted your life."

"I... I suppose I can try, but..."

"But what?"

"I need a little more time-”

“No, you don’t.”

"Well, yes! Look, I-”

“How much time did you need to invite me in?” Matt presses, letting some real anger and impatience slip in. “Try to get me drunk? Take off your clothes for me? Don’t puss out now.” She grips her arms, distraught, thinking it over, before looking back up at him. Matt steps towards her, kissing her as to better guide her towards the bedroom. "Just... Try it. For me."

 He can’t help it, can’t fight back that shit-eating grin as he’s kissing her, and then pushes her onto the bed. As he climbs on up onto the mattress and the soft, clean sheets, he motions from her to his boxers. Raising a deliberate eyebrow, meaningfully, Matt hooks a finger in the elastic waistband and gives a ‘thwap’, to clue her in on where this should go. She bites her lip, looking down at the offending scrap of clothing still on him, only thing covering his crotch, keeping the real prize out of her… grasp. Then, with trembling fingers, she hooks her own fingers into the waistband and pulls them down off of him.

"Good choice," Matt says, voice getting thick and breathy. The air-conditioning on his exposed cock gets his whole body goose-pimpled, excites him all the more for getting warmed up.

Sally looks up at him expectantly, but he won't move into position right away. Instead, he just enjoys the view for a moment. Her eyes follow his every move, unblinking and filled with nervous anticipation. They also show a slight glimmer of adoration, it would seem. Fucking perfect.

"Can I...?" Her voice is barely above a whisper, but he understands the question clear enough. So, Matt nods, he nods and it makes him feel like a king or an emperor or something… ‘yes, slave, you may touch the royal scepter, yes you may suck on it until it pumps out baby-batter, yes you may take it inside you and get fucked by a real man for the first time in your life, until you get baby-maker juice that might give you a real man’s kid if you are fucking lucky…

Slowly, Sally moves her hands towards him. As she moves them closer and closer to his manhood (his ‘royal scepter’), she licks her lips reflexively. Oh, there’ll be time for that, don’t you get ahead of yourself you little fucking MILF whore…

When her hands make contact with Matt’s cock, she stops, looking up at him. Her eyes are foggy and unfocused with raw, impossible to deny, lust.

Matt nods. Her hands are cold as they wrap around him. She's pretty good at determining the right amount of pressure to squeeze, and she starts to move her hands up and down. It's been a long time since Matt had someone just touch him like this, too long, and none of the pimply fucking skanks were half the woman Sally was. Still, she could be doing it more...

"Come on, you can do better than that. Put some heart in it." Her grip is already getting warmer. She blushes, but gladly continues. Matt lets out a small sigh of relief as he feels himself getting close.

Pushing her away slightly, he looks down at her and grins, eyes narrowing. That fucking P.E. bra is the first to go. He unclasps it and lets it fall to the floor, off the bed, out of sight. Sally watches as it goes, not bothering to cover herself (her nipples are that dusky pink he remembers, her breasts are perfect with barely any sag). Then she’s looking up at Matt, almost worshipfully as he insistently hooks his fingers in the waistband and then slowly, tortuously, pulls off her underwear.

"Condom?" She asks expectantly. Again, these hang-ups of hers, with the fucking timing. It’s almost enough to kill Matt’s raging stiffie… well, almost. No, that’s not the case, not even close. That anger, his impatience and frustration with her, he’s going to channel it into properly fucking her brains out.

"Do you really need one?" Matt asks, no, he whines. But turns out there’s only so much this magic pink lightning in a bottle can do and so he grumbles at her insistence, digging through the pockets of his discarded jeans and pulls a wrapper out of his wallet.

It's not exactly the most romantic moment, ripping open the plastic and then sliding it over his throbbing member. Still, she seems unfazed by the vulgar nature of the act, only a little bit surprised. No surprise, she’s a mother, she’s had sex enough to make a shithead son. There’s plenty of experience she has to share. She’s practically batting her eyelashes as Matt aims his manhood above her opening.

"I... I've never done this before-" She starts.

"Really? That's hard to believe." Matt quips sarcastically, still a little bitter about needing to wrap up his junk, and she blushes again.

"Well... it's true." She says. “This... this isn’t like me at all...”

Yeah, go figure. Matt doesn't respond, just gives her a small smile and presses the tip against her. She's already getting wet, so fucking wet.

"This could be... fun." Matt says aloud, thinking of how to just fucking ruin, just completely debauch this foolish, slutty woman. His time with her was just beginning.

"Fun?"

"Yeah… I've never done this either. But you're right. It feels good." Matt thrusts forward, and she lets out a yelp of pain.

"It's fine,” he says to her between bestial grunts. “You'll get better with practice." Without further warning or preamble, Matt pulls out and thrusts again; Sally grits her teeth and takes it.

"More? Yeah, you can take more," Matt grunts. He thrusts hard several times in a row, watching as Sally’s breathing becomes more and more ragged.

"Yes... yes... like that... just like that..." She pants.

Matt takes one of her wrists and pins it over her head, then the other. Now, fully on top of her, she’s helplessly spread out and giving him everything, and she's letting out yelps of pain with each time Matt thrusts forward.

"This… will be… so fuckin’ fun." Matt smirks, as the pleasure builds.

"I... I'm going to..." She pants.

Matt won't, couldn’t even if he wanted to, hold back. His body accelerates towards bringing her a release. "Come. Now." He demands.

 She whimpers, shaking her head. So, Matt decides he has to increase his already punishing pace.

"Come for me." He demands again, not trusting himself to last much longer either.

"I... Can't… Can't..."

Matt rolls his eyes. Playing innocent now? Seriously, you fucking MILF slut? A little late for that shit. The genie isn't going back in that bottle.

So, he lowers his head and sucks on the nape of her neck. Hard.

"Agh! Oh my god!" She screams, arching her back. Her legs twitch. She lets out a long, loud scream of ecstasy. Matt can feel her tighten around his whole length, and he manages to thrust one last time as he releases his own load into this slutty MILF. A busting, both nuts emptied, climax that was weeks in the making and it lived up to the fucking hype. Then Matt collapses on top of her, catching his breath. Her breasts are just the best fucking pillows. She’s panting, clearly trying to calm down from her powerful experience. Her hand is idly stroking his back, and Matt wonders if it’s the hand with her wedding ring on the finger. Privately, he hopes it is. He hopes she’s too far gone to care.

"What's your name again?" She asks.

And Matt just has to look up at that, see if she’s serious. And when her face shows nothing but guileless shame, he can’t help but laugh.



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