Wednesday, March 16, 2011

Stick-Up Boy

This is the second in the Omar Bell series, in which a young thug is changed by a rival gang leader.  I wrote this one about fourth or fifth, but I'm posting these stories chronologically.  I think they work better that way.

Stick Up Boy

by Nikki J

Maurice sat in an unmarked van, and watched the drug dealers intently. The young, black boys (young enough that they wouldn't go to a real prison if caught) went about their business without care for the consequences. In their world, there weren't any. The cops rarely ventured into that part of town, and when they did, it was just to accept a bribe from the local drug lords. No, the law was completely powerless, and these kids knew it.

Maurice watched, and soon learned where they kept their stash. It was time to move. He pulled out from his parking space, and drove around the corner. Parking the van, he eased out. He wore a long trench coat over his body armor, and he carried a sawed off shotgun. He wasn't a big man at only five feet, six inches tall, and about a hundred and thirty pounds, but he knew how to use his weapons. More, everyone knew that he wouldn't hesitate to drop them if they crossed Maurice. His reputation was as much a weapon as his shotgun.

He turned the corner. The drug dealers weren't even keeping watch, so secure in their belief that no one would dare come up on them. Maurice was almost on top of the boys (there were three of them) before they noticed him. It was already too late, as Maurice already had his shotgun trained on them.

“You know why I'm here, right?” he asked. One of the boys nodded. “Well, hand it over,then.” The one nearest the stash didn't hesitate, and immediately grabbed the a brown paper bag, and tossed it to Maurice. He caught it deftly.

“Thank you,” Maurice added as he backed away. When he got to the corner, he turned and walked to his van.


Jamal was furious. “I want that mother fucker dead!” He slammed his fist down on the table as he looked around at his lieutenants. “He's been stealing from me for almost a year now, and you're tellin' me you can't find this little bitch?”

One of the other black men in the room started to speak up, but Jamal cut him off, “Five-hundred thousand to whoever brings Maurice to me alive.” The men gave a collective gasp. “A hundred more if it's within the next week. Spread the word.”

With that, Jamal turned and walked out the door, slamming it shut behind him.


It took about a day for word to get out. Another two passed before a group of thugs brought Maurice to Jamal's door. He had been beaten badly, but he was still alive. His dark face was swollen and cut, and he could hardly support himself.

The thugs were given their money, and one of Jamal's lieutenants dragged Maurice to the basement, and stripped him naked. They then tied him to a chair, and left him in the dark.

Maurice sat there for almost two days before Jamal decided to show himself.

“I've been thinking, these last few days, about what to do with you, Maurice,” Jamal began. “I could just kill you, but that's not really enough, is it? There's always torture, but I've never really liked the idea of prying a man's fingernails off.” Jamal circled the half-dead stick up man as he talked. “I kept asking myself what I could do to make you pay, to let everyone know that me and my men aren't to be messed with. What sort of thing would really call out to your kind? What would serve to prevent this from ever happening again?”

Jamal knelt down so that he was eye-level with Maurice. He reached out, and tilted his head back, so that they were looking eye to eye. “And you know what I decided? It came upon me at night as I lay in my bed between two fine bitches. What if I could make Maurice into a bitch – to let everyone know that the man who fucked with me is going to spend the rest of his life as a sissy bitch for real men.”

He let Maurice's head fall, and stood. Jamal continued, “So, I made a few calls. I wanted to find out what exactly is possible these days. And I found a man – his name is Dr. Omar Bell – who said that he had developed a drug which would do exactly what I was asking for, but it would cost dearly.”

Jamal was silent for a moment before saying, “You know I'm almost a billionaire now? Yeah, it's true. I've held this city for over a decade. I could easily meet Dr. Bell's demands. He just wanted to test it, you see. I think he has something else planned. But it doesn't matter. He agreed to sell us the drug.”

“So, you're going to be moved tomorrow to a different city, and you will begin the rest of your life as a sissy bitch,” Jamal explained. And then he climbed the basement's stairs, and left Maurice alone with his muddled thoughts.


Maurice awoke to a strange sensation – soft blankets. He vaguely remember something about receiving some sort of punishment from Jamal, and he knew that he had been moved; he recalled riding for quite some time in a windowless van.

He opened his eyes to a sea of pink. The soft blankets were a pastel pink, and they were a sharp contrast to his naked, mocha colored body. He looked around, and saw that he was in what looked like a teenage girl's room, with posters all around of shirtless rappers. He swung his legs off of the bed, and stood. He crossed the room, which was also pink with white trim, and tried the door. It wouldn't budge. A large, full length mirror stood in one corner of the room.

Strange punishment, Maurice thought. Not knowing what else to do, he lay back on the bed, and dozed off.


It could have been hours later, or it could have been minutes; Maurice had no way of knowing, but he was awake in an instant when he heard the door's knob turn.

The door swung open, and Maurice sprang. In retrospect, that was a bad decision, as the man who walked in outweighed him by a good hundred and twenty pounds. The big, dark skinned man, standing at an impressive six foot five, was pure muscle. Maurice might as well have been a child with how easily the man handled him.

“None of that now, sissy,” he said. Maurice struggled in the man's arms, but he couldn't wiggle free. The man carried him over to the bed, then sat down, and slung Maurice over his knee, and began to spank him. “Good,” spank, “sissies,” spank, “don't,” spank, “fight!” The spanking went on for a few minutes until Maurice felt tears welling up in his eyes.

It wasn't the pain. He could deal with pain. It was the humiliation of it all. When he was done, he threw the naked Maurice onto the bed. Maurice glared at him through the tears, and tried to curl up as small as possible.

“I brought your food,” the big man said. “Don't move.” And then he disappeared out the door. When he came back in, he was carrying a small tray of vegetables, and a glass of water. “I'm sure you have questions, sissy. You will not ask them. You will have to make due with the following statement from your master,” the big man pulled out a piece of paper, and began to read, “Your procedure was a success. I won't go into details about what will happen to you, but suffice it to say that within a few months, your punishment will begin in full. I expect you to put forth your best effort in your training or I will be displeased.” The big man looked up, and said, “It is signed Jamal.”

“Eat,” he said as he walked out the door. “I will be back in a half hour to collect the bowl and glass.” He turned, “If you should need to use the facilities,” He pointed to a button near the door. “Press that, and someone will escort you to the restroom.” And the door shut behind him.

Maurice was famished, so he tore into the vegetables. It was barely enough food for a child. A half hour later, the man returned for the dishes, and Maurice tried to escape again. It ended worse than before, and the man spanked him again.


A couple of hours later, Maurice couldn't hold it any longer, and pushed the button. He had to urinate something fierce. When the man opened the door, Maurice didn't try to attack. They walked down the hall – it looked like an expensive home – until Maurice saw a restroom. He immediately went in, and started to shut the door.

“The door stays open, sissy,” he said with his big hand on the door. “And sissies don't stand to pee. They sit.”

Maurice didn't want another spanking, so he sat to pee. When he was finished, the man handed him a piece of toilet paper and said, “Don't forge to wipe, sissy.” Once again, Maurice obeyed. When he walked through the door to his pink room, he felt a playful pat on his ass. “Good sissy,” the big guard said, smiling.


The next couple of days went by without real incident, and followed the same pattern. But on the second day there, Maurice noticed something – all of his body hair had disappeared. Well, all but a very thin strip right above his dick. He had little to distract his thoughts, so he couldn't help but dwell on the hair loss. What other changes were in store for him?

He got his answer the next morning. His penis was noticeably smaller. It had been close to nine inches long when erect (six flaccid), but now was closer to four flaccid, and he hadn't had an erection since his imprisonment.

And he could have sworn that his nipples were more sensitive, and maybe even a little bigger. He was horrified to think that he was at the complete mercy of a man who had good reason to hate him.

Another day, and his penis had shrunk even more. And his dark nipples had definitely grown – his areolas were almost an inch and a half across, and his nipples stuck out almost a quarter of an inch. He looked at himself in the mirror, and noticed that his body mass seemed to be decreasing, at least in his upper body. What muscle he had was quickly fading as the days went by. As for his lower body, it was changing too. He noticed that his ass was getting bigger, rounder, and it seemed that either his hips were widening or his waist was shrinking or both.

He fell asleep that night, hoping that the next day wouldn't bring anymore changes. He slept fitfully.


Almost six days had passed, and Maurice began to understand the scope of Jamal's plan. He hardly recognized himself.

His face was still his, though it had rounded, and his broad nose had narrowed somewhat. Anyone who saw him would recognize his face. Beyond that, his body had changed radically. His wiry body was now smooth, supple, and curvy. His nipples were puffy, and more often than not erect. They suck out a quarter of an inch. He had almost no muscle tone. His waist had indeed shrunk, and his hips had widened to the point where he had a classic hourglass figure. His ass was round, and, he had to admit, quite sexy (if it were on a woman). His tummy had become a little rounded as well.

And his once proud penis was a shadow of its former self at only two flaccid inches. His testicles had shrunken as well, and were about the size of marbles. Even his skin had lightened a shade. He was still very plainly black, but one could easily imagine that he had had one white parent.

On the morning of the sixth day, Maurice's guard entered the room with a bag. He set it on the floor, and said, “Put those on, sissy.” And he left.

Maurice bent down and picked up the bag, and turned it over, spilling its contents on the bed. Inside was lingerie. He recognized a g-string bikini, a bustier, a garter belt, and some stockings. He would rather go naked.

An hour later, Maurice, having refused to wear his lingerie, received a brutal spanking. When the guard had gone, Maurice clumsily dressed himself. He felt silly, but he had to admit that when he stood still, he was quite sexy. The illusion was shattered, however, when he moved. He still moved like a man. That comforted him somehow.

The next day, he received another bag – this time, it was a pale yellow babydoll nighty with a matching thong. He didn't resist that time, and immediately dressed. On the positive side, he had not changed anymore over night.

That night he had a strange dream. In that dream, his guard walked into his room shirtless, and Maurice couldn't keep his hands off of the muscular man. The dream ended with a good hard fucking.

Maurice awoke in a cold sweat, though he felt a wetness in his anus that he had never felt before.

The next day, Maurice's voice changed. He had never had a particularly deep voice, but from that day on, his voice was positively high pitched. It was his last real shred of masculinity.


A few days after that, Maurice was escorted from his room into what appeared to be a ballet studio.

“Strip,” his guard told him. Maurice obeyed without hesitation, handing his lingerie (a pale blue set this time) to his guard.

A few moments later, a white woman in a leotard walked in. She was tall for a woman. Maurice estimated that she was at least five feet teen inches, which meant that she towered over the petite Maurice.

She looked Maurice up and down, and then said to the guard, “You may go. I can handle him.” The guard nodded and exited the room.

“You are a sissy,” she stated, as if it were a fact beyond argument. “And you must learn to comport yourself like one. You move like a heavy-footed mouth-breather. We must make you light. You will be graceful. Or you will be punished.”

And so they began, with the woman (she never gave her name) correcting Maurice's posture until he stood with his back slightly arched. She made him hold his forearm perpendicular to his body, his wrist limp. That was his default stance. When he displeased her, or when he failed to stand properly, she swatted him with a cane.

That continued everyday for the next two weeks for almost three hours at a time until it was second nature to Maurice. And then they started ballet. Maurice learned to move gracefully, and was genuinely pleased with himself when he mastered each move.

The ballet lessons continued over the course of his imprisonment.


One night, after Maurice had been imprisoned for almost a month, he was sitting on his bed, staring at the ceiling. He wore a cute pair of white boyshorts with red trim and a tight camisole.

The door opened, and in walked the most beautiful woman Maurice had ever seen. Her tits were perky c-cups, and her body was like something he had seen on the cover of Sports Illustrated's swimsuit issues. And she was completely naked.

She lay down next to the stunned Maurice, turned to him, and said, “Fuck me,” as she spread her legs.

Maurice practically ripped his panties off, and climbed between her legs. Only one problem. His small dick wouldn't get hard.

“What's wrong, baby?” she asked. “Don't you like girls?”

Frustrated, Maurice pulled on his small cock, but to no avail. It remained soft. He started to tear up in frustration.

“Don't cry, baby,” the beautiful girl said. “We don't need that thing to have a good time, do we? Here, let me show you.” And she bent down, and put both his limp penis and tiny balls into her mouth. Then, he felt her finger at the rim of his asshole. A second later, it slipped in. Maurice certainly was not prepared for that! She let Maurice's genitals slip from her mouth, and looked up, “You like that baby?”

“Oh yes,” Maurice said breathlessly. He leaned back as the girl fingered him, occasionally moaning girlishly. And then he came, squirting cum on his smooth belly. The girl hadn't even been touching his penis.

And without another word, the girl got up and left.


The next morning, Maurice noticed a big, black dildo on his dresser. He tried to ignore it, but his mind kept going back to it.

That day's dance class was led by a the gorgeous girl who was as naked as he was, and it certainly wasn't ballet she taught him. It was closer to the way strippers danced. The next day, two more naked women joined in. Even though he was surrounded by beautiful, nude women, he did not become aroused in the least.

From then on, he no longer had ballet, but instead learned to shake his ass.


The next night, he couldn't resist the temptation of the dildo. If a finger had been enough to make him cum, how much better would that dildo be? He gave in, and snatched it from the dresser. It was very realistic, and had veins along its shaft.

Maurice lay on the bed, and spread his legs wide (thank you stretching!). Dildo in his dainty hand, he reached down to his anus, and probed it with a finger. It was already wet. In his excitement, he just pushed the dildo in, and almost cried out from the pain. As he relaxed, the pain quickly turned to pleasure as he worked it in and out of his asshole. His other hand found his big nipple, and massaged it.

After only a minute or so, he came harder than he had ever cum before. His whole body shook. It took him almost as long to recover as it had to make himself orgasm. And then he went at it again. He fucked himself for most of the night, cumming dozens of times.


He awoke the next morning to a surprise – someone had given him a television!. He turned it on, and was dismayed to see that each channel was playing the same thing. A naked, very muscular black man was gyrating his hips, making his big dick flop around. Maurice got hard almost immediately. It was his first erection in months.


His days blurred together as his lessons continued. He danced during the day, and fucked dildoed himself at night (usually while watching the male dancer on television). It might have been weeks. It might have been months. Maurice wasn't sure.

And then he got what he had been imagining ever since that first night with the dildo.

The door opened, and Maurice looked up from where he had been lounging around naked, absently playing with his asshole. In walked his guard.

The big man closed the door behind him, and said, “Come here, sissy.” Maurice obeyed, swaying his hips without thought. “Get on your knees,” the guard instructed, and Maurice once again did as he was told.

“Unzip my fly,” he said, and Maurice did.

“Grab my cock.” Maurice obeyed. “Now suck it, bitch,” the guard said. And Maurice did. He had little technique, at first. He just took the monster into his mouth (the guard was quite well hung), and started to bob his head up and down. It took a few minutes, but the guard came eventually, spraying his load down Maurice's throat.

“Now thank me,” the guard instructed, and Maurice did. Then, he left, leaving Maurice tasting cum. After that, it was a nightly occurrence. Maurice's technique improved, and soon, he was sucking cock like a pornstar. He learned that the guard liked it when Maurice would play with his balls while he sucked.


A few days later, his dance instructor (the sexy nude one) surprised him in his room again, but this time, she was wearing a strap-on dildo.

“I brought you a present, baby,” she said. “Get on all fours,” she told him. Maurice eagerly obeyed, getting on his hands and knees, but burying his face in the pink blankets. His ass rose high into the air.

The woman settled in behind him, and positioned the dildo at his asshole. “Look how cute your little dicky is. How big is it now? An inch and a half?” Maurice didn't answer. “I bet you couldn't fit it into a pussy even if you could get hard, sissy.” Maurice knew it was true.

And then she pushed the dildo in, and Maurice moaned girlishly. “Oh, you like that, do you, slut?” She worked it in and out a few times, and Maurice said, “Oh God, yes. Fuck me! Harder!”

“Call me daddy, slut,” she said.

“Oh yea, fuck me daddy! Fuck me harder daddy!” Maurice screamed, and the girl did. She rammed the dildo into him over and over again for almost an hour. Maurice came three times.

And then she was gone, leaving Maurice exhausted.


She would come back once a week after that, and each time, she wanted to be called “daddy.” Maurice didn't mind, so long as she kept fucking him.

Then, one day, they brought in a stylist to show him how to do his hair. It had gotten longer over the last few months, and she showed him how to straighten it. She returned each day for two weeks until he could easily do it himself.

Then came makeup lessons, which were given in a similar fashion. All in all, his days were pretty full with fucking, sucking, dancing and learning to make himself pretty.

Finally came the clothes. He had only been allowed lingerie up until then, but the guard (Maurice still didn't know the man's name) brought him a few bags of clothes.

Maurice eagerly examined them. Everything from short club dresses to tight bodysuits to a few bikinis, shorts, jeans, and various revealing tops were in there. In spite of himself, he couldn't wait to try them on.

He had a blast trying on his new clothes, and he knew he looked sexy in all of them. Now, instead of just lingerie, he could dress in all of the pretty, sexy clothes.

A few days later, a woman came in and pierced his ears and belly button. She gave him some large hoops, and he was told to wear them at all times.


A few days later, a new wrinkle was introduced to Maurice's dance classes – he had to do it in heels. They started him off with some relatively short ones (about two inches), but day by day, the heels grew until he was dancing in five inch stiletto heels. After a couple of weeks, he had mastered them.

They had also added a few stations to the television, but Maurice found himself leaving it on the dancing naked man more often than not. He did enjoy a few programs, though (like watching music videos – rap, of course – he imagined he was one of the scantily clad women).

After a few more weeks, Maurice knew that something was coming. Security around him had relaxed. He was allowed free reign of the house, though he stayed in his room most of the time. He had lived there for most of a year, and part of him was afraid to leave.


And then, one night, he went to sleep in his pink bed, and the next morning, awoke somewhere else. It was dark, and looked vaguely familiar.

“They really did it,” Maurice heard a voice say. “I was skeptical, but they did it.”

“Where am I?” Maurice asked in his high-pitched voice.

“Don't you recognize it?” the voice said. And then Maurice noticed a shadowy figure in the corner. “You were sitting right where you are now when I told you what you were going to become. Don't you remember, Maurice?”

Maurice realized he was completely naked, and even though he had been naked for most of the last year, he still felt extremely vulnerable. And then it came back to him. He knew who the voice was.

Jamal stepped into the light, and Maurice recognized him immediately, but not from his days as a stick-up boy. No. Jamal was the man on the television.

“Stand up, sissy,” Jamal said. “Let me get a good look at you.”

Maurice stood without hesitation. Jamal walked slowly around him. Maurice felt a rough hand cup his ass, and then Jamal gave it a playful slap.

“What are you going to do to me?” Maurice asked.

Jamal unzipped his pants, and removed them. Then, he sat down on the chair in the center of the room. Maurice could see that he was already hard. Maurice knew what was expected of him, and was afraid of not doing it. So, he turned, and knelt in front of Jamal's big cock.

He started with his balls, licking them lovingly, and started to plant gentle little kisses up and down the shaft. He teased Jamal's cock for close to five minutes before he finally started to lick around the head.

After a couple more minutes, he started to take the head in his mouth, tonguing it for a few seconds each time before he popped it out. He tasted precum on the tip. Finally, he started sucking in earnest, deepthroating the big cock until Jamal shot his load in his mouth.

Maurice swallowed, and then, without thinking, said, “Thank you.” Maurice remained on his knees licking Jamal's balls as the big man sat there stroking his straightened hair.

A few minutes passed, and Jamal was hard again. “I want you to climb up here and ride me.”

Maurice turned around, and started to position himself to sit on Jamal's cock, but Jamal stopped him. “No. I want to watch you as you do it.” So Maurice straddled him, and then, reached back, and guided Jamal's big cock into his ass.

Maurice let out a moan, and soon, he was screaming, “Yes! Fuck me daddy!” as he bounced up and down on Jamal's cock, his girlish ass jiggling.


A few hours, and a whole lot of fucking later, Jamal emerged from the basement, towing a leashed Maurice.

Maurice was wearing only a black bra and panties with heels on. “I'm going for a walk,” Jamal said.

Whispers like “Is that Maurice?” and “Look at that sissy Maurice!” or “That's what happens when you fuck with Jamal.” followed the two as Jamal walked his sissy.

When they got back to the house, Jamal told Maurice to undress. Maurice, of course, did. “You boys deserve a treat. He's all yours.”

And soon, Maurice was surrounded by big, black cocks. He couldn't have been happier as he was the center of his very first gangbang.


The days marched on to weeks, and the weeks soon turned into months, and Maurice fully embraced his role as a sissy bitch for Jamal's crew. More often than not, in their headquarters (an apartment building near the projects), he was naked. He acted just like a sissy slut should, flirting with the big men, sitting in their laps, and generally being eye candy.

He didn't get on well with the other women (mostly black) who had attached themselves to the gang. Maurice considered it jealousy (he had a better body than they did), but they constantly made fun of his little penis. Some would even play with it, saying things like, “Isn't that little thing just soooo cute?!” or “He's such a little sissy bitch. He can't even get hard!” to which someone would inevitably respond, “No, he gets hard, but just for men.”

He took it in stride. The men put him up in what amounted to a harem with the other girls, but he rarely slept there. He was too busy doing his duty as a sissy.

One day, Jamal approached him, saying, “Get dressed. Something sexy. I have a job for you.”

Maurice quickly strode to his room (his ass wiggling seductively). He knew he ran like a girl now. He dressed in a tight mini skirt, a halter top, and some heels. When he emerged from his room, Jamal said, “That will do. Come on.”

They got into Jamal's Mercedes Benz SUV, and Maurice immediately bent over to give Jamal a blowjob. Jamal pushed him away, saying, “Not now.” Maurice pouted for the rest of the ride.

Soon, they were parked in an abandoned park. A few moments later, an unmarked police car pulled up, and Jamal instructed Maurice to exit the vehicle.

Maurice trailed behind Jamal, and stood obediently while the two men exchanged pleasantries. The cop was white, but he was just as big as Jamal.

“Well, I guess we'll get on with it, then,” Jamal said. “Maurice. Get over here.” Maurice obeyed, and came to stand beside Jamal. “This is Officer Wilson. You remember him, don't you? You killed his partner.”

Maurice lowered his eyes, unable to look at the policeman. “Well, he wants to pay you back. So show him a good time.”

Maurice stripped down, and then got on his knees. He reached out, and unzipped the policeman's pants, and started to lick and tease the man's cock. “No. Suck it, bitch,” Officer Wilson said, forcing Maurice to deepthroat the big dick. Officer Wilson face-fucked the sissy for a few minutes before pulling him up by his throat.

A second later, the officer brutally bent Maurice over the hood of his car, and entered his ass. It didn't last very long. Maurice suspected white boys rarely did. But he did get one orgasm out of it. When the policeman was done, he threw Maurice onto the ground where the sissy stayed.

“Okay. The plan is to raid your stash house next Tuesday,” the Officer said, and the white man got into his car, and drove away.

Jamal reached down, and helped Maurice up, saying, “Put your clothes on.” When they had gotten into the car, he started to explain. “You know, Officer Wilson there would never take a bribe. It didn't matter how much we offered. But this time, he came to me. Can you believe that? Mr. Honesty came to me, offering information just to see little old you. He wanted to kill you at first, but I wouldn't let him. So he settled for a good fucking. What do you think, sissy?”

Maurice thought for a moment, then said, “I'm glad I could be of use to you, sir.”

“Good answer,” Jamal said. After a minute, he said, “You can give me that blow job now.” And Maurice reached for the big man's cock eagerly.


Life went on, and Maurice's life was more of the same. Eventually (after a year or two), he was given more freedom to go where he wished. Jamal even paid for him to get breast implants so that he could work in one of Jamal's strip clubs.

After a few months of freedom, Jamal lost interest in his sissy, and moved him away from his gang, and into a small apartment a few blocks over. As for Maurice, he had to admit that his life had actually gotten a little better. Life as a stickup boy was one of constant fear. That fear had been necessary to keep him sharp, to keep him alert. He had lived on the run, moving from vacant building to vacant building. Sure, he had respect, but that was the only real perk. No, he had it much better now. He had nothing to fear. He got all the sex he could handle, and he still got some respect (if of a different sort). Men respected his ass. Men respected his new tits. And they respected what he could do with a cock in his hands, mouth, or ass.

Life was better now.


Dr. Omar Bell reviewed the records of Maurice's transformation, making notes. He would have to adjust the pheromone response a bit. He didn't want them to be that cock-crazy. And he wanted to stretch the transformation out. He had even begun to isolate the compound whose removal would make black men immune.

But there was still a lot of work to do, and a few more tests to run. He contemplated giving them breasts. His original plan had been to do so, but the more he thought about it, the more he began to realize that the lack of breasts made them more vulnerable. They knew what they were. They weren't women. They would be sissies.

And so, Dr. Bell got to work.


  1. Nikki J, this is one of my favorites of your stories. Great job.

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