I lay on our bed, my upper body propped up on a pile of pillows, reading a cooking magazine. A very low and muffled sound made me look across the room. I glanced over at the clock, to see how long it had been. I put down my magazine, reached down, and softly stroked my clit. Across the room was Sean, my fiancé. We had been in love since we were 19, were now 26, and were engaged to be married in 6 months. At the moment he was seated in what must be his favorite piece of furniture, one which he had lovingly built by hand. His bondage chair. He had copied the basic design from an Internet site, but had made a few alterations. The frame was of 4" x 4" oak posts, mounted on a 2.5' square of heavy plywood, and it was remarkably heavy. But it was on industrial grade castors however, and, if necessary, Sean could push it into our walk-in closet and drape blankets over it to hide it.
When Sean and I began dating, I wouldn't have known a posture collar from an armbinder but, within 2 years, I was pretty much an expert on bondage equipment. We didn't own very much equipment in those days, but now we have closets full, drawers full. In addition to having bought a huge number of toys, Sean will sometimes get inspired to build his own. We both have well-paying high-tech jobs and, with no children, lots of disposable income. Sean tends to spend his on toys, either electronic, automotive, or bondage. I’m the saver in our little family, but I don’t begrudge him his fun.
To the inexperienced viewer, Sean wasn't moving in the slightest. The bondage was that extreme and effective. But I could detect that he was really struggling, more than I had ever seen before. I smiled and continued to watch, while softly rubbing my clit. This S&M business must be contagious, I thought. I realized that I was really enjoying watching my fiancé in inescapable bondage, very tightly and effectively gagged, blindfolded, and obviously trying his best to escape. Maybe it was conditioning, since I always masturbated while he was in bondage. Who knows for sure? Maybe I was a closet sadist and all our games were bringing that closer to the surface.
“Maybe it's time”, I thought, and got off the bed and crossed the room. It was obvious why he was trying to get loose, or at least to get my attention and have me release him. I had thought this idea crazy from the first time I heard about it, but didn't say so. Sean delighted in contriving these bondage ordeals for himself. And if he wanted to try something, I was more than happy to go along. He was a loving, faithful mate, and I got all the normal sex I wanted, and I did find his games interesting and provocative. Yes, exciting in fact. I had to admit it.
It was only a few months after we began having sex when Sean confessed to me, very bravely I thought, that he was fascinated with the subject of bondage, and being on the receiving end. He was very relieved that I was not shocked or appalled. But I had done enough web surfing that I knew there were all kinds of kinks out there, and I had an open mind.
Our first foray into bondage involved what the aficionados called “Tie & Tease”, and which was still among Sean’s favorite things to do. This involved his being rigorously bound and gagged, having me bring him almost to orgasm, and then stop. I would continue to tease him, and keep him hard and horny for several hours before I let him come. The first few times were fiascos, of course. He escaped my bondage within minutes. But I had been a willing student and he had been encouraging and anxious to help me develop my skills and, with the additional help of internet sites and lots of experimentation, my rope bondage became quite expert. I learned remarkably quickly and had evolved to the point that now, once I had bound him thoroughly, he could struggle for hours and still not even begin to free himself.
I got to like having control and being able to manipulate the situation. In most of his bondage positions, hogtied on the bed for instance, I could take off his gag whenever I wanted, and position myself so that he could lick my pussy. This was another of his loves, being “forced” to service me orally, for as many orgasms as I wanted. So I could relieve the sexual tension anytime I wanted, and relax and continue with the session, continue teasing him at my own pace, without any pressure. My own horniness determined how the session would end. If I felt like being ravaged, I would release him before making him come. He would mount me like a stallion. If I didn’t feel like being penetrated, or if I was sated or tired, I would just bring him off while he was still bound and gagged. That way, when I did finally release him, he would only want to cuddle a little bit more and then go to sleep.
At first I was very conscious of not keeping him tied too long. We discussed it and initially set a time limit of one hour. But Sean quickly decided that this wasn’t long enough, and he pushed it up to two hours. Then, “Can we try three hours today?”. These days there was no official time limit. We had decided that I knew him well enough to judge his reactions and that I would merely use my judgment as to how long he remained in bondage. Additionally, this pleased Sean by adding to the mystique, the fantasy, of his being completely in my control.
His bondage scenarios slowly evolved. In the days when rope was all that we could afford, we spent many hours in bed, snuggling, with Sean tightly hogtied and me leisurely playing with his nipples and cock. And I would always interrogate him about what other kinds of things he fantasized about. And it was in this context that many of his more complicated scenarios were born. Tightly bound in this way he was very open, and freely talked about other things he would like to try, about what he must have thought were his darkest fantasies. I began to realize why people spoke about bondage as being a “liberating” experience.
And once his fantasies were vocalized, they took shape. Over the years, his bondage experiments became more and more elaborate. Some were so elaborate and complicated and time consuming that they had to be reserved for either Saturday or Sunday afternoons. The scripts were always composed by Sean, which didn't bother me in the least. I did notice that lately, in the last couple of years, his scenarios had begun to drift toward situations which involved inescapable bondage combined with some degree of discomfort. In cruising the various web sites and forums, he had come across the concept, "It's not really bondage until you want to get loose!".
I didn’t understand, the first time Sean quoted that remark. But it means that the bondage experience is enhanced once the victim realizes that he really cannot escape. The bondage becomes much more real when he wants to escape, struggles his hardest, tries his best to escape, and can’t. So the element of discomfort, or pain, is added to make that victim genuinely try his hardest to get loose. And it’s the inability to escape that validates the bondage, that gives it the extra kick of legitimacy. And so, with this understanding, I fully went along with the scenarios which my fiancé orchestrated.
The first and most obvious things we tried were nipple clamps. They are frequently featured in Internet bondage pictures and are sold in every sex shop. Sean started slow, first asking that they be left on for 5 minutes, then 10 minutes, then with weights. I tried them on myself and didn’t think that they hurt much, but I realized that they would become really uncomfortable after 5 or 10 minutes, especially with the weights. Then he experimented with those little plastic clothespins, a lot meaner, for his nipples and then up and down his cock. And he was always coming up with new and different fantasies. So, that pretty much explains how we got to today’s scenario.
The preparations for today began with him bathing and presenting himself in the bedroom, naked except for his ball collar. This was a circular band of steel, hinged on one side, which closed around his scrotum above his balls, trapping them below the metal. It had a tiny hole in one edge and a tiny hex wrench was used to tighten a setscrew, just where the halves joined, and thereby lock the circle closed. It had a swivel ring mounted into the outside surface. It really was a well-made device, almost like jewelry. Sean had seen it on one of our shopping expeditions to Mr. S and had fallen in love with the idea. He said that it gave him an extreme sense of submission, to put his most sensitive parts under my complete control.
With his hands cuffed behind his back, I could attach a leash to the swivel ring and he would have to follow wherever I led. I frequently enjoyed tying the leash to one of the corner legs of our bed, to keep him on his knees and then I would lay back, with my legs draped over his shoulders, and command him to lick me for as long as I wanted and giving him directions; higher, lower, faster, slower.
It was easy to understand why this tiny collar gave him an extra sense of vulnerability and submission. His balls were held down, below his body, bulging out below the band of steel, and were left completely exposed and available. And those trapped balls looked especially vulnerable since he started shaving off his pubic hair. Or I should say since I started removing it. He liked for me to keep myself shaved, and one day I suggested that it was only fair for him to reciprocate, and he was more than happy to comply. Keeping shaved fitted in perfectly with his fantasies of submission.
It was Sean who suggested, for the first time that his pubic hair was removed, that I shave him while he was bound and gagged. I went one better. When he was securely spread-eagled, blindfolded and gagged, I trimmed his pubic hair to about ½” long and then waxed him. I knew only too well that it hurt, but not too horribly. After all, I’d done it to myself many times. And the hair grows back much slower than with shaving, and when it does grow back it seems softer and silkier. Sean keeps himself cleanly shaved most of the time, but when he stops and lets it grow, I know that he is asking for another waxing.
The ball collar is the only bondage item which Sean always puts on all by himself. We both prefer it that way because, the first and only time I tried to put it on him, I caught the skin of his scrotum in the tiny hinges of the collar. Which is easy to do. He’s caught his own skin many times, but the difference is that he can feel the pinching and make adjustments before he completely closes the band. When I did it, not only did he lurch in his bonds and start making as much noise as he could behind his gag, but it pinched the skin so badly that it actually broke the skin. He only lost a few drops of blood, but it definitely was a non-erotic type of pain and it spoiled the scene. And the fact that I had made him bleed panicked me a little bit. So now I leave application of the collar to him.
When Sean presented himself for bondage, first went on the old design handcuffs, called Darbys, shackling his hands behind his back. This older design had very broad and rounded interior surfaces on the cuffs, so that they didn't dig into the skin like modern handcuffs. We learned, early on, that this was essential for long-term bondage. Next, I inserted soft and spongy plugs into his ears, to enhance his feelings of sensory deprivation and isolation. Then on went his leather hood, with openings for eyes and mouth, and little holes under the nose. I strapped this on and followed it with his posture collar. Next, on went the armbinder, and I only fastened the wrist and elbow straps snugly, and didn't pull them really tight. That wasn't necessary, considering what was to follow.
The bondage chair didn't really have what could be considered a seat. Sean perched on two padded oak 4x4s which projected out in a "V" shape, so his weight was supported only by the cheeks of his ass and his upper thighs. The front legs of the chair supported this "V", so that his legs were held widely spread. I would draw his ankles to the outsides of the front legs and strap them tightly to the chair frame. More straps, permanently attached to the chair frame, went around his upper calves, and across his lower thighs just above the knees. Any part of the chair which made contact with Sean was upholstered in black leather, including the square base.
The back of the chair was heavy plywood securely fastened to two vertical 4x4 posts and was in the form of a human silhouette, specifically Sean's exact silhouette, from the waist up to the top of the head. He had, after all, made it just for himself. I had helped him sketch the template he used before he cut out the chair back, by tracing his head and torso on brown wrapping paper which he had taped to the wall. The back was also upholstered in black leather, but with a special adaptation. The back was contoured, with two bulges of heavy-duty foam, to form another "V", coming down from the shoulders and not quite meeting at the seat. This was to accommodate Sean's armbinder. Since comfort (I smile every time I use that word - it is so incongruous in this context) is important for long-term bondage, he didn't want his arms to be crushed behind his back. But he wanted to be very tightly strapped in the chair. So this gap, in the back, solved this problem. The armbinder, holding his arms in a long triangle, fit perfectly in the gap he had created on the back of the chair.
After fastening his legs I tightly buckled wide leather straps across his lower tummy, across the center of his chest, a couple of inches below his nipples, and another one above his nipples. These straps were also permanently attached to the chair frame. Next, being careful not to pull them too tightly, I fastened straps from the frame to the rings on either side of his posture collar, holding his neck immovable. Next was a strap going across his forehead. Last, at least for now, I fastened the strap going from the top of his hood to the top of the chair.
As I pulled each strap tight I would get encouraging comments from my fiancé. "Great", "Perfect”, “Nice and tight".
"Well, that's almost it, sweetheart", I said, speaking loudly so that he could hear me through the ear plugs, looking down at him with a smile. "Fidget a little bit, and see if everything is comfy." He did and I could hardly detect any movement at all, except for his lower face. And that would be fixed soon enough.
"O.K., so far?", I asked.
"Perfect!", he said.
"Before I put in the gag, are you sure you want to go ahead with this?", I asked, even though I had no doubt about the answer. I was just going through the motions of being the overly concerned mate.
“Oh, yes", he said, taking a deep breath. He was already in a kind of a submissive daze, and obviously anxious to be firmly and finally strapped in.
The gag was an integral part of the chair. I picked it up and gently pushed the large bulb of leather into Sean's open mouth. The gag strap had two tongues, which went into buckles permanently affixed to each side of the chair's headrest. I fastened one, then the other, then tightened them to make sure that the gag was exactly centered. When I was finished adjusting the buckles, his head was pulled snugly back against the padded back of the chair, and held in place by the gag. Sean had fabricated the gag himself, and had installed some thick foam padding around the base of the leather plug, which foam pressed against his lips. This was not only to further minimize any sounds he might try to make, but absorbed saliva so that he would not drool during his bondage session.
I snugged up the strap across his forehead and the strap coming off the top of his hood.
"Well, you're really fixed, sweetie!", as I looked over all the straps and tested them for tightness. “If you do change your mind now, it's just too late", I said, giving him a knowing smile and trying to be teasing and provocative.
If he had changed his mind, I couldn't tell it from Sean’s cock, which was fully erect. As always, the bondage had acted as an aphrodisiac and he had been getting harder and harder ever since I first locked on the handcuffs. But I always avoided doing any erotic touching until he was in full bondage. Now that he was utterly helpless, I reached down and began gently tweaking his nipples, and his cock twitched. I gently stroked his cock and softly ran my fingernails up and down the shaft, and brushed my fingernails across his balls, which were held hanging down into the opening between the widely spread boards which supported Sean's thighs. That ball collar was to play an important part in today’s bondage session.
“Does that feel good?”, I said. I’m sure he would have answered in the affirmative, if he could have made a sound, or even nodded. I took my hand away and said, "I've got some things to take care of, sweetie. I’ll be back later".
Leaving him in bondage, for however short a time, was another deliberate part of the game. Sean reveled in the apprehension, the fantasy of having been left alone, bound, gagged and utterly helpless. My leaving brought home the fact that I could come and go as I pleased, while he was trapped, confined, immobile. I could leave him and go about my own business, and come back to him only when and if I chose. I could give him as much or as little attention as I chose. I had all the freedom which he had relinquished, and he was completely dependant upon me. I was in total control of the situation and, with the gag firmly strapped in, he could not influence me even verbally. He would just have to wait, for as long as I decided. He might have changed his mind about what was planned for today. But if so, that was just too bad. Because it was irrevocably in motion, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. He couldn’t even tell me that he had reconsidered. And that was just the kind of situation which he loved.
With this in mind, I stepped out of the bedroom and stood outside the doorway. I was very concerned about leaving him really alone for very long, with the gag strapped in. We were aware of some horrible accidents which had happened to bondage players, many involving gags. But the way that his head was firmly strapped into position, facing forward, I knew that he could not see the doorway, and that I could peek in to check on him without his knowing it. And I knew that his earplugs would prevent his hearing me moving around. Now I had some time to kill. I peeked back into the bedroom and then went and emptied the dishwasher. I peeked again, and then checked my e-mail. I peeked again several more times, until about 15 minutes had passed. That was probably long enough, I thought. Time was moving much more slowly for Sean, tightly bound as he was, and he probably had no idea that so little time had actually passed.
So I walked back into the bedroom, within my fiancé’s line of sight and, ignoring him, just began to undress. Out of the corner of my eye I noted that Sean was still hard. And I knew he must have been watching me intently. When I was completely naked I continued with the teasing. Being kept horny, but denied relief, was always an integral part of his bondage. And exercising this kind of control, I have to admit, had become very exciting for me too.
"Seeing you all strapped up like that is making me wet.” I said, standing straight in front of him, giving him a full view. "Wouldn't you like to suck these nipples?", I asked, pulling my own nipples out slightly from my breasts. I detected the tiniest bit of movement, which was probably his attempt to nod. I fingered my slit, which actually was quite wet. "Wouldn't you like to stick that hard cock inside of me? You could, you know, if you weren't so tightly strapped down."
I walked closer to him, and I could almost feel his eyes traveling over my nude body. “And if you weren’t so thoroughly gagged, you could ask me to release you. And I might do it. Or you could ask me to suck your cock. And I might do it.”
I retrieved his padded blindfold, from the floor near the chair, and began strapping it in place, as I said, “I’ll just let you think about that for a while; what you’re missing!”. With the blindfold tightly secured, it was time to pretend to leave him again. With Sean blindfolded, there was no longer any need to peek around the doorway. I could move freely in the bedroom, as long as I didn’t make too much noise. I only left long enough to retrieve the most recent issue of my favorite cooking magazine. I was very quiet when I returned and just settled back on the bed to read, with my fiancé completely uncertain as to whether or not I was in the room.
Time was still standing still for Sean, in his situation. Even more so now that he was blindfolded. By the time I’d casually paged through the magazine, he might have thought that hours had passed. So, it was only about 15 minutes later that I thought, “O.K. I guess it’s time for the main event! As crazy as this was, it was what he had scripted.”
I have to digress once again. We normally buy our coffee in the large 2 lb. plastic containers. Sean had come home from the store, a few weeks previously, with a much smaller size, only about 4” in diameter. He had envisioned this little plastic container as being perfect for a scenario which was percolating in his brain. He emptied the small container into the larger one we had in the kitchen and began making measurements. With two telephone books, underneath an old wrought iron candle stand we had, the small plastic canister would be held at exactly the right height for Sean’s purposes.
My job, once he was immovably secured in the chair, was to fill the little container with a thick slurry of chipped ice and water and place it so that his balls were immersed in the ice water. Did I say crazy? How could anybody, much less the man I loved, come up with this kind of thing? But that's what he wanted and that’s exactly what I was about to do.
And so I quietly crept out of the bedroom, briefly leaving his tightly bound form, and went to the kitchen to prepare. Sean had already chipped a bunch of ice cubes into the little coffee container, filling it about half full, and it was in the freezer. All I had to do was run some water into it and put it in place. I made sure to leave room at the top, so that it wouldn’t overflow when finally placed in position. The telephone books were already on the floor under the chair and the candle stand was close by. I lifted the container up so that his balls were inside, and put the stand in place.
Done! Now what?
He hadn’t jumped or tried to make any sound when his balls were first immersed, which surprised me a little. I guess this would take some time. So I piled up some pillows on the bed, got my magazine, and just relaxed. He couldn’t have known whether I was still in the room or not. Even though I was watching over him, he had the illusion of isolation.
It can be pretty boring, sometimes, for the mate of a person who is into strict bondage. Patience and understanding are very necessary virtues. There was nothing for me to do except wait and watch. Well, I was still naked and I guess I have to admit that I stroked my slit more than once, while waiting.
Ultimately, I began to detect some attempts at movement and some almost inaudible sounds. Which brings us back to the beginning of this story. I put down my magazine and paid closer attention, thinking about how uncomfortable he must be. The closer I watched and listened, the more I could detect that he was struggling hard to escape, and periodically a vague and muffled sound came from behind his gag. I had to smile. This was the moment he had contrived. This was the bizarre situation in which he had put himself.
Sean’s quote popped into my mind; "It's not really bondage until you want to get loose!". I had to smile. Well, for Sean, right now, it was really bondage!
I continued to wait and watch. How long should I leave him like that, I wondered, before moving on to the next stage? Just a little longer! And so we’ve come full circle, back to where I began this account.
Finally I decided that it was time to let him know that I was still there. I got off the bed and tiptoed over to my fiancé and began to gently play with his nipples. That was when he began struggling in earnest, and began making all the noise he could. He hadn't known before, for sure, whether I was even in the room. But now he did, and doubled his efforts to let me know that he wanted to be released. REALLY wanted to be released!
His cock had softened and was resting on the edge of the little plastic canister of ice water. I took it in my hand, began to gently stroke it, and said, loud enough for him to hear, “You’re a little soft. Aren’t you having a good time?”
Yes, I have to admit that I knew he desperately wanted loose. Who wouldn't? I had thought this idea was crazy from the first time he mentioned it. And I have to admit that it gave me a thrill to just let him stew. Or to just let him "chill" might be more appropriate. He had built the chair! He had asked to be strapped into it! He had composed the program! I was just going along. He had asked for it, and so he was going to get it.
"How do you like this experiment so far", I asked, feigning innocence. "I've been laying on the bed masturbating while I watched you. I made myself come twice", I lied. "Maybe it's your turn to come now."
More muffled grunts. Sex was the last thing on his mind. For the hundredth time, I thought to myself, “Be careful what you ask for”. He had gotten in over his head, and he knew it. I knew it too, but I was pretending to be just his innocent and devoted helper. Following the script, just like he had written it.
I was mildly surprised when, as I caressed his cock, it immediately started to get hard again. Was he getting hard because of the discomfort, or in spite of it? Not that it mattered. I’m not the overanalytical type. It was working, and that was all that mattered.
I knelt between his widely strapped legs, took his cock in my mouth and stroked the head with my tongue. Then, slowly, I began to move my mouth up and down his shaft. He was fully hard again, but his muffled noise never stopped, and it wasn't the pleasurable noise from getting a nice blowjob. Maybe he was hard in spite of himself. Maybe what I was doing was making his balls ache even more.
I took my time for a while, deliberately moving far too slowly to allow him to come. Yes, I know! Sadistic! Finally, I decided to finish him off and used my right hand to jack the shaft of his cock while I kept sucking the head. I knew how to bring him off quickly, when I wanted to, and he came within only a few moments. Ever since he came up with this scheme, I had wondered if his semen would be cold. It was. But, of course, this made perfect sense.
I continued to suck and stroke, more gently, until his orgasm had subsided and finally released his cock from my mouth and stood up. He was still moaning. I must have been shamelessly grinning as I put my face near to his and asked, innocently, "Are you ready to have the ice taken away?"
I had a hard time keeping from laughing out loud as a muffled but desperately intense “Mmm mmmm mmmmmm” immediately came from behind his gag. I took this to be an answer in the affirmative.
“O.K., baby”, I said innocently. “I’ll do that.”
Damn! I was turning into a real sadist!
I hesitated only a moment, one more long moment of enjoying his dependence and his torment, having his discomfort completely under my control, before I knelt and grabbed the plastic canister, removed the candle stand from underneath it, and lowered the ice water from my fiancé’s balls. There was a different kind of noise which came from behind Sean’s gag. I still couldn’t tell what he was intending to say, but it was certainly a sound of relief. I looked closely at his balls. They weren't blue, but the scrotum was tightly stretched around them. In addition to merely the cold, this must have contributed to his discomfort. The scrotum had tried to contract, to pull his balls up toward his body but, since his balls were held by the ball collar, the shrinking skin of the scrotum squeezed them.
I gently grasped his balls in one hand, and he must have immediately felt the warmth of my skin because there was satisfied moan of relief and thanks. I knew, of course, that he desperately wanted to be released. The bondage was no longer fun for him. Women always complain that men like to fuck and then just roll over and go to sleep. For them, the game was over. That’s not meant as an accusation. That’s just the way they are wired, I guess. They can’t help it. But I thought I'd keep him where he was for just a little longer. I released his balls and stood up.
"O.K., sweetheart, I'll let you relax for a little while. I'll be back later to take off your gag and you can give me a debriefing on this session." He made some muffled noise, undoubtedly a plea to be released now, but not nearly as desperate as when his balls were immersed. I just ignored him and left the room, smiling.
I was tingling. This was fun! I stood outside the doorway and fixated on my fiancé craving release. He had long since figured out that he couldn’t escape. All he could do was wait. Wait for me! But his balls weren’t freezing anymore, so he should consider himself lucky. I peeked in and went to check my e-mail again. No messages. Oh, well! I’d better go back.
I slowly sauntered into our bedroom, stood looking down at him for a moment, and then stepped across his widely spread legs and sat down straddling him. This was the position I sometimes took when I mounted him, fucked him, when he was strapped into the chair. If he had been hard I would have slipped his cock into my pussy. But he wasn’t, and I didn’t. I just sat there for a moment and kissed him on the cheek.
"Here, I'll take your gag out." I unbuckled each side from the sides of the headrest and pulled it out of his mouth.
"Oh, sweetheart, thank you! Please unstrap me", he said, pleadingly, almost frantically.
"I, will, honey. Right away. But first, tell me about this session. Give me some feedback, while it’s fresh in your mind.”
His blindfold was still tightly buckled on, so he couldn’t tell that I was smiling broadly, shamelessly enjoying keeping him captive when he obviously wanted to be freed. I was playing it strictly innocent.
I made him answer all my questions. He would give me a quick answer and ask to be released. Each time he would ask to be unstrapped, I would tell him that I would let him go right away, but then I would delay and think of just one more question. I made him tell me how terrible it had been, how he had tried to escape and had tried to get my attention, but that he had ultimately just had to endure it.
“And did that turn you on, sweetheart?”, I asked, genuinely curious.
“No! Well, yes! Maybe. I don’t know.” He was, clearly, quite wrung out from his ordeal.
“Remember, sweetheart”, I said, making a concerted effort not to sound sarcastic, “It's not really bondage until you want to get loose.” I finally relented and began to unstrap him.
The ultimate verdict on the ordeal only came the next day, when I found the plastic coffee canister in the trash. Sean never threw away any of his creations. Sometimes he recycled their components, but never threw them away. I retrieved the container, washed it, wrapped it in a paper sack and hid it behind the spare tire in the trunk of my car. I knew that, one of these days, Sean would want a bondage session but would be undecided on exactly what he wanted, and so he would say, "Surprise me".
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06.05.10