Not my finest moment. you mentally berate yourself as you slowly peel your limbs from the deceptively soft-looking surface of the Kryptonian beauty's breast.
Now, if I could just- with a fierce tug, your left arm comes free, but the momentum of your pull, combined with your unaware tormentor turning to survey the city before her, sends you rolling across the top of the boob.
You try desperately to catch yourself, to grab hold of something, ANYTHING to stop yourself, but the sheer fleshy surface yields no handholds, and your roll turns into an accelerating slide.
Desperately, you glance above you, hoping that the heroine might have felt your movement, but massive head remains fixed forward at the bright lights of the city. And so, longing for something, anything to save you, you slide, feet-first, into the narrow valley of Power Girl's cleavage.
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