Belly Girl Vs. Punch Man: A Superheroine Peril Story

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Belly Girl Vs. Punch Man: A Superheroine Peril Story

Post by bare_thighz »

Punch One

Saturn City was a dangerous place, even for superheroines. The city had become a battleground for a new, lethal street drug: saturnic bromide. The drug was also known as “Saturn Dust,” or just “Dust.” The underfunded police department was outmatched; there was no way to stop the crime wave, except for the daring girl in the patent leather suit, with the sides trimmed down in an oval to expose her perfect, flat belly. Belly Girl. That’s what the criminals had started calling her. She liked it. She even wore a trinket, on the end of a silver chain that pierced her belly button that traced the initials “BG” in gold. Let them stare at it, she thought. Let them stare at it as she kicked their asses; her belly would be the last thing they saw.

A mask made of the same material as her body suit stretched over her head, leaving large oval slits for her eyes and a slit for her mouth, which was decorated with her black lipstick. Her long black hair spilled behind her shoulders from under her cap, which she tied behind her head. She wore knee-high, plain leather boots. She wore black, fingerless gloves. And that was her outfit. She loved the way it accentuated her hard stomach and hugged her curves. It was her belly that they all talked about, her smooth, fit, white belly. It was the star of the show.

Belly Girl, hid her lithe body under the cover of darkness, lying in wait for the bad guys. Other than being an alluring figure in a skin-tight outfit, she was just a normal girl. She had no supernatural powers. However, her lightning reflexes and daunting speed made her extraordinary. She could hit a guy before he ever knew what was coming to him. She had never had any formal training in the martial arts, but just had an intuitive sense for it, a born natural, born to be a superheroine.

A lot of the drug deals took place at the park. Even her regular presence there didn’t deter the bold criminals. She had to kick their asses, over and over again. They never learned. She watched two cars pull up next to each other at the edge of the park. Her intuitions told her, and her intuitions were always right, that a drug deal was about to take place. She left her hiding place, where she had been staking out the park, and crept towards the street where the cars were standing, her black suit cloaking her. She saw two men get out of each car, holding briefcases. She sprinted. In a moment, the men would exchange briefcases, get back into their cars, and the drug deal would be over. Not if she could help it.

“Hey!” she yelled, catching them off guard. They hadn’t noticed the lithe form stalking them from across the park. “Why don’t you just hand me the dust.” She stood with her arms crossed, one leg out to the side. It was Belly Girl’s pose.

“Why don’t you die belly bitch!” One of the men, standing by the trunk of a car, pulled out a gun. Belly Girl knew he would do that. She had already reached under her boot and pulled out one of her throwing knives. With expert skill, the knife sliced through the air, lodging deeply into the man’s chest, before he could pull off a shot. The man slumped down to the ground and was dead within moments.

“Do any of you other boys have guns?” Belly Girl taunted. The three remaining men turned away from the street and came towards her. They were no match for Belly Girl. She swept the first man with her leg so quickly that he didn’t even realize what had happened until he hit the ground. A spinning kick to the solar plexus paralyzed the second man. A glare from beneath the oval slits in her mask was all that was needed to take down the third man, who ran across the street, terrfied. Belly Girl grabbed the loot; the money and the drugs. The money she would keep for herself. If the score was too big she made anonymous donations to charity with the drug dealers’ money. Hah! They would love that. The drugs she would promptly turn into the police. Belly Girl walked back to a dark alley where her black Ducati lay hidden in the shadows- the Belly Mobile. Belly Girl hopped on the sleek, powerful motorcycle and zoomed through the streets back to her apartment, hanging on to the vibrating handlebars with her fingerless gloves. If there was one thing she loved more than her belly, it was her blistering fast Italian super bike.

It was the walk up the steps to her apartment that she hated the most. Sometimes she would bump into one of her neighbors in her revealing costume. “It’s a fetish,” she would say, shrugging her shoulders. None of them knew she was Belly Girl. Belly Girl kept herself out of the public eye. Her neighbors didn't even know that there was a superheroine loose in the city. The only people who knew about her were the criminals, drug dealers, and lowlifes. Fortunately, none of those people lived in her apartment complex. If they did, she would take care of them.

Belly girl peeled the tight suit off her slender body. There was a zipper down the back that allowed her to squeeze into it. Her body was bare underneath. It made the suit fit more comfortably. She put on her night clothes, brushed her teeth like any normal girl, got under the covers and fell asleep. It was 4 am. An early night for Belly Girl. Superheroine hours.


Punch Two

Derrick Walker was built like the trunk of an oak tree; he was a really big, massive guy. Belly Girl’s favorite asset was her slender stomach; Derrick took pride in his bulging biceps- he did a lot of curls at the gym, and a lot of steroids. Fearless, and a little crazy, he was the perfect muscleman for the gangs, a hulking tower of brutality.

The site of his giant form made Derrick’s captive shrink in fear. An underling from another street gang, he had been caught in the crossfire. Now he was strapped helplessly to a chair in a dark alley. He couldn’t count on Belly Girl to save him, not that she ever would. Derrick leaned towards him. “Where is the stash?” he said in his low, raspy voice. Derrick’s associate stood next to him, watching him work.

“I don’t know,” the captive said, fear in his voice. Derrick curled his enormous fist and held it in front of his nose. There were two brass rings, one on the knuckle of his index finger, and one on his middle finger, and they were stained with blood.

“Are you sure you don’t know?” Derrick said, his fist suggesting everything in the tone of his voice.

“Fuck you!” Derrick drew his fist back, tilted his weight, and then threw all the force of his powerful body into the captive’s frail stomach, hitting it with an audible thud. The captive groaned, gasping for air. Derrick waited for him to reclaim his breath. He had to wait a long time.

“Where is the stash?” Derrick repeated.

“Go to hell.” Derrick curled his fist. “Wait!” the captive shrieked. “I’ll tell you.” He spilled his guts, telling Derrick more than he needed to know. That was why they called him Punch Man.

There was one belly that Derrick had always wanted to punch; Belly Girl’s. He had heard the rumours about her, about the girl in the sexy costume that revealed her firm, white belly, as she went about wreaking havoc on the gangs, breaking up deals that were worth millions of dollars. He wanted to punch her badly. One punch, and that would do it, he figured. She would never go back to being a superheroine, or whatever she considered herself to be, after experiencing misery of his punch. She was just lucky they hadn’t run into each other yet.

“Good job, Punch Man,” the associate said.

“One punch, works every time,” Derrick said. One punch to Belly Girl’s soft belly and that would be the end of her, he thought. Whenever he heard about another drug deal broken up, or another gang leader assassinated with one of her deadly knives, Derrick fantasized about the day he would bring about the demise of Belly Girl and her belly.

Darla Fox, or Belly Girl, squeezed into her skin-tight suit, adjusting her breasts underneath it. She gazed into the mirror. She looked hot, the shiny patent leather suit conforming to her curves, the smooth oval of bare skin that it accentuated, the jewelry hanging from her belly button, dedicated to the criminals who had given her a name, and a butt to kick. Belly Girl. She wondered if she gave them all boners when she fought with them. She hoped she did. She walked out of her apartment and hopped on her bike, straddling it with her leather-clad limbs, kicked the gas pedal, and took off. Belly Girl wove dangerously through traffic on her screaming bike, her hair flapping carelessly in the wind. She headed towards a private airport, where she had heard that a big deal was going on. She had ways of gathering information; sometimes she didn’t let them run away.

Belly Girl parked her Ducati in a dark corner where no one could find it. Worst comes to worse, she could use it to flee a situation that had gotten out of control, not that Belly Girl had ever been in danger of losing a fight. She saw a jet land on the runaway. She ducked into the shadows of the airstrip, watching the jet as it taxied. It would lead her to the hangar where the deal was about to take place; there couldn’t be any other plane landing at this time of night. Belly Girl ran through the shadows of the airstrip.

The men standing in the hangar were waiting for the arrival of the product, an enormous shipment of dust that was to be unloaded from the plane. It was an important deal. The men guarded a treasure trove of cash, gold, and jewelry which was to pay for the exchange. They were all heavily armed, except for one man who wasn’t holding a gun- Punch Man. Standing in his sleeveless under shirt, his muscles bulging through the fabric, Punch Man was just there to look mean. Seven feet tall, ripped with solid muscle, no one would mess with him. He didn’t need a gun. Belly Girl, who had never had a single punch land on her perfect belly, who had never been hurt, saw the body of the ferocious giant as she spied on the hangar in the darkness. Her intuitions told her something, and she didn’t want to listen- go Belly Girl, leave now! But Belly Girl had never walked away from a fight. Stop doubting yourself, Belly Girl. You can beat him. He’s just a brute like any other, only with bigger balls. Belly Girl thought about squashing those balls to oblivion. She felt better now, but that strange feeling in her gut didn’t go away. Belly Girl’s intuitions were never wrong. Never.

Punch Man stood, his towering, muscular figure, his huge, veiny neck, waiting. He didn’t know that Belly Girl was lurking in the shadows, but somehow, he felt her presence. This is the night she’ll show, something told him. Punch Man tightened his fist. He would be ready for her. One punch; that’s all he needed. One punch and Belly Girl’s superheroine career would be over. Tonight would be the night. He felt sure of it.


Punch Three

Belly Girl’s throwing knives didn’t make a sound. The drug dealers had unloaded the shipment from the plane and were negotiating the transaction. Everything was going smoothly, that is, until the three men suddenly dropped dead, a sharp piece of steel sticking out of their chests.

“Fuck, it’s Belly Girl,” one of the surviving men said.

“Belly Girl,” Punch Man remarked to himself, a smile growing over his mean face; Punch Man never smiled. The plane had been taxied into the hangar; a black Escalade with Derrick’s crew was parked inside. Four men had gotten out of the plane, and four men had stepped out of the Escalade. They were heavily armed. The product had been unloaded from the plane in trunks, but the money was still in the back of the Escalade. Belly Girl’s knives had taken out the men who had been holding sub-machine guns strapped around their shoulders, removing the threat of their automatic weapons, and then she had sprang on them, moving with the speed of a cheetah, knocking them out one by one, before any of them could get a shot off. There were six down, and only two left.

“Do something,” one of the remaining men pleaded, cowering behind Punch Man. He wouldn't be a problem, Belly Girl thought, but then she turned to face her foe; she had been carefully avoiding him as she fought the other men. She felt a lump in her throat; he was even more formidable up close. She assumed her cocky Belly Girl pose, hoping she could distract him, or distract herself. She didn’t like the way he was standing there, leering at her, making no effort to attack. She stood with her arms crossed, one of her glistening legs out to the side, maintaining a comfortable distance.

“So who are you?” she said.

“I am your nemesis, Belly Girl,” Punch Man growled in his raspy voice.

“Surrender now and I won’t hurt you," Belly Girl said in her sassiest tone of voice.

“Surrender now and I won’t hurt you,” Punch Man retorted, staring at her exposed belly, wondering what it would feel like to punch it.

“You like it, don’t you?” Belly Girl said, noticing the way he stared at her. “My belly. Do you want to feel it?” she said, teasing her hand around the smooth oval.

“I want to destroy it!”

“Go ahead, hit me,” Belly Girl strode right up to him, sticking out her stomach, holding her hands confidently on her hips. He would never be able to hit her, even with his powerful fists. She was way too fast. But she didn’t notice the hand of the coward, the man who she had disregarded as harmless, reaching between Punch Man’s legs, towards Belly Girl’s ankle...

She would dodge his punch and kick him in the balls while his weight was thrown off. It would be easy. Taunting him with her sexy stomach, she knew exactly where he would hit her. She saw the giant’s fist slowly rearing back, and she merely smiled, holding her hips defiantly. She waited for the fist to begin its arc. Then, just before it hit her, she would step to the side and... her ankle; the coward! She couldn’t free her leg. The fist came towards her and her cocky smile turned into an expression of horror. She watched as the brass rings on Punch Man's hard fist slammed into her unprotected belly. Her hands slid helplessly to her sides. “Ooh,” she groaned, doubling over. She shut her eyes and slowly fell to her knees, clutching her aching belly. “Ooh,” she moaned again, the pain exploding inside of her. Punch Man stood over her crumpled form, glowering. He had defeated Belly Girl with one punch, just as he knew he would. Belly Girl was holding her stomach, her eyes closed, her head lowered to her chest, biting her lip; it bled. Her body quivered. She fell over to her side, curled into the fetal position, her arms wrapped around her stomach. She couldn’t move. The punch had knocked out all her strength, totally defeating her, as she lay, beaten, on the floor of the hangar, at the feet Punch Man, who was smiling victoriously.

“Holy Shit,” said the coward, who had stood up, observing the spectacle of Belly Girl’s defeat. “Belly Girl doesn’t know how to take a punch. For all the grief she’s caused us, she’s just a weak little girl!”

“Pick her up, Yellow,” Punch Man said.

“Come on,” the coward, aptly nicknamed Yellow, said. “Look at her. Why don’t I put a bullet in her pretty little skull?” Yellow was reaching under his jacket for his pistol. Belly Girl was moments away from being killed.

“Pick...her...up.” Punch Man repeated. Yellow's hand quickly withdrew from his jacket.

“Yes sir.” Yellow pulled her weak arms away from her stomach and lifted her under her shoulders. Belly Girl’s body was light, but it was all dead weight. Yellow struggled to lift her off the ground.

“Lean her against the hood,” Punch Man said, pointing to the SUV. Yellow dragged her limp body across the floor, and then he yanked her over the grill of the SUV. Her legs dangled in the air. Her back lay flat against the hood.

“Now,” Punch Man ordered, “hold her.” Yellow held Belly Girl’s wrists behind her head, standing to the side of the car. Punch Man stood over Belly Girl, her naked belly stretched across the hood. He curled his fist.

“Please,” Belly Girl whispered. “Don’t.” Punch Man wasn’t about to listen to her beg. His fist went back and slammed into her already devastated stomach, cracking her spine against the solid steel hood. Belly Girl’s body convulsed in pain, her knees drawing towards her chest. Punch Man pulled his other fist back and hit her again. “Please,” Belly Girl pleaded, in a barely audible whisper. None of the men heard her. Yellow struggled to hold her jerking body as Punch Man worked his fists into her, pulverizing her over and over again, left right, left right, one two, one two. Occasionally, his gigantic fist missed Belly Girl's small target and slammed into the hood of the car, denting it, breaking the car instead of his hand. Tears were rolling from the slits in Belly Girl’s mask, smudging her mascara. I can’t take anymore. No more... Punch Man was listening to the sound of his smacking blows, the pounding of her body against the steel hood. He didn’t know how bad he was hurting her; he didn’t care. He was in a rage, his fists flying, destroying her belly, unable to control himself. He had wanted to punch her for so long...

Belly Girl had collapsed from the pain. Punch Man was still beating her, his fists thudding against Belly Girl’s lifeless body, a crazy fire in his eyes.

“Jesus, Punch Man. She’s out cold,” Yellow said. Punch Man landed one more punch on her tortured belly, and then he stopped, his chest heaving, his blood boiling, the rage continuing to pound through his body. He wanted to snap her neck, end her once and for all, but he looked at the appealing body stretched over the hood, and his rage was replaced with another powerful urge; lust. Belly Girl’s looks had saved her life, for now.

“Get out of here,” Punch Man said to Yellow.

“What?” Yellow said.

“Get out of here, now.” Yellow saw the crazy look in Punch Man’s eyes and ran from the hangar, fearing for the helpless heroine. Even she didn’t deserve this. She was just a girl. Yellow couldn’t imagine what Punch Man would do to her.

Punch Man looked at his trophy, lying unconscious on the hood of the SUV. Belly Girl looked beautiful in defeat. Punch Man picked her up and slung her over his shoulder. As her light weight rested on him, Punch Man wondered, what am I going to do with her? What am I going to do TO her?


Punch Four


Belly Girl woke up. There was a purple and black bruise forming on her bare belly where Punch Man had hit her. It still hurt, the terrible wound burning inside of her. She had sure gotten her ass kicked. Belly Girl was somewhat concerned about her surroundings. She was in some kind of dungeon, although she couldn’t see much. She lay on her back on a short, metal platform. The platform was almost the exact length of her stomach. It raised up her stomach a couple feet off of the ground, and then the rest off her body was stretched down and off the platform and secured tightly to metal rings on the floor. Someone had wanted to make her belly more accessible than it already was! Belly Girl shuddered. She couldn’t endure anymore torture to her bruised abdomen. She shook her bonds, wiggling her body in the tight suit, but there was no give. She was helpless.

She heard the man who had captured her, his heavy steps thudding down the stairs. Punch Man had taken her to his own personal dungeon. This would be fun, Punch Man thought. He never had to torture a broad before, especially one so attractive.

“Listen, dude,” Punch Girl said. “Let me out of here before I kick your ass.” Punch Man laughed.

“There won’t be any spunk in you once I’m finished with you,” he said.

“You can’t do this to me, man. Don’t you know who I am?”

“I forgot something.” There’s got to be a ball gag in here somewhere, he thought.

“I’m going to kick your ass so hard,” Belly Girl kept going on, “you’re going to wish you never met me!”

“There it is,” Punch Man said. He gagged Belly Girl, listening to her muffled protests. Thank God.

Punch Man knelt by the platform, looking at the bare skin of Belly Girl’s stomach, flawless except for the nasty bruise he had given her. He dug his fingers into her flesh. He liked the feel of her belly. Her skin was soft, with the slightest layer of fat the gave under his finger tips, but the rest of her belly was firm and toned. Punch Man ran his fingers over her bare stomach, caressing her. He touched her bruise, gently massaging it. He stroked her belly button, holding the silver chain in his fingers, looking at the initials on the end. BG. At least she had a sense of humor. Punch Man fondled Belly Girl’s smooth, flat stomach. He bent down and kissed her. He heard a muffled sound coming from the gag. Belly Girl was moaning. He planted soft, tender kisses all over her aching, tortured belly. He started kissing, licking her bruised skin and he heard her moan again. Punch Man clenched the delicate silver chain in his mouth, and tugged on her belly button. Belly Girl seemed to like that. He felt Belly Girl’s skin growing warmer, as drops of sweat started to form on her stomach. Punch Man kissed her, and then he started to lick her, all over her bare stomach, as Belly Girl moaned in satisfaction, her body heating up, Punch Man savoring the salty taste of her sweat. Delicately, he nursed her bruise with his tongue. Belly Girl bit down on her lip. She was succumbing to an orgasm. Punch Man stuck his tongue in her belly button and wiggled it. Belly Girl’s sweaty stomach rolled up and down with her deep breaths. Punch Man kissed her, fondled her. He kept licking her belly button. She licked her lips. Punch Man heard heard her gasp through the gag and then her body became still.

Punch Man bent down and kissed Belly Girl’s sensitive stomach one last time. His pulse was pounding. He was in love with Belly Girl’s belly. His was in love with Belly Girl’s body. He just wanted to cum right into her, and that is exactly what he would do, as he had her bound and helpless.

Punch Man searched for a pair of shears. Sometimes it was hard to find things in his dungeon. It wasn’t very organized. Belly Girl laid on the platform, her tortured, pleasured belly raised up in the air. She could lay like this, she thought. It wasn’t that bad. Then Punch Man came back with his shears, and cut a slit from the bottom of the oval that exposed her stomach down her thigh. Reverse that thought. Punch Man cut the slit down to her boot, and then he pulled the material away from her smooth, slender thigh. He cut a slit down her other thigh, and then he pulled the material away from her crotch. How romantic, Belly Girl thought. Her hopes sank when she felt Punch Man’s enormous cock burst inside of her.

Punch Man straddled her on the platform, sliding his dick into her warm pussy. He rammed into her body, squeezing her firm thighs. Belly Girl lay motionless, breathless. Punch Man didn’t like how her body was so flat and unresponsive. It was like fucking a dead chick. Oh well. He wasn’t about to get blue balled now. He kept pumping his cock inside her warm, moist body until he came. He was satisfied. That ought to teach the bitch a lesson. The vanquished superheroine lay, humiliated by her rape. Punch Man got up. He went over to a rack on the wall where various torture implements hung, and selected one, and then walked back over to Belly Girl, holding the device in front of her face. It looked like a potato peeler, except with very sharp blades which were spaced wider apart.

“See this,” Punch Man said, shaking it in front of her. “This here is skin peeler. A human skin peeler.” Punch Man crouched down and stared at her with his menacing eyes.

“What I’m going to do is peel all the skin off that famous belly of yours, and then I’ll see how long it takes for you to bleed to death. What do you think of that, Belly Girl?” Belly Girl was silent. Punch Man removed her gag. “I want to hear you scream.” Belly Girl couldn’t say anything; Punch Man’s cock had drained all the attitude out of her. So this is how it all ends, she thought. One minute you’re a superheroine, next minute you’re a slab of meat. But she still held onto a glimmer of hope. Someone, please save me.

Punch Man kneeled over her bare belly again, holding the peeler against her skin. The blades were so sharp that even the light pressure caused her skin to tear, making a shallow cut. Those blades would peel my body like a banana, she thought, cringing with terror. Punch Man saw the look on her face and grinned. His fist tightened around the implement, raised it, and with one quick stroke he tore the flesh off of Belly Girl’s body, destroying her once and for all. Except it didn’t happen that way. Punch Man was slumped over her stomach, dead as a braided screw. There was a long, silver arrow sticking out of his neck. Belly Girl looked up. Standing on the steps to the dungeon, there was a curvy blonde wearing a hunter green spandex leotard with brown leather knee-high boots. She was holding a crossbow, the weapon that had saved Belly Girl’s precious belly.

“Who the hell are you?” Belly Girl said.

“I’m Quiver. You’re welcome. I heard that you had been captured. You know how they talk. I thought to myself, there’s only one man I know who would capture Belly Girl. You must have met Punch Man.”

“Punch Man?”

“Yeah, that’s what they call him. But he’s dead now, so don’t worry about it. Come on, we’ve got to get you out of here. This place is creepy.” Quiver was slitting open Belly Girl’s bonds with a bowie knife. She wore a belt around her waist that had a leather sheath attached to it.

“You got to take me to the airport. My ride is there,” Belly Girl said, more concerned about her motorcycle than her life

“Baby, you’re not going anywhere until we get you into some clothes.”

“How can I ever thank you for this?”

“Just keep on being Belly Girl. Don’t let the bad guys get you down. It happens. Superheroines get captured every so often. That’s why we’re here for each other.”
Quiver helped push Punch Man’s hulking body off of Belly Girl’s stomach. Belly Girl got off of the platform, her legs were weak and Quiver had to help her stand. She led her up the steps of the dungeon. The nightmare was over. After being given a fresh set of clothes, Quiver drove Belly Girl back to her apartment. Belly Girl walked into her room, rolled into her bed, and passed out.


The Final Punch

Belly Girl was excited. Her new body suit had come in the mail, her other suit being in tatters. She had taken a break from her superheroine duties, allowing herself to heal. Her belly was back to normal. She could put the pain and misery of her defeat behind her, and go back to kicking butts.

With a pair of scissors, she cut out the oval in her suit. She tried it on. It fit snugly, hugging all of her curves the way she liked. She looked at her daring form in the mirror. It was as if nothing had changed. She hopped on her Ducati- thankfully nothing had happened to that- and the Belly Mobile sped through the city.

She found an alley to stash her bike in, and stalked over to the park. She crouched in a dark spot and waited. Two cars pulled up on the side of the road, almost in the same place as before. Belly Girl silently made her way towards them. She looked at the dangerous men handling drugs, all of them doubtlessly armed. She thought about her dangerous act. She thought about the pain that had seared in her belly, her agonizing defeat, her terrifying capture; she had barely escaped with her life, her body violated. The slightest miscalculation, and those men would kill her, or do worse. Belly Girl felt a strange emotion shudder through her- fear. She remembered the terrible pain of Punch Man’s devastating punches, his hard brass rings tearing through her. She couldn’t bare to suffer through something like that again. Perhaps Belly Girl just wasn’t tough enough. She turned around, walked back to her Ducati, and drove away.

Belly Girl looked at her uniform lying on the bed. She thought about what Quiver had said. Don’t let the bad guys get you down. It happens. Superheroines get captured. Someday, when she had the strength, she would put her uniform on and go back to being a superheroine. But for now, Belly Girl would just be a normal girl. Darla Fox. Maybe she would find a boyfriend, enjoy herself a little bit. It was a hard life being a superheroine. Maybe she could learn to be normal, take it easy for awhile.
Belly Girl lasted a month as the insipid Darla Fox before she started tearing out her black hair. Her dusty costume was hanging in her closet. She didn’t care what happened that night, if the criminals stabbed her in her belly and tore out her intestines- she craved the action, the adrenaline, the rush. She couldn’t spend one more day pretending that she didn’t. Belly Girl, fearless once again, rode on her black Ducati through the city. She was back. And so was her sexy belly.


KO.
Last edited by bare_thighz 4 years ago, edited 1 time in total.
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valugi
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Re: Belly Girl Vs. Punch Man: A Superheroine Peril Story

Post by valugi »

The chapter was good, and interesting show a inexperienced heroine having their first defeat
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Re: Belly Girl Vs. Punch Man: A Superheroine Peril Story

Post by DrDominator9 »

I enjoyed this. Thanks.
Follow this link to descriptions of my stories and easy links to them:

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Re: Belly Girl Vs. Punch Man: A Superheroine Peril Story

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Can you make this viewable again?
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Re: Belly Girl Vs. Punch Man: A Superheroine Peril Story

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danish6818 wrote: 3 years ago Can you make this viewable again?
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Re: Belly Girl Vs. Punch Man: A Superheroine Peril Story

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How do I view the story?
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Re: Belly Girl Vs. Punch Man: A Superheroine Peril Story

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One of many stories that have been deleted, i've asked about this as well and they're all pretty much gone.

deleted by author i believe.
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Re: Belly Girl Vs. Punch Man: A Superheroine Peril Story

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I hope I'm not breaking any rules here, but there is still a solitary link sitting out there, like a tiny desert island with one palm tree...

https://web.archive.org/web/20150414150 ... hp?t=21273

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