Elastigirl Twerking (Old Version)

AN: This is the old version of the chapter. Including it here for posterity.

There was something off. What that something was, however, Elastigirl couldn’t quite say. Her living room was exactly as she had left if this morning when she had left for her daily patrol family off. The couch, the television, the tables, the paintings, the portraits, the stereo, the toys, the cabinets, the mirror, the rugs, all the bric and brac of an ordinary domestic life was all laid out in its proper place.

“Think, Helen, think,” she said out loud, mostly to try to help herself focus. Any other person would have likely dismissed it as a flight of fancy, but she hadn’t been a superheroine for so long without developing a sense for these kind of things. Even if she couldn’t place it consciously, her instincts knew.

“What is it? Did a robber steal something?” She eyed the living room again. There was nothing missing, at least as not as far as she could tell. Nor were there any obvious indications of scuff marks or **** entry. Still, even thought she temporarily dismissed it, the thought that someone had violated her home, the sanctum in which she raised her children, sent a chill up her spine. But if not that, then what?

She needed to focus. But her worries were beginning to compound and distract. Okay, no problem. She had a surefire way to help clear her head.

Elastigirl walked over to the stereo and with a quick press, turned it on. Immediately, loud, blaring music filled her home. It was the kind of music that really sunk into your bones, deep, bassy wubs vibrating and rebounding through her anxious head. The kind of music Elastigirl loved more than anything else, because it spoke on a level deeper than words. Though it had lyrics too.

Lyrics like:

Fat bottomed bitches.

Fat bottomed bitches.

All you fat bottomed bitches,

Get your booty on the floor.

She nodded her head. Yes, this was exactly what she needed to figure out was wrong. And luckily she was already on the floor, so to speak. Even if it wasn’t a proper club, her living room served as a more than adequate venue to really soak in the pounding beat.

Fat bottomed bitches,

Work your booty,

Twerk your booty,

Twerk it, twerk it, twerk it more.

Instead of her head, this time she shook her ass. She shook her bright red and black spandex clad booty as hard as she could. Elastigirl was used to being outside the norm. It was part and parcel of being a superheroine. For most superheroines this was mostly confined to their superpowers, but Helen was different on another level. Her ass… her ass… her ass was exceptional. It was so exceptional that even thinking about it was difficult. For as soon as she began to contemplate how amazingly large it was, the shear spherical shape of it, how much of a platonic ideal of a bubble butt it was, how it was easily half her body weight, how with every shake it clapped against itself, adding to the beat of the song, how it wobbled and rippled, hypnotic in its shifting patterns, how it was just so fucking huge.

She was more ass than anything else. Her torso and head were almost an afterthought compared to the vast expanse of ass that supported them. More ass than human. Less a thinking person and more a vehicle to carry around her dumptruck of a butt from place to place, to show it off for others to worship, to devote themselves to its manifold wonders.

Ass, ass, ass.

All you are is ass.

Fat bottomed bitches can’t resist,

Submitting to their ass.

Elastigirl agreed wholeheartedly.

"I'm just ass. All I am is ass. I'm just my fucking giant ass. All I am is ass."

And by submitting to her ass, she felt her mind was clear enough that she might now be finally able to figure out what was wrong. It certainly wasn’t the music, nor her giant bubble butt, nor did she feel like anything in the room was different than normal. Definitely not the stereo that she had always had. She even remembered very clearly that she had not gotten the stereo yesterday after defeating a supervillainess and taking it from the villain’s lair.

So what was it?

Elastigirl twerked some more, sinking deeper into the aural landscape. And adding to it herself with her ass cheeks clapping and her previously-idle hands finding a better use by spanking her latex ass alternating with each already wobbling cheek.

She still couldn’t figure out what it was. Could it be that she wasn’t letting herself focus hard enough? That there was something holding her back? She was a good ass, wasn’t she? She played the booty song and took its lyrics to heart. Or, was she missing something still?

Fat bottomed bitches.

Fat bottomed bitches,

Convert your family, convert your friends,

To the wonder of giant rear-rends.

Yes, exactly, she needed to show this to her family when they got home. So Violet could be a fat bottomed bitch and the men could enjoy watching their giant asses bounce in unison. There was nothing better, no higher purpose in life, than being a twerk-slut ass ****.

Except, was that really the case? And, and, had Helen always had this big a butt? She tried to remember what she looked like yesterday. For some reason, a glimpse of a relatively (in comparison) flat ass flashed in her head. And she remembered caring about other things, like her daughter’s college grades, and her husband’s new job, and her superheroine work. More than just asses and shaking them.

She held her hands up to her aching head. Something was wrong. Very wrong. She had to… she had to… shut off the song. Like a bolt of lightning piercing the juicy, meaty haze clouding her mind, inspiration struck. The stereo was the source of this uneasy feeling, and she had to shut it off before it could transform her further.

With a herculean effort, Elastigirl stopped her twerk session and took one strenuous step after another towards the stereo. Each step caused her ass to clap against itself due to its sheer size, and each clap was like a gong going off in her skull, threatening to disrupt the tenuous strength she had managed to muster and send her back into a fit of ass worship.

And the music didn’t stop while she struggled. If anything, it seemed to get louder, more penetrating, more direct.

Stop, stop, don’t resist.

Just give up, give in, submit.

Become a fat bottomed bitch.

Become a fat bottomed bitch.

Become a fat bottomed bitch.

Yes, yes, she just had to become a fat bottomed bitch. Elastigirl smiled, her tongue lolling out at the thought of not having to worry about bad, nasty things anymore. No concerns about fighting villains and possibly getting hurt, no worries about her children not being able to find their way, nor about her husband’s troubles in his work. Just her wonderful ass and sharing others wonderful asses.

Yesss… yes….

No!

No, she couldn’t. She was a superheroine. She could and would resist. With one last step, she found herself in front of the stereo, her finger poised to shut it off. And before she could falter once more, she pressed it.

Silence filled the room.

Elastigirl sighed in relief. And then she proceeded to berate herself. How could she have been so foolish as to not get the stereo checked out before bringing it home of all places. Just because it looked like a harmless audio device, it was a supervillainess’ and that made it inherently dangerous. She should have known better.

And now she had paid the price. Her body was warped, a twisted mockery of what a superheroine should look like. A parody like the kind in those perverse videos people made of her and her colleagues.

It was going to be so embarrassing explaining this to her family. And she obviously couldn’t go out in public. Her husband would have to track down a superhero with the ability to fix her and that was going to take weeks likely.

“What a pain.”

With that, Elastigirl turned to go find her cell phone. But as she turned her gaze caught on her own reflection in the mirror above one of the cabinets. In it she saw how drastic her transformation was in full. Her giant, gigantic, colossal ass dwarfed all else. It was so big that one could get lost in it, devouring and cataloging each and every groove and contour of its planet-sized surface.

Her mind-shatteringly perfect ass. The booty that made her drool. That made her unable to connect one neuron to another except those that thought about how amazing her butt was. That actively cut and snipped any thoughts that might try to stop her from devoting herself to her ass. That was so much more powerful than her weak self, that could crush any foolish resistance.

Without a thought, her hand came crashing down on her ass. Elastigirl moaned at the contact, at the sharp sting that signified her ass was in control. And why should it not be? She struggled to think of a reason. And then she struggled to think about why she was struggling to think of a reason.

Probably because there was something off about this whole situation.

Something deeply wrong.

Oh, yes, like the fact that she wasn’t blasting music so that she could twerk her giant, wonderful ass.

When her hand pressed the button to turn the stereo on, Elastigirl knew that everything was going to be alright.