Plastique Tits

Wonder Babes

Wonder Babes

Wonder Babes

"Uhm... S-sorry to disturb you after everything you've been through, but—" Batgirl moved a hand to her chest and — for the second time this robbery — took a minute to steady her breathing, in what I assume must be a ritual of hers. It seemed to be working, her expression returning to a cool, calm and collected, her face blanching away from the unnatural red, "I think you'd better get out of here. There's still one more—"

She didn't have to finish the sentence. Jolting upright, I internally berated myself for being a stupid idiot. I forgot about the other one! That's the second time today! How the fuck can I be sitting here — thinking bout stupid Wonder Babes — when I'm supposed to be a real crime-fighter now? Come on man!

Seeing my alarm, Batgirl waved her hands rapidly, and quickly added "Aaa but don't worry: I'm entirely prepared." Placing a hand on her hip, she for the first time exuded the type of confidence I'm used to seeing from her on TV, "I told you earlier that I caught up on the situation by listening through the ventilation shaft, right? Batgirl never enters a crime scene without a plan!"

Pointing a finger at what was currently Frost's frosty butt, her tone changed to that of a ****-mystery detective about to reveal who done it, "Sadistic serial killer. Powers include thermal energy absorption and cryokinesis. Very dangerous, and therefore cleverly turned into the bank's new ceiling lamp by moi. I'd say I have a real knack for interior design, wouldn't you?" She blinked at me smugly, which earned her a chuckle. There was an air of confident playfulness around her, that somehow made it impossible for me to stay dispirited for long. It was as if she was convinced all bad things would just clear the room as soon as she entered.

I guess she really is a superhero.

That makes it almost more unbelievable that someone amazing like that just fondled my balls like it was her super-power.

That makes it almost more unbelievable that someone amazing like that woke up this morning and decided to put on a stinking face mask.

Continuing her reveal, Batgirl moved her finger towards a large, glum-looking potted plant, who's wide branches had mostly snapped during the earlier explosion, now hanging down limply in resignation. "Wanted Canadian terrorist. Superpowers: None. Trademark strategy entails arming herself with plastic explosives, which of course, can be dangerous in the hands of anyone. However, with no notable tech, martial-art skills, or metahuman abilities to speak of, the chance of her beating me in a 1-on-1 is lower than the chance of there not being heaps of silicone in those tits of hers!"

To enforce her claims, Batgirl pulled out her phone in concert with her explanation, holding it up to my face like evidence. I was a bit confused at what exactly the plant did to deserve all the smack talk, but then I understood. There on the screen, I was presented with a provocatively hot beach selfie, purposely aimed at the overbearing cleavage of, not a potted plant, but rather, a redhead bombshell. It was the villain-bitch who tried to blow my dick off; Plastique, from earlier.

Apparently having been pulled from her official Instagram page, I read the picture's caption out loud: "Nothing better than spending some time away from all the technology and attention of modern society. Just living in nature is tremendously revivifying for those with the patience to do it. #Nature #Blessed #Nofilter."

One could see Batgirl's brows furrow more and more with each spoken word, "Stupid right. How do vain garbage like this end up getting two million likes!?"

I scratched the back of my head. I'm not really sure how to answer that one. I'm clearly out of the loop here. "Damn, I didn't even know supervillains used Instagram. I guess that's a little silly: that she'd take time out of her day to do that, and that other people would like a criminal's posts."

"Right! What the hell!" Batgirl changed her pose from one swaying her arms in accusation to a more diplomatic one, " Of course, I use Instagram—but for, you know... hero stuff! Public enlightenment and the such. Yet this bimbo gets fricking two million likes. What? Because her tits are bigger than her head? Ugh, so unfair!"

I was again at a loss and simply nodded my head along with her accusations.

"Two million! Two million! Do you even know how much that is?!"

Confronted, and a little unsure why we were having this conversation, I looked around nervously as I answered, "Y-yeah, two million, right? Jeez. Boy. That's... That's a lot! That's even more than... than one million. Talk about... talk about that, huh."

Batgirl nodded along vigorously as if what I just said made any amount of conceivable sense, "RIGHT! God, I swear half her followers are bots. There's no way the candy-shop raids she calls crime attract that much attention."

I feared I'd have to contribute again, but luckily, the potted plant spoke up first, "What the fuck is that supposed to mean!"

Plastique had clearly been fuming for a while before she stepped out from her hiding spot, apparently fed up with being thrash talked behind her back. Batgirl was about to answer her; however, a voice from above cut her off before she had the chance, "She's saying you suck balls, Plastic Tits! Second rank villain, just like I told you!" Frost's raised voice started out jarringly loud but became more and more distant as the circling rope she was dangling from slowly rotated her face away from us.

"Who's side are you on, miss Does Anal!? Do you want me to get you down from there or not?"

At that, Batgirl interjected in a tone of amused incredulity, "Ummm, not? You're coming with me, and then you can both hang up there until the police arrive. Also, notice how she didn't deny the plastic tits thing! See! That's like indirectly admitting it!"

Meanwhile, Frost was about to complete a full circle, her voice steadily resurfacing as her mouth faced more and more in our direction, "That means she thinks you suck too much to beat her in a fight! I agree with her!"

"OMG! OK, you know what? I'm really mad now! If Batgirl's so sure she'll beat me, then run your baby tits over here and prove it! Or what? You scared of a second rank villain?"

Hm... Hmm... Hmmmmmm! My Detective-Sense, it's tingling.

Plastique taunted with conviction; however, an eyebrow of mine still raised in accordance with those words.

In my occupation, interrogation and reading body language is vital. I, therefore, notice more than most when something strange is up, and something was definitely up. Most obviously, was her use of a taunt in the first place. Then it follows that she wanted someone to be taunted. Furthermore, her way of expressing herself seemed somewhat exaggerated, like a pre-rehearsed line? Less obvious perhaps, was how she subtly combed a hand through her hair, continuously fiddling around with a lock at the back of her head as she talked. That's a classic tell. She was bluffing.

If I'd been a poker player, I'd have worded that, "She's probably bluffing;" however, I'm not. I'm the world's greatest detective; I have no need for gambles.

This is just another time when having meta-human abilities comes in handy.

You see, it might be natural to assume that Fallacy: My ability to make people follow completely flawed logic — is my most useful power, and though it is cool, it's not really that practical nor ethical in use.

No, my power's number one most used application is this — nothing.

Or rather, just the activation sequence itself. I haven't given it any fancy nickname, but powering my ability requires me to make deductions. It becomes apparent whether or not these deductions are correct when the glass in my hand fills with smoke.

See where I'm going with this? So if I hold my hand up towards Plastique and make the deduction: "Because of all the aforementioned reasons, she's bluffing—"

The orb filled with a thin, yellow fog.

—Then it works as an immediate fact checker to my statement. She was bluffing.

Very cool, I know, I know. Don't worry. I'll stop sucking myself off now.

Apparently, meta-human powers were a little overkill on this one anyway, as Batgirl's face gave off the deadpan look of someone who'd just been challenged by the ploy of a six-year-old — the dumb type of six-year-old, who whines about not getting to eat insulation they think is cotton candy.

Sighing, Batgirl began moving her hands in large jogging motions, very slowly making her way towards Plastique, "Oh I'll get you yet criminal scum, oh— oh— oh noooo..." she held the last syllable as if dramatizing, yet it came out only comical, because of how she put no emotion or effort into it.

The reason for dismay was because of how she "dropped" a bat-device on the floor. However, her timing was completely off, and she began wallowing in her own misfortune long before she very visibly pulled the device out of her belt, and clumsily lobbed it in front of her with both hands.

The device — a square, black box — slid over the floor to land between where Batgirl and Plastique were standing. There, a small, spinning antenna — shaped like a bat — extended out its roof.

I couldn't help being put in a good mood by Batgirl's antics — which is probably why the PTSD hit me doubly hard when intense beeping unexpectedly started appearing all over the bank. I instinctively threw a protective hand towards my crotch, all the while Plastique's eyes went wide at the sound of beeps appearing in large part inside her own suit. "Shit!"

Being an amazing detective and all, it didn't take me too long to figure out what was happening. Her skin-tight suit — although very fashionable — doesn't seem like it should have any room for pockets. I reckon that means, like many other crafty ladies, Plastique must be storing her arsenal inside her...

Plastique initiated a sudden panic-striptease, ripping open the small, almost invisible zipper of her suit to access... WONDER BABE!

Her jugs (wow, those really are jugs) were presented through a quarter-cup shelf bra made of beautiful red lace.

Unceremoniously grabbing her fun-bags (those have to be fake, right? Anything else would be dumb; they're actually bigger than her head) she fitfully began shaking them as if trying to pour the wares out of a shopping bag.

Which, in a sense, she was. Except, instead of wares, small, ticking time-bombs seemed to fly out of her cleavage like corn jumping out of a popcorn machine, and instead of shopping bags, were the winner and second place of this year's giant pumpkin competition. (They're super firm too. Have to be fake)

The entire floor around Plastique filled with bombs, but still the beeping on her person continued. Throwing caution to the wind, she, therefore, clutched her fingers around the front of her probably very expensive bra, and yanked it with enough **** to break the clasp at the back, sending it flying forward together with several miniature threats inside, and revealing to us— WONDER BABE! BIG JIGGLY WONDER BABES!!

Unbelievably, her hooters (They're all sweaty too. Is it warm inside that suit? Or could all that panting be from...) didn't sag once they lost their support, meaning they still wouldn't stop mushing the last violent bombs between them.

To my dick's utter delight, and to Batgirl's pride's apparent satisfaction, Plastique's incredibly thick nipples extended far off her body, (That means she's turned on, right? Right? Come on magic ball, give me a hint at least) and even farther still once her fingers, in the heat of the moment no doubt, pinched onto the best handle they could find: her nips.

She proceeded to pull both her nubs in opposite directions in a manner that I could only imagine had to hurt, but actually compelled more of a sharp moan. (It's not normal for girls to get this riled up just from touching their breasts, is it? Maybe she has ultra-sensitive tits or something. But... Then that would mean her tits aren't made of plastic, right?! They're real!? That's impossible! I have so many questions!)

Plastique seemed aggravated and embarrassed about the sound that'd just left her mouth, but couldn't dwell on it for too long. Spreading her nipples also **** along the absolute mass of her badonkadonk's, (Wait, maybe she has like a boob fetish that gets her aroused regardless of how sensitive her nipples are. Yeah, that's gotta be it. The only logical explanation) opening an area between them with no compression, and therefore allowing the last beeps to fall to the ground.

Noticeably not automatically removing her fingers from her nipples, Plastique daintily held her melons (I don't care, those have to be the biggest in all of super world) as she proceeded to jump for cover.

Batgirl, in a much calmer manner, motioned for me to move behind her, taking a step back herself to bring us close together. She flustered, as her butt met my crotch, her teeth biting into her lower lip as if tempted. I'm beginning to doubt the chastity of this girl because it seems to me she takes every minuscule interaction as a chance to wet her loins. At least this time she's controlling herself... is what I would say, if the lights hadn't suddenly gone out, and the toned behind I could feel on my crotch hadn't suddenly started gyrating as if the darkness in any way hid its actions. She better put out if she's going to continue teasing like this.

The lack of lights came as a consequence of Batgirl draping her cape around us. And not a second too soon, as moments later, I could hear the entire area where Plastique previously stood burst — just burst. Big explosion. Accompanied by smaller one's going off on other parts of the floor. I could sense the shock-waves running through the ground; however, inside our cape tent was complete peace aside from Batgirl's soft whimpers in the darkness. Her cape is probably fortified in some way to resist explosions.

As things settled down, Batgirl stepped out of our little love nest with a sated look that people watching from the outside would likely assume came from her royally messing up Plastique's plan; however, which I wasn't certain didn't stem from her believing she got away with satiating her little perving fixation unnoticed.

Trust me, I noticed.

The room was now looking very different. Small craters had appeared wherever explosions had gone off. There was a small patch of unscathed floor in what was otherwise the most damaged area: the outline of where Plastique had been standing.

Batgirl coughed, as she waved her hand in front of her to clear some of the smoke and dust now swirling around. Walking up to one of the holes, she lifted what I now recognized as the ruined remains of a small bomb, the same color and texture as the floor. Throwing the thing over her shoulder, she proceeded to walk menacingly forward, "Whaaat? The explosives expert planted a bunch of explosives everywhere? No waaay. wHo CoUlD hAvE sEeN tHaT cOmInG. Lucky me I dropped my bat bomb-defuser at just the right time. Wait, just to be safe I'll—" she pulled out a spray can from her utility belt, spraying the air around her like an action hero aiming a gun, "There. That was my shark repellent bat-spray. Now we're safe in case she's got a shark stored inside that ridiculous cleavage of hers as well.

Plastique was crouching behind the even further vandalized plant, its trunk having snapped to protect her from the shock waves in what was likely its worst day ever. Plastique's long, red hair stood stiff and straight forward into the air as if continuously blow-dried in that direction. She held her eyes glued shut, her fingers still holding up her nips like she was lifting her skirt in a curtsy. Gradually realizing she was safe — yet also very not safe — she dropped her tits, letting them wobble back to their natural position, and shook her head, allowing her hair to go from cartoonish to just messy. Using an arm to cover up, she let out a genuine, probably well deserved, "Fuck," as she backed up until her ass hit the wall. A strained smile — a mix of fear and anger — adorned her sweating naked body. "S-stay back! H-hey now, can't we talk about this?"

At this point, her enemy unarmed and unclothed, Batgirl could probably wrap this up in less than five seconds; however, she seemed intent on dragging this out for longer. Can't say I blame her really; I'm very fond of seeing those ruthless bitches get what they deserve, and not just because they're both half-naked.

Placing her hands on her spandex hips, Batgirl bent over in an accusatory manner, "Haaa? Wasn't it you who just asked me to drag my "bABy TiTS" over there and beat up your snarky butt?"

Frost, who'd been laughing her curvy ass off at her partner's humiliation, answered the question in her stead, "She totally did! And then you stopped her in like two seconds and made her strip like a bitch hahaha! Fuck you suck, Plastique!"

"You're not helping!" Plastique was frantically looking around for something to help her out. Her hand moved to find the zipper of her suit, hoping to at least regain some semblance of dignity. Unfortunately, after several failed attempts, looking down revealed to her that what was left of her dignity had been torn off together with the zipper when she ripped it open earlier, "Honestly, g-guys... Batgirl's tits — small? There's no way I'd say something that stupid. Come on, n-no need for this to get violent."

Batgirl placed a finger on her mouth in thought, "Hmmm. I don't know... I'm not feeling very confident in my body after that incredible insult you threw at me. I mean, your boobs are just so much bigger than mine that your Instagram post got two million likes! How's a girl to compete with that?" She threw her head down in fake resignation, tiptoeing towards Plastique with a clenched fist raised as if simultaneously depressed and about to throw out a beating at the same time.

"NO! H-hey now. Those were all bots, remember? R-really, you're way more popular than me. With my candy-shop raids, I've got fewer followers than fucking... Codpiece!"

To Plastique's release, Batgirl stopped moving. The caped hero was hiding her wide grin behind her hands, as she mimicked drying tears from under her eyes, "Really? *Sniffle* You just faked being popular because you felt insecure about your Instagram following? *Sniffle*"

"Yes, totally. So there's no reason for you to—"

"And your boobs," Batgirl interjected.

Plastique gritted her teeth, "My... boobs?" Batgirl put her palms to her face as she suddenly began cry-walking towards Plastique, causing instant panic in the woman, "MY TITS ARE FAKE! Yours are way better. Before the implants, I was, like, a C-cup — max. Want to do a joke about them? Plastic tits Plastique, very funny, haha."

Batgirl peeked through an opening in her still lifted hands, "A-and *sniffle* your tech skills are..."

Sigh "Much worse than yours."

"And in a fight between us you would..."

"I'd get my ass handed to me."

"Your hair is...

"You're the best red-head"

"And secretly, when you think about a guy's thing your mind gets all..."

And back and forth and back and forth they went. Plastique was getting more and more **** by the minute, while Batgirl's demands grew more and more uppity, as if venting some stuff that'd been bothering her subconsciously.

I felt my thoughts drifting. I really, no, I mean, really feel like I should be paying attention to what those two bombshells are doing. It should be everything I want to pay attention to. This is probably going to be the most Wonder Babe situation of my life, but... There was this biting sensation; a pebble stuck inside my shoe. Rolling around, refusing to go away. Then in my other shoe, and up my leg, and soon throughout my entire body. My Detective-Sense: it was tingling.

Rather than focus on how unrealistically doughy Plastique's tits were, or concentrate on how I think Batgirl said something weird just now, my lousy old brain became fixated on my own boring, super-powered hand that I've seen a million times before. Lifting it, the glass ball reacted slightly to the shift in gravity, the yellow fog inside shifting smoothly like the insides of a lava lamp.

That's kind of... a lot of fog, isn't it? I mean, I made the right deduction — I read the signs, and deduced that Plastique was bluffing — so I should probably feel satisfied leaving it with that, right? But... Batgirl... also made that deduction. Not very hard to do of course — Plastique might be the worst actress I've ever seen, but, then why... why did the ball fill up as if I'd made some revelation?

I lifted my head. Ignoring the hot, naked women. Ignoring the ego-boosting conversations. Ignoring everything else that I really, really wanted to focus on.

Plastique was sounding more and more hopelessly aggravated, the pathetic sight of a villain getting hers incredibly gratifying for Batgirl, Frost, and pretty much everyone else who held an issue with Canadian terrorists. It wasn't like her earlier anger: unnatural, and only there for the sake of luring Batgirl into a trap. Now her tone was more real, sounding like someone truly at odds with their fate.

Then it caught my eye. Plastique's hand. Not the one draped over her large, attention-grabbing tits; I'd been watching that one plenty already. Rather, I noticed the other one. The one running through her hair. The one continuously fiddling with a lock at the back of her head as she talked. A classic tell... A sure-fire sign.

She was bluffing. Still... bluffing.