Ned followed the 'femme fatale' through a labyrinth of corridors, his new body moving with a grace that made his inner gamer squeal with delight. Gone were the days of tripping over his own feet or getting winded climbing a flight of stairs. Now, he practically glided across the polished floors, keeping pace with Ms. Dangerous Curves without breaking a sweat.
However, the bulge between his legs were turning blue and painful.
'I knew my avatar was unmatched in his field of expertise, but I didn't know he had such a potent libido. What a thick weapon between my legs!' His mind raced as his eyes almost rolled to the back of his head from being aroused.
"So, uh, about that whole 'trying to kill me' thing," Ned ventured, figuring he might as well address the elephant in the room. Or hallway. Whatever.
The woman's laugh was like silk sliding over a knife blade. "Oh, darling. If we wanted you dead, you'd be fertilizing the agency's rose garden by now."
"Charming," Ned muttered. His mind raced, trying to reconcile his memories of the game with this new, hyper-real world. "I don't suppose you'd care to fill me in on what's going on? Because last I checked, I was sitting in my underwear, chugging energy drinks and pwning noobs."
She shot him a look that could have curdled milk, and Ned felt a sweet jolt between his legs. "Playing dumb doesn't suit you, Agent. But if you insist on maintaining this charade, who am I to spoil the fun?"
Before Ned could retort, they emerged into a cavernous atrium that made his jaw drop. The place screamed "super-secret spy headquarters" louder than a neon sign.
Holographic displays flickered in mid-air, agents in impeccable suits bustled about, and was that a honest-to-god jetpack someone just flew by on?
"Welcome to The Hive," his seductive guide announced with a flourish. "Nucleus of our operations and home to the world's elite intelligence community."
Ned whistled low. "Damn, the graphics update on this game is insane."
A passing agent gave him an odd look. Right. Not a game anymore. At least, not in the way he was used to.
"Come along," the woman said, leading him towards an elevator that looked like it belonged in a movie. "The Director is waiting."
As they ascended, Ned took a moment to really look at his companion. She was gorgeous, sure, but there was something familiar about her. Like he'd seen her a thousand times before, but never quite like this.
"I'm sorry," he said, brow furrowed, balls blue and rocky. "Have we met? I mean, before the whole... you know." He made a vague gesture encompassing his new body, from top to the bulky crotch area, and the insane situation.
She arched an eyebrow. "Playing coy now, are we? I suppose next you'll tell me you don't remember all those missions we ran together. The Budapest incident? Rio? That time in Marrakesh with the camel and the briefcase full of counterfeit Pogs? Even the late night escapades and wet dreams?"
Ned blinked. "I... what?"
The elevator dinged, sparing him from having to formulate a response. The doors slid open to reveal an office that would have made every spy green with envy.
Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of a city Ned did recognize from the game—Deadlock, all gleaming spires and flying cars. Because of course there were flying cars.
Behind a desk that probably cost more than Ned's entire apartment sat a man who could only be the Director. He had a face like a disapproving bulldog and a mustache that deserved its own zip code.
"Ah, Agent xXx_SpyGod69_xXx," the Director rumbled, and Ned had to stifle a snicker at hearing his ridiculous username spoken aloud with such gravity. "I trust your... resurrection went smoothly?"
Ned opened his mouth, a snarky comment on the tip of his tongue, when a notification popped up in his field of vision:
[SYSTEM ALERT: Tread carefully. The Director's approval rating affects mission difficulty and rewards.]
Well, that was handy. And terrifying. Ned cleared his throat. "Yes, sir. Fit as a fiddle and ready to... do whatever it is I do. Sir."
The Director's mustache twitched. Was that amusement or annoyance? With that much facial hair, it was hard to tell.
"Good, good," he said, leaning back in his chair. "Because we have a situation that requires your... unique talents."
Ned perked up. A mission! This was familiar territory. He'd run thousands of missions in the game. How different could it be in this new reality?
The Director tapped a button, and a holographic display sprang to life between them. It showed a group of young women, each looking more miserable and dejected than the last, in terms of spy work of course.
But, they possessed boobs that seemed to defy all logic and reason, bursting forth with a bounty of femininity that made Ned weak in the knee. And huge buttocks that were a marvel of nature, plump and firm like two ripe melons that begged to be squeezed. He stumbled, but caught himself quickly.
"These are our newest recruits," the Director explained. "They've washed out of every other program we have. This is their last chance to prove themselves worthy of The Hive."
Ned frowned, trying to look unfazed. "Okay, but what does that have to do with me? You want me to, what, give them a pep talk? Because I gotta tell you, my motivational speaking skills are limited to trash talk and 'git gud, scrub.'"
The Director's laugh was like gravel in a blender. "Oh no, my boy. We have something far more interesting in mind." He leaned forward, eyes glinting with malicious glee. "You're going to train them."
Ned felt all the blood in his veins rush into his bulge, causing a slight tearing sound of his trouser. "I'm going to what now?"
"Train them," the Director repeated. "Mold them into a crack team of operatives. Turn this ragtag bunch of misfits into the finest spies The Hive has ever produced."
"But... but I've never trained anyone!" Ned protested, while trying to keep his huge cucumber from bursting out of his trouser. "I don't know the first thing about-"
The Director waved a hand dismissively. "Nonsense! You're the greatest spy of all time, aren't you? Surely this will be child's play for someone of your... caliber."
Ned swallowed hard. He'd always bragged about being the best, but that was in a game. This was real life. With real consequences. And apparently, seven very real, very desperate, and of course, very delicious looking young women whose futures now rested in his hands.
"When do I start?" he asked weakly, but inwardly ecstatic.
The Director's grin was positively shark-like. "Right now."
As if on cue, the office door burst open. Seven pairs of eyes locked onto Ned, a mix of hope, skepticism, and outright hostility in their gazes.
"Ladies," the Director announced, "meet your new instructor."
'Oh, they look feisty too. My own harem of wild tigress. I'm so glad I died.' Ned fantasized, meanwhile forcing a smile; trying to channel every cool spy protagonist he'd ever seen in movies. "Uh, hi there. Who's ready to learn some... spy stuff?"
The silence that followed was deafening.
Ned had a sinking feeling that this was going to be a lot harder than any game he'd ever played.
But with seven pair of boobies and buttocks' packed in a spy s*x caravan, all vying to please one cucumber and two balls, what could go wrong?
'Let's get the party started!!' Ned thought.
***