The pizza place they ended up in looked like it had seen better days. Possibly in the 1970s. The neon sign flickered ominously, spelling out "Zzo's Piz" in a valiant attempt at illumination.
"Charming," Ursula muttered as they piled out of the van. "I can practically taste the food poisoning from here."
Ned grinned, still riding the adrenaline high from their earlier escapade and his boinkboink status. "Come on, where's your sense of adventure? Besides, everyone knows the best pizza comes from places that look like health code violations waiting to happen."
[SYSTEM ALERT: Questionable logic detected. Gastrointestinal distress probability: 78%]
'Shut up!' Ned cursed inwardly.
The interior of Zzo's Piz lived up to its exterior promise. Faded posters of long-forgotten Italian singers adorned the walls, and the red-checkered tablecloths had seen so many pizza-related battles that they were more of a muddy brown.
As they settled into a booth, an ancient waiter materialized beside them, notepad in hand. His mustache alone looked old enough to vote.
"What'll it be?" he croaked, eyeing the ragtag group in nothing but lingerie and boxers suspiciously.
Ned, ever the diplomat, flashed his most charming smile. "My good man, we require your finest pizzas. All of them. And perhaps a vat of your strongest coffee."
The waiter's eyebrow rose so high it threatened to escape into his hairline. "You kids in some kind of trouble?" He said, and for a moment, second guessed himself. These women were no kids. They chested cannonballs for boobs, exceeding any normally existing boob-scale.
"Us? Trouble?" Ned laughed, a tad too loudly. "Perish the thought! We're just... enthusiastic food critics. Very niche market. Underground pizza scene. You wouldn't understand."
The waiter stared at him for a long moment, eyes acknowledging his chiseled abs. A sigh escaped his lips, "I remember when I had abs like that... back in the good old days. Oh, to be young and toned again..." He muttered under his breath before shrugging. "Whatever. Just don't bleed on the upholstery. Cleaning bill's a nightmare."
As he shuffled away, Atara leaned across the table. "Smooth, 'food critic.' I'm sure he totally bought that."
"No way, I think those abdominal muscles rubbed him the wrong way." Raine giggled, causing a disturbance in her ta-tas, leading to a violent ripple that set Ned's balls on fire. Heart emojis popped over her head as she continued, "But I don't blame him. Those abs are... kinda hot!"
[SYSTEM ALERT: Raine's 'love meter' +3%]
[BoinkBoink status: 7%]
'That's right, a step at a time. We gonna have spy babies soon.' Ned grinned inwardly, waving a hand dismissively. "Please. My powers of persuasion are unmatched. So are my abs. Now, let's debrief, shall we? And by debrief, I mean stuff our faces and try to make sense of our standing point now. Something is definitely up."
The team exchanged glances, and Ned's heightened instincts caught unto something that was so profound and rare that it only occurred once in a lifetime:
Atara and Ursula flanged him on one side of the booth, and opposite them sat the others – five stunning goddesses sitting side by side, their curvaceous bodies barely contained by the sheer lace lingerie they wore.
Each one weilded breasts that were nothing short of monumental – massive wrecking ball of sensitive flesh – and as they shifted and moved, their 'ta-tas' jostled and pressed together, creating a mesmerizing sight as all five pairs of boobs pressed against each other, the soft flesh squishing and molding into each other in a tantalizing display, accentuated by hardened nipples.
'Lord, have mercy!' Ned's mind was on the verge of collapse. His waist crackled with electricity at the sight of their 'nipple holsters' writhing together. It sent ripples of desire coursing between his thighs and woke the slumbering dragon between his legs.
The closeness of their bodies heightened Ned's excitement and tension to almost unbearable levels. It was indeed a scene that captivated all who were lucky enough to witness it. And all who didn't might as well wish for it in another life.
Ned's eggs were well passed blue, and they would have fried if Zeta hadn't finally broken the silence.
"So... are we going to talk about how you went all Jason Bourne back there?" she asked, eyes wide behind her glasses.
'Who would have thought big tits looked exaggerated on girls in glasses?' Ned thought before answering. "Would you believe I've been secretly training in ninja monasteries on weekends?"
"No," the team replied in unison.
"Worth a shot," Ned muttered. He took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair for dramatic effects. "Why don't ya'll take a guess..."
After a short silence, Paige, who had been quietly observing until now, leaned forward. "What if... what if what that guy said was true? About you being the real Agent xXx_SpyGod69_xXx?"
"Bingo!" Ned shouted.
A heavy silence fell over the table, broken only by the distant sound of dough being violently kneaded in the kitchen.
"That's impossible," Ursula said, but even she could hear the lack of conviction in her voice. "I'm mean... you are just... you. Probably some overrated professional trainer, and agent xXx_SpyGod69_xXx is a legend and a myth to those yet to be born."
Ned's felt like he had been stabbed in the balls, but before he could respond, Atara's eyes narrowed.
"But what if you're wrong?" She asked Ursula. "What if the agency is counting on our doubt? This could easily be a deep undercover mission, and in order to get the enemy to lower their guard, they fake agent xXx_SpyGod69_xXx's death and put him right back on the mission as a trainer to delude even us?"
"Sounds far-fetched, but makes sense," Zeta chimed in. "I mean, think about it. He is announced dead one moment, and the next moment, another guy with an uncanny resemblance shows up, and suddenly, he's in charge of training a team of spy misfits? Sounds like the plot of a bad movie. In other words, a perfect cover."
Arms folded, Ned was just bobbing his head as they pieced his identity together.
Before anyone could respond, a mountain of pizzas arrived at their table, carried by the waiter and what appeared to be his entire extended family. The scent of melted cheese and questionable meat products filled the air, temporarily derailing the existential crisis.
As they dug in (because near-death experiences really do work up an appetite), the system chimed.
[SYSTEM ALERT: Squad's collective 'love meters' rising drastically at the possibility of working under the greatest spy of all times – Dildo Dawson a.k.a 'agent xXx_SpyGod69_xXx'. Team confidence in leadership at an all-time high!]
[BoinkBoink status: Calculating...]
"Okay," Ned said through a mouthful of what he hoped was pepperoni, "Hopefully, we are clear on who I am, despite the fact that it still doesn't explain why I was sent to train you lot. No offense."
"None taken," Zeta replied, deftly stealing a slice from Paige's plate. "But what if that's exactly the point? Who better to whip a bunch of washouts into shape than the best of the best?"
Ned felt pompous by the second, absently wiping tomato sauce from his chin.
"But why not just tell us? Why the whole charade?" Ursula asked.
"Deep cover," Raine suggested. "Maybe the agency has been compromised. Think about it, we can't blow his cover if we don't know he has one."
The pieces were starting to fit together in a way that made Ned feel like he might be selecting baby names sooner than he thought.
"So what do we do now?" Paige asked.
Ned leaned back, surveying his team. They'd come a long way from the bickering misfits he'd first met. Now they were... well, still bickering misfits, but with a side of badassery.
"We do what spies do best," he declared. "We investigate. We find out what's going on, who's pulling the strings, and what the hell was in those encrypted files we accidentally stole."
Atara grinned, a predatory gleam in her eye. "You mean we get to turn the tables on the agency? I'm in." She declared, pumping her fist with unintentional force that caused a boob-quake across her 'chesticles'.
The others nodded in agreement, a sense of purpose settling over the group. They were no longer just trainee spies – they were a team on a mission.
"Alright then," Ned said, raising a slice of pizza like a sword. "To Operation... uh... any suggestions?"
"How about 'Nudist Breach'?" Zeta offered.
Ned beamed. "Perfect! To Operation Nudist Breach! May our enemies tremble before our might!"
As they clinked their pizza slices together in a greasy toast, Ned was afflicted with indigestion.
[SYSTEM ALERT: Team morale at all-time high. Probability of success: Incalculable. Suggestion: Stock up on antacids.]
***