– A Horny Short Series –

Brock Shannon had actually done it.  The rat subject in the cage before him clearly showed modified behavior as a result of the receiver implant.  This was going to change everything–and not just for the future of next-gen surveillance, but for him personally.  

“What–can you tell it worked?” his assistant Cassandra leaned over the cage, a dark tendril of hair falling before her olive face.

“It absolutely worked,” Brock said, his voice shaking with excitement.  

“Explain what I’m looking at.”  Cassandra sounded almost bored as she peered into the cage.  “I see a rat cowering in the corner.”  She stood up and looked at him, pushing the stray lock of hair behind her ear and hugging a clipboard to her chest.  “Is this was we are acting like world conquerors about?  Because I can do that with a trap from the hardware store for a few bucks,” she said indicating the pitiful rodent with a jerk of her head.

Brock shook his head and looked at her amused.  “You know very well it’s more than just a scared mousy.  That subject in there is the first animal to receive signal via nanite transmitter.”

“Signal,” Cassandra repeated, leaning her head in as if proximity to Brock would help her to better absorb his words.  “That rat is picking up radio?”

Brock chuckled.  “Sort of.  It’s receiving both audio and visual stimuli that are being transmitted from a remote location.”

Cassandra narrowed her eyes and looked off to the side as she processed this.  “That rat is hearing and seeing something from…somewhere else?”

“Yes.”  

Cassandra studied Brock’s face.  He wasn’t joking.  She had interned for him for nearly a year now, mostly performing his most mundane tasks for him–like fetching coffee and dry cleaning.  But today she was a note-taker, and apparently it was a big day to document.  “What is it receiving?”

Brock looked at the rodent as it crouched in the corner of the cage, paralyzed.  “It’s receiving auditory and visual stimuli of an owl.”  

Cassandra registered shock on her face.  “That poor thing thinks its about to be eaten?” she gasped.  “Why?”

Brock shrugged.  “Because the fear response is the easiest one for us to observe.”

“That’s terrible!” she cried, looking at the rat in a whole new light.  “Where’s the owl?”

“In the next room,” he responded, nodding at the door to the lab.

“So you’ve put a camera and a microphone in front of an owl, put some microchip in this rat’s brain, and now it’s going to die of fright over something that isn’t actually there?” she accused, more than asked.

“Not just any camera and microphone,” Brock corrected, completely looking past Cassandra’s disgust.  “Nanite transmitters.”  

Cassandra glared, not knowing what to say.

“Cassie–don’t you get it?  I just created the world’s smallest surveillance device, and what’s more, and can be experienced, not just monitored!  It’s–it’s…the implications are HUGE!” he exclaimed, his arms flying out to show the size of his accomplishment.

Cassandra was unconvinced.  “Okay, then–show me how well it works.  Spare this poor little guy.  Shut off the feed to its rodent brain.”  

Brock nodded and smiled.  Striding to his work table, he tapped a series of keys on his laptop.  Within seconds, the rat began to move freely throughout the cage and sniff at it’s food, clearly no longer perturbed.  Cassandra’s eyebrows raised as she observed the rat.  She turned to look at Brock.

“Impressive,” she admitted.  “I think your methodology stinks, but if what you say is true then I guess I can understand why this is so big.  Maybe next time we can try it on something a little less defenseless?” she suggested none-too-subtly. 

“The next phase is already in the works,” he said, scrolling through charts on his laptop.  “I’ll be performing the next round of experiments on myself.”  He said this as casually as if he had mentioned that he had toast for breakfast that morning.

“What?” Cassandra was incredulous.  “Isn’t that incredibly dangerous?”  

Brock stuck out his lower lip and shrugged.  “It’s just a harmless implant.  It can be done macroscopically.”  

Cassandra cocked her head in thought.  “And how are you going to control this implant?  Are you going to carry a laptop with you everywhere you go for the rest of your life?”

Brock finally glanced up from his screen, the blue-white light reflecting off of his face and dancing in his eyes.  “Of course not.  I’ll be adding a switch.”

Cassandra wrinkled her nose.  “A button on the side of your head?”  

Brock put his head back and laughed.  “No.  A magnetic switch.  One side will be implanted under the skin.  The other will have to touch it to engage it.”

“So like a watch or a bracelet,” she said nodding thoughtfully.

“Something like that,” Brock replied.

---

What Brock had failed to disclose was that he had been preparing for phase two of his project for some time already.  Having known from the inception of this idea that he would subject himself to trials, he had immediately become bent on making it as pleasurable an experience as possible for himself.  An experimental procedure on oneself should be an enhancement, not an inconvenience, he firmly believed.  

Brock had a shoe fetish, and as a closeted homosexual, he relished the idea of being able to use a new sophisticated surveillance technology to suit his personal tastes.  The nanite transmitters being impossibly small, they were ideal tools for placing in the shoes of others discreetly and without ever being detected.  And so while the rat in the cage was sure that it was being faced down by a predator–Brock had planned to be convinced that he was in someone’s shoe–literally.  For weeks the prospect had driven him wild with anticipation.  Now the last of the pieces were coming together.

The implant itself had actually been the easy part.  A local anesthetic, a harness, and pre-programmed precision surgical robot at the lab had taken care of that.  The most time-consuming part was the switch.  As a matter of elegance, Brock had decided on placing the magnetic switch in his heel so that it could be activated by wearing a shoe that contained the other side to complete the circuit when worn.  Brock had selected the insole of his trusty boat shoe to contain the switch, but it would be easy enough to remove and place in any shoe with just a few stitches to hold it in place.  It was the connection between the implant in his brain and the switch in his heel that required diligence and patience, requiring weeks of nanite injections and careful programming and monitoring to ensure that a link was being constructed between the two.  Only the day before a rat recoiling in a cage had proclaimed his triumph, did Brock see that the transmission line between the switch and his implant had been completed.

And so when Brock had airily mentioned phase two to Cassandra in the lab that day, she had no idea just how “in the works” it actually was.

---

Brock’s hands shook has he removed the vial of nanites from the machine.  There were many ways to deliver nanites, but he had decided that a gel suspension would be the most effective for his purposes.  He held the small tube to his eyes and peered at the cloudy solution through the ceiling lights, his heart skipping a beat as he realized the destination of the microscopic machines within.  

Today he had a progress meeting upstairs.  Normally he loathed these.  Normally progress meetings were characterized by Brock sitting at one end of a table defending his work and Dekker Vanssen on the other, ruthlessly claiming it a misallocation of funds.  But today, these nanites were going to be squirted into that bastard’s shoes, because for as cocky as the guy was, he was also hot as hell–and that one might have something to do with the other had not escaped Brock.

Brock nervously fingered the vial in his pocket as he stepped off the elevator and strode down the wide corridor toward the double doors of the conference room.  He was accustomed to experiencing nervous energy as he approached those doors, but never like this, and never with such exhilaration.  Brock smiled as he pulled open the door and stepped in.  He was late, but that had worked to his advantage–Dekker was already seated with his back to the door, and Brock would have to walk by him in order to take his customary place opposite him.  Inside his jacket pocket, he used his thumb as a lever and popped the cap off the vial.  

As he stepped into the room, he could see that Dekker was wearing a handsome pair of suede loafers which were resting on the wheels of his swivel chair.  Brock could see the sheen of his pumpkin-colored socks as they extended up under the neat cuff of his trousers.  Like fish in a barrel, he thought to himself as he removed a pen from his other pocket.  As he passed behind Dekker, he feigned a clumsy attempt to tuck his pen in his breast pocket and missed, the pen falling to the floor.  As if it had been remote controlled, the pen rolled perfectly next to one of the wheels of Dekker’s chair, stopping just beneath a loafer.  Brock swiftly bent to pick it up, clutching the vial in his hand.

As he reached for the pen, he tipped the vial just to the neatly stitched rim of Dekker’s shoe and pushed the plunger.  The cloudy gel hit Dekker’s sock and rolled into the loafer out of sight.  Dekker shifted in his chair and looked over the arm down at Brock, who held his pen up, smiling.  “Got it,” he announced.  Dekker arched an eyebrow at him and then went back to his papers spread before him on the conference table.  

Brock stood up and brushed off his trousers before rounding the table to take his seat.  While disappointed that he had not had more time to enjoy the sight of the gel sinking into Dekker’s shoe, he also knew that the moment the gel had passed through the magnetic tip of the vial, the innumerable nanites within had been activated in their programing to start moving into position and and setting up transmitters.  Brock sat in the leather conference chair and pulled himself under the table, hiding that he was already getting hard thinking about the tiny robots that were–at this very moment–roaming around inside the shoe of the handsome jackass of a man sitting across from him.

“Nice of you to finally make it, Dr. Shannon,” the board representative at the head of the table said.  Dekker practically sneered.  And so another progress meeting began.  Brock distractedly read from his prepared notes, outlining the processes by which he had set up the experiment with the rat while Dekker looked on in unveiled boredom.  When he had reached his conclusion that the transmission had been successful  between nanites and the receiver implant in the rodent brain, Dekker finally interrupted.

“Am I to understand that we are basing this entire next phase on the conclusion that this rat was supposedly freaked out by an owl in the next room?” he said with knitted eyebrows.  “And that you want to propose a second phase involving human trials?  Do you have any idea how expensive that would be?”  

Brock opened his mouth to counter Dekker’s argument when the room was suddenly filled with a reverberating creak, almost as if the entire structure around the room was being put under undue stress.  Brock glanced wide-eyed between Dekker and the board member, who sat looking expectantly at him.  They were still waiting for him to speak, Brock finally realized.  Puzzled, he tried to collect his thoughts.  “I believe that a small, informal phase two could simply involve—“ again, Brock was cut off by an unnerving noise filling the room.  It was another creak, this time a slower groan with a series of intermittent cracks, followed by a brief sound that vaguely resembled wind or rushing water.

“Dr. Shannon?” The board member was eyeing him with concern.  Brock could barely hear her over the windy sound, and it was obvious that what he was hearing was not being heard by either of the other two sitting at the table.  And that’s when it hit him:  he was hearing the amplified sounds of the inside of Dekker’s shoe.  Of course it would make sense that he would receive auditory transmission first as they were simpler data streams to collect and broadcast.  A slow smile spread across his face as he realized that the room wasn’t collapsing, but rather that his brain was telling him that his ears were filled with the sounds of Dekker’s leather loafer crunching, and the sound of his sole sliding across the low-pile carpet as he shifted his foot.  “Dr. Shannon?” came the board member’s voice again, more insistent this time.  

“Sorry,” Brock said, snapping himself back.  He lifted his heel in his boat shoe to break the connection from the transmission, and he felt the background sounds instantly clear.  “As I was saying before I lost my train of thought, I believe that I could initial trials using myself as a subject, with extremely little cost to the company.”  Dekker was astonished at the notion.  He flipped through the pages of his folder.

“If that’s the case, there would be several documents you would need to review…” as he droned on, Brock put his heel back against the insole, and once again, the room was filled with the sounds of crunching leather.  Dekker’s voice was drowned out by an odd pulsing squeal, which a furtive glance under the table revealed to Brock to be his foot bouncing up and down as he jiggled a leg nervously.  “Would you be willing to agree to that?” he was asking Brock, eyebrows raised.  On autopilot, Brock found himself nodding.  Dekker turned to the board member and began speaking as Brock’s ears were filled with the sounds of a silky sock rubbing against the inside of damp leather.  It was almost like a squawk, but it was the only thing that Brock could imagine would possibly make that sound from within a loafer.  He wished the visuals would come online, but even so—he was hard as a rock.  

“If everything is finalized here, I’d like to return to my lab,” he said briskly standing and buttoning his jacket over his bulging pants.  A loud crackle in the room corresponded with Dekker’s leaning back in his chair.  He glanced at the board member and lifted his pen-clutching hand off the table in a gesture of ‘I’m done if you are,’ and she nodded her consent. Brock swept from the room, head down, and shot one last glance at Dekker’s loafers as he passed.  As Dekker leaned back over his papers, his rusty socked heel slipped out of the back of one shoe, and Brock could hear every thread of that sock as it brushed against and cleared the rim of the shoe as though in high definition.

Brock’s entire body hummed with an electric arousal and he headed for the elevator.  He had just pushed the button for his lab level when Dekker hurried toward him from the conference room, shoving his hand in the path of the stainless doors to stop the elevator from departing.  To Brock, the entire confined space resonated with the rhythmic creak and bend of Dekker’s shoe as he stepped aboard.  He dropped his notebook strategically in front of him as an extra precaution against any visual confirmation of his pleasure.

“What the hell was going on with you back there?” Dekker demanded as the doors slid shut.  Brock was about to lift his heel inside his shoe to cut the audio feed so that he could actually respond intelligently, but just then a faint image started to superimpose over Dekker’s annoyed (but sexy) face.  It was almost like the beginning of a video cross-fade.  

“Uh, sorry about that,” Brock murmured, trying not to stare in utter fascination at images that Dekker couldn’t see.  The image of the inside of Dekker’s loafer was being projected as from Brock himself, painting itself in high detail on every surface of the elevator.  The wood panels, the stainless handrail, the buttons, and Dekker himself were all still there.  But so was the the tremendous hill of a giant foot before him, sheathed in neat, shimmering rows of knitted silk threads.  The paneled ceiling of the elevator could be seen outlined against the high arched ceiling of a leather cavern smoothly sloping into walls behind him.  This was more incredible than he could have hope for.  Now with the video projecting in his mind, the auditory transmissions not only had context, but synced perfectly like a next-gen IMAX experience.  As Dekker stared in his face, apparently awaiting further elaboration of his sudden absent-mindedness, he leaned slightly on one foot, and the entire cavern twisted and contorted around him.  Great wrinkles appeared in the smooth walls with a satisfying crunch, and Dekker’s huge toes curled slightly and slid in the large, darkened indentations they had worn into the insole.  The rubbing sound of the sock against the floor of the shoe was phenomenal.  

Brock briefly lifted his own heel, and the sounds and images of Dekker’s shoe immediately evaporated.  He looked Dekker squarely in the eye.  “Look, Dekker.  I know we haven’t always seen eye-to-eye, but I’m on the brink of a phenomenal development here.  I mean really mind-blowing.  If you can give me just a little flexibility, and a scintilla of faith, I think you will agree that my contribution to this company is about to become…well, life-altering.”  Dekker stepped back, skeptical, but silent.  “So I apologize if I seem a little distracted.  I just want to see this through is all.”  Dekker seemed satisfied with this answer and gladly stepped off the elevator as it reached his floor.  Brock mashed his heel against the bottom of his shoe, and enjoyed nestling himself along Dekker’s instep as he strode down the hall toward his office.  By the time Brock had reached his basement sub-level lab, the connection to Dekker’s shoe had been lost, but so had Brock’s self-control.  He quickly closed himself into the bathroom off of his office to wipe the cum out of his underwear as best he could with wads of toilet paper.