– A Horny Short Series –

For a first attempt, Brock’s trial had been a complete success.  But there were so many things that he knew that could be improved upon.  For one thing, the lag between initial deployment of the nanites, the receipt of auditory feedback, and then transmission of video signal had been disappointing.  What’s more, Brock had only been afforded a view of the front half of Dekker’s shoe.  All of these issues could be solved with one simple adjustment–a larger dose of nanites.  However, more nanites would also mean more gel to suspend them in, and that might not prove the most compatible to the personal twist that he had put on this test.  Surely a subject would be alerted if a teaspoon of cold gel was injected into their shoe.  

Brock spend the next few days testing different types of gel suspensions and discovered a combination with a high evaporation rate.  Once out of the vial, the gel would quickly dry, not only making it undetectable to any test subjects, but also freeing the nanites to mobility all the faster and–therefore–more quickly running their program objectives.  All he needed now was an unsuspecting test subject—one where he would be within range long enough to enjoy—that is, to OBSERVE—the transmissions, as long distance was not yet an option.  He decided that Blue Pine Steakhouse would furnish the perfect test subject.

Blue Pine was just down the street from the lab, making the act of carrying a fresh vial of nanite suspension a breeze.  What’s more, it employed the exact kind of subject he wanted—muscular jock-type college-aged guys.  “I’ll be back!” Brock called into Cassandra’s workspace as he dropped a vial in his coat pocket.  He was already quivering with excitement.  Cassandra’s head popped in from the next room.

“Where are you off to?” she queried.  

“Lunch meeting with a colleague.  Don’t worry, I won’t be that long.”  Actually, he was hoping he would be incredibly long.  He could feel his cock do a little dance as the vial of nanites bumped against his thigh.  As Brock stepped from the building lobby and into the sunshine, preparing for the short block-and-a-half walk to Blue Pine, he had the briefest moment of hearing wool on leather, and a flash of argyle before his face.  He turned around and glanced up at the eleventh floor.  There was no way that Dekker’s shoe was within range from all the way up there—assuming he was even wearing the same shoe as the ones injected with nanites.  Perhaps Dekker was somewhere lower in the building on business.  He shrugged and continued to the restaurant.

---

Brock sat in a booth by the window, not comprehending the menu before him.  He clutched the vial by his side, his clammy knuckles resting on the the vinyl bench cushion.  Any moment he would meet his server. He glanced out the window, watching all of the passersby, each scurrying to a destination of importance to no one else around them.  Each communicating nothing.  Each with a potential to someday be tagged by nanites.

“Hey, there!  I’m Erin.  I’ll be your server today,” came a perky voice.  Brock slowly turned in disappointment to be face to face with its owner—a tall, thin, leggy young woman with long flowing blonde hair and a bosom to match her voice.  Blue Pine stretched distorted across her chest in a shirt that was clearly too small.  “What can I start you off with today?”  She smiled expectantly.

“Hi, Erin—nice to meet you,” Brock mustered.  He glanced over his shoulder at handsome server on the opposite side of the restaurant setting drinks at  another booth.  He was slender but muscular, his arms bulging under his t-shirt, with skinny jeans that bunched over an untied pair of Red Wing moc toe work boots.  His short fair hair gleamed in the overhead lighting, almost white.  He was perfect.  And the booth right next to where he was standing was vacant.  “I’m so sorry to ask this of you,” Brock said to the waitress, who suddenly leaned in with a look of genuine concern on her face, “but I sometimes react…unpredictably to different foods.  I wonder if I might have another table.  One close to the restroom?  Just in case?”  He smiled meekly at her.

“Oh, God, I’m so sorry,” she gushed sympathetically.  “Of course!  Let me see what I can do.”  

In a few minutes, Brock was happily ensconced in his new location, and Jay dutifully arrived to take his drink order.  As Brock waited on pins and needles for his cola and lemon to appear, he devised a plan for the nanite delivery.  There would be no pen-dropping this time.  Fortunately, Jay’s loose boots and wide-splayed collars made his target a pretty big one.  When Jay finally approached, setting the cola before him, Brock went in for the kill.

“Could I borrow your young eyes?” he asked sheepishly.  “I can’t read the little nutritional ditty right there under the Alamo Appetizer Platter.”  Brock pointed to the tiniest print he could find on the oversized menu.  Jay played his part beautifully.  He bent forward to examine the laminated page, his hair so close that Brock could smell the product in it that made it gleam like that.  As he did, Brock lowered his right hand along his thigh and carefully positioned the vial, pressing the plunger just as Jay shifted his left foot.

“I think it says 1200 calories,” Jay said, straightening up.  He grinned, which was incredibly hot.  “That’s a lot of calories, huh?”  

Brock tried to watch the wet spot out of the corner of his eye.  The gel had just hit the rim of the boot and run own the inside of the collar, which was actually perfect.  Had Jay not suddenly shifted, the gel may have absorbed more into his jeans, which was not what he wanted.  Already the he could see the shiny residue disappearing from the leather stitched top of the rim as the gel suspension rapidly evaporated.  He nodded and returned a smile to Jay.  “That is a colossal amount of calories for a lunch.  But I intend to use them all up today.  I’ll take one, please,” he declared, passing the menu off to Jay.  Jay nodded subserviently and backed away as he tucked the folded menu into his apron.  Damn—he was a fine looking young man, Brock mused.

Jay was barely across the restaurant floor before Brock began to hear the crunching of leather fill the dining room.  He smiled and looked at his watch.  The initial audio transmission had been made in roughly a quarter of the time it had on Dekker, using twice the nanites.  If his quick mental calculations were current, that would mean he would begin to receive visual feedback within the next minute.  Brock shifted his boat shoe on the floor beneath the booth.  He wanted to be sure that he was making sufficient contact with the switch in his heel.  He wanted to see what kind of socks Jay was wearing in those huge boots of his.

By the time Jay had disappeared into the kitchen and door had stopped swinging, Brock had his answer.  The dining room started to transform around him as walls hung with framed posters melted into tall curving expanses of coppery grained leather, the texture so enlarged that it was like deep shag carpeting.  The tables and diners in the center of the room were displaced by a mountainous foot swathed in black cotton, a thread of green trim like coiled garden hose arcing at the toes.  The sock slid against the tall sides of the boot as Jay moved through the kitchen, circular pools of harsh fluorescent lighting shining through the eyelets like portholes on a ship.  Brock gasped at the sight, wanting to reach out and stroke the immense cotton threads that snaked past him in orderly cornrows, but he knew that there was actually nothing there to touch.  

Beneath the crunch of the leather and the rubbing of the cotton, however, came Jay’s voice in a muffled bass as it vibrated through his very body.  “She’s out back now?” it came.  Another voice responded, but through the leather walls and cascades of denim Brock could see above him, it was too dampened for him to discern the words.  “Can you cover for me?” came Jay’s thunderous voice again.  Damn, these little nanites were something else.

Brock raised his heel slightly in his shoe and—like a monitor winking out—the inside of Jay’s boot and his voice vanished.  His cock was throbbing, but so were his temples.  He was massaging them when Erin the waitress returned with a basket of hot buttered rolls and a winning smile.  “Hi again,” she chirped.  “Jay had to step out for a few minutes, so looks like I’ll be taking care of you after all!”  Brock managed a smile before she turned and left.  He broke a roll open with his thumbs and jammed a wad into his mouth. As he savored the flavor, he lowered his heel and checked in on his friend.

It was the most glorious thing, to be dining inside Jay’s boot, his undulating toes like huge veiled beasts breathing beside him.  He smiled and chewed, listening to Jay’s voice droning under the sounds of his boot, which creaked like a frigate on stormy seas.  “What are you doing here?” it said.  More unintelligible speaking, but definitely a female voice.  The movement in the boot all but stopped, the leather and sock sounds all but ceasing.  Jay voice was clearer in the stillness.  “I only have a few minutes.”  This time, the muffled female voice was clear enough to hear through the layers of fabric and leather.

“I only need a few minutes,” it said.  

Just then, Brock’s head was suddenly filled with the squeal of the flexing boot, and the foot before him because to rock against the sides of the grainy leather walls, the toes jumping off the smooth leather floor like horses chomping at the bit.  What was happening?  Over the cacophony, Brock heard an unmistakeable moan vibrate through Jay’s legs, the smack of lips like a crack of distant thunder high overhead.  “Oh my god,” Brock breathed in his restaurant both.  He was inside this hot kid’s boot while he was making out!  Brock felt his cock pushing hard against the stiff fabric of his jeans, and he laid his coat across his lap.  Mingling with the image of the quaking foot before him were other patrons at tables, placidly cutting steak or talking while gesticulating with fries, completely unaware of the highly erotic scenery that surrounded them.  

Brock lifted his heel and broke the connection again, instantly rejoining the real world, mundane in comparison.  He was practically panting at his booth.  Erin eyed him suspiciously as she set an oblong plate of fried foods before him.  “You okay, there?  You don’t look so good.”

Brock offered her a watery smile.  “This is why I requested a seat by the restroom.  Is it just through that door?”  

Erin nodded vigorously, and Brock grabbed his coat, letting it hang before him as he stepped out of the booth.  Of course, the moment his foot touched the floor, Jay’s boot enveloped him again.  Brock had to practically grope for the door, reaching through the thick cotton weave of Jay’s sock for the handle.  By the time he slammed and locked the door behind him, the entire room was dancing around him.  A sound akin to the trumpet of a truck jake braking told Brock that Jay’s fly had just been ripped down.  From the forward bend at the ankle, huge folds of his sock arching across the top of Jay’s foot, Brock could only image that Jay had assumed a certain position.  

The tiny restroom melted away except for the commode Brock perched on as his concentration on the transmission brought him fully inside the boot.  The walls rippled and bent in loud groans, and Brock watched Jay’s socked foot rise an fall from the insole floor, the sound of small rushes of air displaced each time his heel came down again.  From high above, Jay’s voice came in a series of groans.  Every once in a while, shafts of light filtered into where Brock sat as the hem of Jay’s jeans parted from the rim of his boot.  The fresh, bluish light made Brock think that Jay was perhaps outside somewhere—the back alley, perhaps?  Risky to perform the deed in so public a place.  This sent even more of a thrill through Brock.  As the entire boot began to rock in rhythmic pulse, he found himself matching the beat, having undone his own pants.  Brock began to notice darkened blotches of moisture appear around the outside edges of Jay’s sock as it the top of the foot repeatedly slammed against the ceiling of the boot cave, the circles of light through the eyelets appearing and disappearing with the fluctuating movements of his body.  

As the creaking and the rocking and the moaning of Jay’s voice reached a crescendo, Brock felt himself topple over the cliff in perfect sync with his host.  He collapsed against the back of the toilet, and when he finally used the toe of one foot to brace the back of his heel enough to break contact with the heel switch, returning him to the comparatively dismal restaurant bathroom, he discovered shining ropes of semen had actually reached the stall door before him.  Chuckling to himself, he dug his finger into his shoe and fished out the microchip switch, which he dropped into his pocket with the empty vial.  He was going to need to clean himself and eat something—and he was going to need to concentrate in order to behave normally once he returned to the dining room.

As Brock finished his lunch and dabbed the last of the grease from his lips with his napkin, Jay plunked the bill before him.  “No rush,” he said.  “Take your time and just let me know when you’re finished.”  Brock couldn’t help but smile as he fished his wallet from his back pocket and slid a credit card into the pouch.  As he pushed the payment across the table to Jay, he couldn’t help but appreciatively gaze at his server one more time, knowing that he had just shared an intimate moment with him and that Jay was utterly clueless.  Even if he told him what he had done, he would never believe him.  

Brock gave Jay a knowing look.  “I actually finished a while ago, thanks.”