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Alby Madden stalked through the cubicles of Madden & Maddox Testing Services, listening in on the sales reps, his floppy ears perking up in various directions. “When can we arrange a meeting with your school board?” “That’s right, we include remediation and test prep materials” “We’ve got a free inservice workshop tutorial package so that all of your teachers can use the specialized curriculum with ease.” “Oh no ma’am, we’re not like those other education companies. It’s about Students, not Scantrons.” Madden & Maddox Testing Service was a growing and competitive company that marketed standardized testing materials, as well as curriculum, remediation, and tutorial services to various school boards across the country. They hadn’t over taken any of the big four- Harcourt, MCGraw-Hill, Riverside, or Pearson- but they were getting there. It was all about that hustle. “So dinner tonight? Seven? Yeah. Sounds great. Can’t wait.” Alby’s ears pricked up. That wasn’t company talk. The doberman padded over to the sound of the disturbance. “Hey, Christine,” he popped his head in. “Working hard, or hardly working?” The manx cat stiffened at the sound of Alby’s voice. “Oh, hey, Alby! What’s up?” “Nothing much,” Alby said. “Just doing my rounds, you know how it is.” Christine stared straight at Alby, not daring to so much as blink. “Yeah. Heh. I do.” Alby narrowed his eyes, and resisted the urge to growl. “Cool cool. Just checking.” “I was just about to start another call…” “Awesome.” Christine didn’t turn her head until Alby snorted and trotted off back to his office, his well trimmed claws not so much as brushing against the thin functional office matte. He sped up with a jaunty spring in his step when the manx actually started doing her job. In the pecking order, Alby technically wasn’t very high. He was the building’s office manager- a word which here means ‘glorified secretary’- but he was very good at his job. The way he explained it to people, he was kind of like the head of the office’s pit crew. He managed janitorial services, put in work and supply orders for materials, putting together and creating reports, and giving orientation to new administrators. Alby. Kept. Shit. Running. Pissing the twenty-five year old off, was a good way to end up at the top of his shit list and at the bottom of whatever list you needed to be on to get a problem solved. It didn’t hurt that his dad was the co-owner and boss of the company. A little nepotism never hurt anybody; or it didn’t hurt Alby at least. Alby went to his office in the back and made a note about Christine. He’d see if he could tell custodial services to skip her space. Let the clutter build. Or maybe he’d just tell his dad that an employee was making personal calls on company time. Not the specific employee, but a vaguely worded email from on-high could do wonders for group productivity. Chances are Christine wasn’t the only one breaking policy; and it’d make everyone sweat. Then as soon as sales boosted back up, Alby could order a couple of pizzas or a party sub and all would be right with their tiny little world. The idea was enough to make Alby wag his tail slightly, but he stopped, after one or two. Gingerly, as if scratching an itch, he patted the back of his pants, carefully feeling for any hint of satin or lace peeking out of the waistband or through the tail hole. For all his quiet bravado and perceived power, Alby had a secret, an addiction almost, that he just couldn’t shake. It was stupid on multiple levels. On the emotional level, who would care that Alby liked to wear women’s underwear to work? Or that he wore even more feminine clothes in his spare time? Objectively speaking, they were just clothes. Officially speaking, Madden & Maddox gave zero shits about what a person wore or did outside the office as long as it didn’t get them arrested, and didn’t care much about what they wore inside the office as long as it wouldn’t affect their bottom line. It was only panties, for gosh sakes! Dad would care, though. Albert Madden, Sr., wasn’t some kind of raging homophobe; that would have required a sign of emotion. The man was positively stoic about most things. That was so unnerving to Alby, though. If he knew…he would know…and he’d know…and they’d never talk about it…but he’d know… At most, he could see himself getting a formal debriefing (an ironic choice of words considering) about what was and wasn’t appropriate company dress, and a warning. He’d be told he wasn’t technically breaking any office rules, and it was only underwear, but it might be for the best if he avoided such indiscretions in the future as wearing something a lady would wear on a hot date. Same as any other employee, and somehow that made it worse. Then there was the fact that any authority or leverage he had over anyone would evaporate the second his choice. Alby did his best to present a front of formal business sheik and above all masculine. He was a young professional; the boss’s son. The next boss when the old man retired in ten years or so. He’d been made Office Manager so he could learn the inner workings of the company, and thus did everything he could to project a kind of relaxed strength. But who would follow his lead if they were constantly snickering behind his back? No one. Alby’s choice of undergarments was stupid for more strategic reasons, also. One could only be caught if they were doing something risky to begin with. The funny thing about twenty-five is that it’s a special age where taking risks is half the fun and you’re the main character of your own story. The secret thrill of wearing satin and lacy panties around the office while subtly bullying and bossing around people ten and twenty years his senior gave Alby an adrenaline rush. ************************************************************************************************ Max Connors sipped his tea and watched Alby pad away back to his office. The company’s top sales representative shook his head at Alby. “Hmmmph…” The Eurasian wolf’s senses were just as keen, keener even than the boss’s son’s. He waited until the little doberman was in his office busying himself with paperwork. “Brat.” Max sort of wished Alby were just a ‘brat’, but no such luck. The boy was cute, handsome even, but he knew it, too. The cute ones were always dangerous when they knew it. He was the heir apparent to the company, despite having zero previous job experience. Yay nepotism. Alby was the kind of cocky sonofabitch (literally in this case) that Max knew he was when he was in his twenties. Most people were like that at that age: Knowing they’re not kids and knowing they’re adults, while still failing to realize just how much shit they’d yet to experience yet. Max smiled to himself, thinking of what an idiot he’d been back then. He really had been still a kid. Granted, Max was only thirty-six, and assumed his forty and fifty year old colleagues probably thought the same thing about him, and he knew that when he was their age, he’d look back and realize they were correct; but even knowing that he possessed that kind of bias was leaps and bounds from where he was at Alby’s age. Something about Alby itched at Max, however. Something that made Max not want to give the basic courtesy and patience afforded to youth. Alby wasn’t a brat; not in the way Max liked them. Brats literally begged to be put in their place; they towed and crossed lines wanting to be punished and shown where the line was. It was part of the game, part of the fun. Part of the challenge. Alby just liked getting his way. And because he could so often, the doberman had become something of a bully. Case in point: Christine. The burly wolf stood up, stepping to the side in the aisle and then waiting patiently next to the manx’s cubicle. He waited respectfully for his co-worker to finish her call. Christine caught Max out of the corner of her eye and jerked her head around, loosening up when she saw it was only Max. “Oh,” Christine slowly blinked. “Sorry Max. I thought you were somebody else.” Max cut straight to the chase. “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “Alby’s not gonna do anything. He’ll probably just say something super vague to his dad and then we’ll get a company wide email about not making personal calls on company time.” Christine started shaking. Bits of hair started to fall in loose strands to the floor. Poor lady was so nervous she was shedding. “It’s my wedding anniversary. I was just finishing up dinner reservations and…and…” Max put a big strong paw on the cat’s shoulder. “Hey. Take it easy. That doberman’s literally all bark.” Christine looked down at her lap and around the chair. “Oh crud,” she brushed her skirt off and wheeled away from the strands of hair. “What if he makes it so that nobody vacuums here tonight? What if the hair piles up? How will that look? What’ll that do to me?” The wolf leaned forward so he could look the cat in the eye. “Don’t. Worry,” he said softly. “That’s not gonna happen. If he sabotages you too badly, that’s gonna look bad on him, not you. Nobody’s gonna get fired. Nobody’s gonna lose that bonus. You’re gonna be fine.” Christine certainly didn’t purr, but the ends of her hair stopped sticking out as much. “Okay. Yeah. You’re right. You’re right.” He breathed deeply. “You’re right. It’s just…it’s just…ooof, I messed up.” “No you didn’t,” Max assured her. “You taking ten minutes prepping for tonight so you can focus the rest of the day isn’t going to mess with the company’s bottom line. Do you have any idea how much minesweeper I play in a given day? It’s crazy.” “Yeah?” Christine asked, a hint of hope bubbling up to the surface. “Yeah.” Max assured her. Hearing it come from the top seller seemed to relax Christine. “You do what you gotta do to keep yourself sane in this place, that way you’re giving your best energy when you’re dodging and weaving through some district’s red tape so you can talk to a Superintendent. You’re not a robot, and that’s part of our selling point.” One of Madden and Maddox’s biggest selling points was ‘Students before Scantrons’. It was mostly advertising, but it was advertising that worked “Okay,” Christine sniffed. “Yeah. Thanks, Max. I got this.” Max stood back up. “I know you do, hon. You got this.” This wasn’t the first fire that Max had put out. Nor would it be the last. Alby had no idea how much weight he carried around the office. Or he did, and didn’t care. It made Max feel old thinking this to himself, but Alby was comparatively a pup who’d never actually worked a day in his life. Max wouldn’t have traded places for the world with Alby, though. As a sales rep (and a fantastic one at that) Max got a hefty commission for every contract he reeled in and a good pay for every seminar he ran re-educating teachers on how to use the company’s. When he wasn’t in the office he was on the road. Speaking of which, he was due to get on a plane and seal a few deals and run a few seminars all the way up until the holidays. Double dipping and burning the candles at both ends as it were. That meant that he’d have to spend the majority of tonight packing his suitcase as well as packing things away for the New Year’s Eve party at the end of the month. Max had drawn the short straw and Alby had all but volunteered him to host it. Max had a big farmhouse he’d inherited on an acre of land just outside of town. Lord knew he had the room to host. He’d hosted more than a few non-office parties there, and the weather was getting good and crisp so building up the fire pit would make for good times. Nothing like drinking and roasting marshmallows to pass the time. The big brick privacy wall running around Max’s property was also attractive since it allowed coworkers to make an ass out of themselves without getting arrested. Once again, Max had made use of that wall more than once. Alby assured Max that the company would foot the bill for most of it. They’d pay for booze, pizza, and catering. All Max would have to do is provide the space. Connors hated to admit it, but the boss’s kid was good at his job. Already had everything picked out months ago besides the space. Just wish he hadn’t been so gosh darn smug about it, like he was doing Max the favor instead of the other way around. Rank had its privileges it seemed… In another world, Max would have loved to break Alby of such attitudes. Alas, it was not to be. Someone as potentially toxic as Alby would just love to find out why Max had the big privacy wall surrounding his acre of land. That little mutt would just love to yap his head off and laugh if he discovered the kind of stuff Max kept in a certain room in his house. No one with any goddamn sense would care, but it’d be annoying. The wolf made a mental note to sweep his house one last time before going to sleep tonight; make sure everything was put away where it was supposed to be. When one lived a private life, one tended to take for granted certain things and normalize them; forgetting what new visitors might think. Max had his own secrets. He kept them not out of fear, but simply because what he did in his private time wasn’t anyone’s business. He’d take extra care to make sure it stayed that way. The image of Alby finding Max’s private playroom and then running his mouth about it caused Max to involuntarily snarl to himself, but he disguised it as having an itch. “Bullies…” Max muttered to himself. ***************************************************************************************************** “Should aaaaaaall acquaintance beeeeeeee forgot, and ne’er brought to miiiiind!” Alby paused. What was the next lyric? He couldn’t remember. So he just sang the first lyric again, but modified the melody so it sounded more like the second part “Should old acquaintance beee forgot, and ne’er brought to mind!” That got a polite chuckle from the gathered coworkers around the roaring fire before everybody went back to what they were doing anyways. Even in his inebriated state, Alby could tell the joke was roaring thin. It had gotten hearty laughter the first time. Now on the third time, people were just humoring him. Alby knocked back the cheap whiskey and coke and then hungrily crunched on the ice. “I’m out,” he said to no one in particular. “Gonna go get some schmore.” He giggled at his own accidental joke. There were people holding up long metal rods up to the fire to toast marshmallows right this very second. He thought about repeating himself, but the tiny part of his brain that wasn’t hammered thought better of it. Alby had no idea just how sloshed he was. He’d been the first to start drinking, and in his mind, he’d be the last, even if the world was kind of wobbly and it was only ten thirty at night. The air was cold and the people outside the house could see their breath, but it still wasn’t chilly or wet enough for it to snow. Good ugly sweater and heavy jeans weather. There was a large contingent of people gathered around the massive bonfire, roasting marshmallows and hotdogs. Others were just drinking and roasting themselves. Midway out were the smokers and grills Alby had rented and the heaps and heaps of barbecue and burgers still being produced. Easily the biggest expense of the party, but also the most delicious. There had been a steady line of people coming and going buffet style with plates making garlic bread sandwiches. Even further out and in the opposite direction of the bonfire, games of glow in the dark capture the flag had broken out among the younger employees and the older ones’ kids. Meanwhile, the older folks stayed huddled inside the farm house, chatting about whatever boring people talked about. Alby joined none of them and simply flitted about, saying hellos, and being a perfect social butterfly. He was always working after a fashion and had checked in with catering and various guests to make sure they were having a good time. It was Connors’s house, but it was still Alby’s responsibility. That’s why he’d been drinking so much. Work hard, play harder. Dry grass crunched under Alby’s feet while he stumbled around to the front door of Max’s farm house. Without realizing it, the office manager kept stretching out his sweater. He kept tugging downward out of it, paranoid that if he bent over the wrong way or his sweater bunch up, somebody might see a hint of red satin peeking out above his beltline. “Shouldn’t have worn….” he mumbled under his breath. “Or should’ve worn a jacket” Either would’ve been fine. Alby swayed through the propped open front door and felt himself jump when he came face to face with this creepy little right above the fireplace. The twenty-five year old backed slowly away and bumped into Patricia the cheetah from customer service. “Sorry!” He yelped. “Sorry!” He didn’t take his eyes off of the doll until he was a good ten feet away. Damn things were creepy as fuck. Never blinking, always looking like they were looking right at you. What the fuck was Connors’s deal? Just because he lived in his dead grandma’s house or whatever didn’t mean he couldn’t have changed up the decorating a little bit. Shame, too. Guy was kind of hot. Alby stumbled and fumbled past the crowd towards the kitchen where bottle after bottle after bottle of booze had been set up. Now it was the Office Manager’s term to knock him down. A firm and steady paw landed on the doberman’s shoulder, its weight causing the world to. “Careful there, Alby.” A deep, masculine voice said. There was a hint of warning in the voice; something stern, yet gentle. Also a little bit caring; almost paternal. Alby was very familiar with that voice and tone. “Hm? Da-?!” Alby cut himself off and felt his face flush. That wasn’t his father! That was Connors! He certainly looked more impressive than Albert Sr. did in a suit. Alby felt a flush of resentment that the sales rep was so much better dressed than everyone else. Like he was the host or something! “Huh? Oh. Sorry, man. Great party. Jush…needed to get out away from the fire, y’know?” “Maybe you should have a quick sit down,” Connors suggested. “Maybe get some water. That fire looks like it really dehydrated ya.” Both men knew that they weren’t strictly talking about fire. “Yeah,” Alby lied. “That’s why I was headed to the kitchen. Get some water. Get lotsa water. Get hydrated.” The wolf looked down at Alby suspiciously. Alby wasn’t the biggest breed or the biggest dog, but he hated feeling so much smaller. “Alright. Go take care of yourself, bud. Your dad is set to make a speech in about an hour. I’m sure he wants you there.” “Mhm,” Alby rolled his eyes. Dad wouldn’t notice shit. He never noticed shit with his end of the year toasts. As long as there was a vaguely brindle paw holding a champagne glass up towards Albert Sr’s general direction, that would be good enough. “Hey Max, can we get another log in the fireplace?” someone called. Connors turned his head and that was enough for Alby to slink away to the kitchen. Alby filed the condescension away for later. When he was sober enough, he’d find a way to give Connors a little bit of extra responsibility in the New Year. Alby proceeded to follow Connors’s advice…sort of. He started drinking water, yes. But he was trading off cups of water and shots of clear liquor. His confidence and sweater got a break, with him propping himself up against the kitchen sink, thus obscuring his backside and keeping him steady. With everyone else milling around and Alby steadily pacing himself between water and shots, no one had any idea just how completely trashed the doberman was; not even himself. It was eleven fifty-five when everything finally became too much for the pup of a man. His bladder shouted out at him, screaming in sudden protest. He had to pee like one of those Sea Biscuit motherfuckers from accounting. It all came out of nowhere too. One minute he was fine, and the next he was doing a little jig right by the sink. If this had been a different kind of party, he’d have been tempted to use the facilities right then and there because of how urgent the need had suddenly become. “Excuse me. Pardon me. Excuse me.” He bobbed and weaved, expertly, no matter how the room was spinning. “Scuse me!” The line at the bathroom by the bottom of the stairs was already two to three people back. Frick! Time for the upstairs. With dainty precision, Alby whisked himself up to the second floor of the creepy old farmhouse. This wasn’t a frat party, surely nobody would be up there. “Bathroom, bathroom, bathroom,” Alby hissed. “Place this big has gotta have an extra bathroom.” He jogged down the upstairs hallway, holding himself, looking for a place to pee. He looked to his right, “Office,” he said to himself and kept moving. He looked to the left. “Guest room no pisser.” Keep moving! “Some kind of storage room.” Where the hell was the other bathroom? The master bedroom! That’d have a toilet most likely! Should have just gone outside and pissed up against a wall or something. But then he remembered his underwear. He needed privacy to get everything out of the way! This made him even more frantic. Alby’s paw found a closed door with no light coming on from inside and felt hope. It was only vaguely diminished when he jiggled the handle and found it locked. Aha! Locked door! Lights off! Master bedroom! The spare toilet had to be in here! Downstairs he heard a chant build up. “TEN! NINE! EIGHT!...” This had two immediate effects on Alby. It both emboldened him to act rashly and also made his urgency greater. The volume and the chanting coming from downstairs and outside would surely cover any noise he’d make breaking open a door. The countdown was also triggering something in him subconsciously; making his need to void his bladder greater with every passing second. “SEVEN! SIX! FIVE!...” Alby rattled the door handle. First with one hand, twisting and turning the knob. Then with both hands. When it wouldn’t budge, he switched back to one hand, using his spare hand to pinch himself off. He wasn’t gonna make it! “FOUR THREE! TWO!...” Alby rammed his shoulder up against the door so hard that both the frame and his innards rattled slightly. A bit of urine leaked out into his nice red panties. Oh god! They’d be ruined! He’d be ruined! He rammed it even harder, hearing the wood crack while reaching for his belt buckle. “ONE!” The door gave way and flung open, with an incredibly drunk Alby tripping over his own feet right behind it. Momentum carried him forward even as the door smacked against something hard and sturdy on the inside and lazily rebounded closed behind him. “AAAAAAH!” Alby screamed, his pants coming loose and falling down to his knees while his eyes tried and failed to take in the dark room around him. His head collided with something terribly hard. His head struck the object- a shelf or chest of drawers of some sort- with such battering ram force that its contents clattered off its various levels around and on top of him. Things that in the darkness looked like little pillows or thick sheets of paper fluttered all around him and several plastic containers landed on the back of his head. It didn’t hurt, not really, the real damage had been done by the shelf itself. “HAPPY NEW YEAR!” If he wasn’t seeing double now from the alcohol, the oncoming concussion was certainly helping things along. A sense of quiet euphoria came over Alby Madden, his pants down past his waist, and surrounded by tiny, smooth plastic backed pillows. He no longer had to go to the bathroom anymore, and the most pleasant warmth was enveloping his loins, causing his member to grow hard even as it spouted more and more of the warm liquid. If his last modicum of sobriety hadn’t been knocked out of him, Alby would know that he was pissing himself. But he didn’t care so much about that. Instead, Alby smiled to himself and closed his eyes. He inhaled deeply, noticing the fragrant smell of lavender coming from all around him masking the ammonia that he was outputting. “Should allll acquaintance beeeeee forgot…” he mumbled with the crowd downstairs, just a second too late. But then he forgot the rest of the words and fell asleep. The funny part was, that if Alby had just bothered to follow the bend around the hallway, he would have found the spare guest bathroom and the master bedroom and bath that he’d been so desperately searching for. ***************************************************************************************************** It was a good party, all things considered, Max thought. Stuffy of course, but office parties were always a little stuffy. Parties were formed based around commonalities and when the chief commonality was work, things were going to get a bit stilted and stuffy. Still a success, since Max hadn’t heard a single guest talking shop; not even the guys from accounting and shop was all some of those miserable bastards had. It was good barbecue that he didn’t have to cook and decent liquor that he didn’t have to buy. He didn’t have to clean anything up and was keeping the stuff that people hadn’t drunk. He’d definitely had worse events than this; even if the dress code left something to desire. Just for laughs he wore his favorite “Master” attire in lieu of the more office casual ugly sweater bit that most had seemed to opt for. Dress to impress and all that, and stand out so that people know where to find you. It was an office party but it was still Max’s house. Three A.M. came and went before the last of the sober patrons shuffled off to the cars and headed home. At least a dozen vehicles lay abandoned with drunken coworkers hitching rides and calling Ubers with promises to come quietly retrieve their cars when the sun was up. Max graciously said he’d leave the gate open for them and was thankful no one passed out on his couch. With a mighty yawn, he locked all the doors, turned off all the lights, and padded upstairs to his room. All was not well in Max’s world that early New Year’s morning, however. Out of habit and the slightest bit of paranoia, he ran his hand along the hallway wall and gently pushed on the door leading to his special secret room where everything had been locked away. It was nothing more than a tap, just a small way to reassure himself that the door had stayed closed. Nobody would be stupid enough to try and break through a locked door. Imagine his surprise when the door that was supposed to be locked, swung open with a groaning splintering creak, giving easy access to the nursery inside. A moment of intense rage came over Max. Some idiot had busted his door. One of his co-workers had for whatever reason gone snooping and decided to stick his nose where it didn’t belong. No embarrassment came to the wolf, only an intense sense of violation. He stepped through the threshold and turned on the light, ready to take inventory of what had been done. He’d dust for fingerprints. Look for claw marks. He’d take inventory of what might be missing and start mentally running through everyone who had so much looked at him funny that night.This was clearly someone’s idea of a joke, and Max wasn’t laughing. The light flickered on and Max immediately canceled the search. He found the corporate culprit laying right there, face down with his head next to the changing table, his body surrounded by diapers and his back coated in loose baby powder. “Hello,” Max smirked to himself. When Alby didn’t respond to the sound of his voice, Max’s brow furrowed in concern. “Shit,” he hissed. He stepped closer, not caring that the door to his nursery was wide open. Even if the party was still raging downstairs, Max would have been tempted to call for help. The only reason he didn’t was because no one would hear short of a cell phone. Holding his breath, Max examined the dog’s still frame and realized the dog was still breathing; snoring heavily in fact. “Okay,” the wolf whispered to himself. “Not dead…” At least he didn’t have to worry about that. He ignored the squish of wet carpet beneath his feet as soon as he realized it wasn’t blood. Bodily fluids didn’t bother Max too much; not when there were more immediate concerns. Were it not for the circumstances, Max would have wanted to tease the kid about needing protection. Very quietly and quickly, Max patted down Alby’s body, checking for anything that might be damaged; afraid to move Alby in case something was seriously hurt. As far as he could tell, Junior here had a nasty bump on his head and had way too much to drink, but that was about it. Poor idiot probably got drunk, beat down the door, tripped and bonked his head. Crisis averted, something else finally caught the big wolf’s attention. Alby’s pants were around his knees; a remarkable feat in itself that made Max wonder exactly what the boss’s son was trying to do. More interestingly however, was Alby’s choice of underwear. That made Max’s eyebrows raise more than a little bit! Max wasn’t the only one with a secret it seemed. “Happy new year, Daddy.” Alby mumbled, oblivious to the world around him and still very much in a booze drenched dreamland. Max’s smirk became a wolfish grin. The gears were already starting to turn. “Happy New Year, Alby,” he said. Happy New Year, indeed.