Alby & Max (Part 4 Now Posted)

[Personalias]

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.

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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.

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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.
 

[Personalias]

(Part 2)

Max gazed down at the passed out dog on his nursery floor, drenched in his own piss.  He snickered to himself in tiny little puffs through his nose.  His eyes took in the diapers and the baby powder the little twat had knocked over.

He had a thought and winced. “Would’ve had to hit the table hard to knock those diapers loose,” he said to himself. “Ouch.”  Max could already see a bit of swelling on the top of Alby’s head.  The younger man’s snoring and mumbling being the primary thing that let Max know that he wasn’t dead or brain damaged. Probably not brain damaged…

How easy would it be, Max wondered, to make Alby’s stay in the nursery a bit more…long term?  Max already had enough supplies: Diapers, wipes, powder, gags, mittens, booties, restraints.

How simple would it be for the bigger, taller, stronger wolf, to dress the boss’s son up in diapers and mittens and contain him in a big enough crib?  Force feed him bottles laced with laxatives until he messed?  Get him good and wet and squishy and then take a vibrating wand to him but stopping from going all the way until Alby begged him to cum. Or put him in chastity and tease him until he couldn’t take it anymore?

Then parade him around the office on a pink toddler leash wearing nothing but a Little Bo Peep dress and tights that did nothing to hide what was underneath. All to culminate with the broken little sissy getting on his knees and sucking Max off in front of everyone.

That’s how it worked in the stories, anyhow. Too bad this wasn’t a story.  Kidnapping people was highly illegal, not to mention to unethical, even if they were brats and bullies.  That and Max wasn’t much for prolonged torture and humiliation. He knew himself to have something of a temper and could hold a grudge like a mother fucker, but tying someone up and humiliating someone (against their will), just wasn’t who he was.

Threaten? Bluff? Intimidate?  Even cold cock a guy? Sure, if they had it coming.  But kidnapping? Prolonged humiliation and torture?  Sexual assault even? That wasn’t who Max was. Save it for the role play forums.  That and Max didn’t want Alby’s lips anywhere near his dick. He didn’t even like the mutt.  

Flirting with revenge fantasies complete, Max set about doing what was more than likely the right, albeit less satisfying thing.  Gently, he rolled Alby onto his back and then hoisted him up off the urine soaked nursery carpet and onto the custom made changing table.  The wolf grit his teeth and groaned in doing so.  Alby wasn’t bigger than him and didn’t have the middle aged beer gut that Albert Madden Sr. had, but he wasn’t helping either.  It sucked deadlifting someone.

“Goddamn motherin fuckin’ Daddy’s boy,” Max grumbled more to himself than to the unconscious dog.  He’d just finished making that table too. Hours in his tool shed carving, sanding, assembling, and painting till it was perfect.   Somebody, literally anybody else, was supposed to lay on this changing table, not Alby.  It was honestly a waste of a maiden voyage.

He worked the Doberman's pants off from around his knees and flapped them out for inspection.  As anticipated they were wet, but more so at the waistline than the crotch. Alby had had them down part way before the dam had broken and the urine had either run down his legs or just puddled beneath him.

Max tossed them onto the rim of the hamper right by the diaper pail. They were going straight into the wash after this, but he needed them out of the way for the time being.  Next came Alby’s soaking wet underpants.

The wolf mentally corrected himself: Alby’s soaking wet panties. Max dug his cell phone out of his pocket and took a picture.  The angle was narrow enough to make it hard to tell what Alby was laying on, but wide enough to identify who was in the picture and what they were wearing.  

“Just in case…” Max whispered.  He heaved the Doberman's legs up and reached his arms around so he could shimmy the red satin panties off his hips down past his ankles.  Max held the soiled underwear by his thumb and forefinger. He’d be lying to himself if he didn’t admit he wasn’t at least tempted to toss them in the pail and replace them with something much thicker and more crinkly.  

Never mind all that, Max decided. He gingerly hung the soaked panties over the pants and made for removing Alby’s shirt.  That was the hardest part.  It was almost as wet as the underwear, clinging to his, and he had to roll the drunken mess one way to get one sleeve off and then the other to remove it entirely.

Alby was a living ragdoll the entire time.  If Max had liked the little bully, it might have even been endearing.  As things stood it was just the lesser of two inconveniences.  A passed out Alby was more tolerable than a conscious one. That and he was genuinely wondering how much Alby had seen and recognized before he passed out.

It was a good thing the Daddy’s Boy didn’t have many friends at the office.  Max didn’t want to explain to anyone why he had a changing table and crib big enough to hold an adult, nor diapers with cartoon prints on them big enough to fit.  Things might get difficult if Mr. Madden got that whispered into his ear, which was another good reason for taking that photo. Mutually assured destruction and all that.

Now how to clean him up?  Ideally, Max would have preferred to use a shower or a bathtub.  It was late however and Max didn’t want to have to prop up Alby to keep his head above water and he didn’t have a shower chair to sit him in.  That and it might wake him up. He didn’t trust the safety straps enough to leave his unconscious co-worker alone long enough to get a wash cloth and a buck of soapy water, either. Easier to just wipe him down here and now with the supplies on hand.

“Baby wipes it is,” Max concluded.  Gently, carefully, almost lovingly he pulled the first wipe from the pack and started to pat and wipe the younger man down, first his thighs down to his knees.  Then another wipe for the other.  Then a third for his genitals.

Alby twitched when the cold wipe first touched his penis. Max froze like he’d been caught and held his breath.  He went so far as to take a step back and hold his hands up by his chest defensively.

Instead of waking up, Alby mumbled “Daddy” and popped his right thumb into his mouth.

Max couldn’t help but softly smile. “I think he likes it,” he remarked as Alby sucked.  He finished wiping down Alby’s pubic area, penis, and testicles, and pushed the man-child’s knees back up to his stomach so he could grab another wipe and get at his taint and bottom.

Alby moaned in his sleepy stupor and sucked his thumb harder.  “Mmmmm….”  

The wolf’s eyes widened in surprise.  Wow. Kid didn’t know it, but he seemed to like it.  Max tossed the wipe away and looked back down below Alby’s waist.  To his not-quite surprise, Alby’s penis was getting visibly excited and standing at attention thanks to all of the tender, if cold caresses from the baby wipes down there.

“Yeah,” he chuckled to himself. “He definitely likes it.”  Idly, Max wondered what would happen if he invested in a wipe warmer.  Max dug out his phone again and took another picture.  Christine from sales wouldn’t be getting much trouble out of Alby if Max had anything to say about it.

He didn’t know what would be more embarrassing to the grown-up pup: A picture of him passed out in women’s underwear, or one of him sucking his thumb and sporting a healthy erection, but he’d find out soon enough.  Just because Max wasn’t going to physically torture the brat didn’t mean he wasn’t going to use this incident against him.

He patted down Alby’s belly with two or three more wipes and then disposed of them. Half by reflex, he reached for a bottle of baby powder and sprinkled some on over Alby’s nethers before he fully realized what he was doing.

“Mmmmmm…” Alby groaned behind his thumb, his muzzle breaking into a dopey smile.  “Yesh Babby…”

This sounded silly considering Max was in his private kink nursery, but Max had to say it. “Dude…you’ve got issues.” Alby just kept sucking his thumb. He continued powdering the twenty-five year old’s rump and sprinkled a bit on his chest and thighs for good measure.  If he missed a spot wiping, the powder would at least dry him out and cover up the smell until Alby could give himself a proper shower.

Now came the hardest question.  What to dress him in?  He certainly wouldn’t fit in Max’s pajamas. Their size difference was enough that Alby would practically look like a child trying on Daddy’s clothes with sleeves flopping all the way over his arms and pant legs completely covering his feet.  

The thought of Alby wearing his clothes didn’t sit right with Max for multiple reasons. Chief among them was that it felt like it would be going too easy on him.  Like a drunken douchebag, Alby had battered down his private door, pissed himself, and passed out on the floor.  What kind of lesson would that teach him if he just woke up a little hungover in the morning?

It wasn’t in Max’s nature to be overly cruel, but the keyword in that thought process was ‘overly’. Alby was still due for a little payback, and the pictures of him passed out in panties wouldn’t balance the budget in Max’s eyes.  Alby had already earned that for being a tool.  This specific violation required a different kind of penalty.

While he was pondering such intricacies, Alby’s free hand drifted down to his penis and he started rubbing it.  His hips thrust lightly so his dick pressed up against his open palm and he mumbled and moaned incoherently around his thumb. His hand didn’t grip anything, probably because Alby didn’t consciously know that he was masturbating.

It didn’t make things any more pleasant from Max’s perspective.  “Ooooh no!”  Max said out loud. “Oh no no no no.”  He rushed over to the nearest dresser drawer and dug out a pair of baby panties. They were cotton pastel yellow underwear with butterflies on them, and were thick enough to where they could withstand a light wetting without dripping.  In the past, Max had had some play partners who were into potty training play over full on diaper wearing and he’d had accommodated them.    

Presently, Max swatted Alby’s hand away from his privates and slipped the childish looking undergarment onto him. “Not doing that here, kid,” he said.

Alby seemed to settle, the firm pressure coming from the snug panties pleasing his impotent lust enough so that he stopped fiddling with himself. Max would probably burn those panties tomorrow night just in case.

Yet the moment of problem solving killed two birds with one stone in Max’s mind. He suddenly had a very good idea on how he could pay Alby back and have the tiniest bit of fun to boot. The wolf turned his head to the dresser and nodded to himself. “Bingo…”

********************************************************************************************************

THOK-THOK-THOK-THOK!

WHIRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!

THOK-THOK-THOK-THOK!

Alby woke up in terrible pain. His head was throbbing in the worst way.  His pulse in his temples hammered him from the inside out and there was a nasty ringing in his ears that made his teeth hurt that Alby only experienced at the dentist.  His eyes ached so that the minor motes of light that came in through the soft navy blue curtains might as well have been tiny boxing gloves smacking him right in his corneas. If he thought about it too much, he noticed how the throbbing in his head was mirrored in his neck so that every heartbeat felt like someone was lightly strangling him.

“Uuuuuuuuuuuh,” Alby groaned raspily, his throat dry and crackling.  “I am never drinking again.”

He would have rolled over, grabbed a pillow, and slammed it over his head, except his bladder was screaming at him to get up.  His bowels too.  He was not going to be able to go back to sleep like this, and worse would happen if he waited much longer.

The Doberman threw off the comforter and swung his feed over the side of the bed, rising up and scraping the crust out of his eyes. It took two seconds for Alby to realize he hadn’t woke up in his own bed.  His California King that he never made had been usurped by a Queen size mattress covered in heavy navy blue comforters.  The walls were a calming beige decorated by oil paintings of sailboats.

Memories of the night before bubbled up to the surface. Too much to drink. Looking for a bathroom. Busting down the door and hitting his head in the dark.  He was still at the farmhouse! Max’s place!  

A quiet curse was replaced by confusion when the Doberman looked down at himself. Head to toe, he was dressed in pretty pink pajamas with a kitty cat print. It looked like something a little girl would wear to a sleepover.  “The he-?”

THOK-THOK-THOK-THOK!

Alby slammed his paws over his ears and shut his eyes in pain.  It seemed the throbbing and the pain weren’t completely internalized after all.  The stinging in his bladder, and the rumbling in his guts however…

Prioritize and triage time!  Alby could deal with the strange (yet oddly comfortable and pretty) clothes later.  He needed to find a bathroom and pronto! Alby flung the door open so hard that the knob banged against the inner wall and he stepped out into the hallway.

“Easy there!” a nearby voice scolded him.  “You wanna put a hole in my wall?” Max was just across and a little further down the upstairs hallway. He was hammering and drilling at the bathroom that Alby had been denied last night.

“I need to get in there!” Alby yelped, immediately resorting to holding himself to prevent leakage.

Max stopped hammering. “You most certainly do not!” he said.  

Alby’s sense of competitiveness and need to be seen as in charge was overwhelmed by a very different need. “Bathroom! I need to use the bathroom.”

Max pointed down the hall.  “That way! It’s open! You can’t miss it! Go!”

Alby sprinted further down the hallway, still holding himself. He didn’t even say ‘Thank You’.  The young Doberman shut the bathroom door behind him at the very last second.  His payload releasing itself into the waiting bowl before he had fully sat down.  He sighed in relief while his overfull bladder hissed and his irritated bowels spluttered.

Every passing second brought a bit of pain followed immediately by passing relief, like when a blood pressure cuff comes off.  There were aches and pains, but it was from the sore muscles finally getting to ease their burden.  His innards clearing themselves out didn’t do much for the other symptoms of his hangover, but he was at least able to think about something else, like how much the light fucking hurt his eyes.

He leaned forward on his knees and held his head there for a minute.  His eyes looked down between his legs and he took in the sight of the thick yellow panties he’d pulled down in order to use the toilet.  

“These aren’t mine…” he mouthed the words more than spoke them aloud.

CUNK-CUNK-CUNK!

A loud rapping at the door rattled Alby and made him jump.

“When you’re done in there, we need to talk!” Max’s voice sounded from the other side.  Alby dry swallowed, his throat feeling like gravel.  He was in different underwear.  That meant that Max had seen what he’d been wearing before.  He knew!  That was why he’d been dressed like this, as some kind of sick joke!  Alby would never hear the end of this.  His life was over.  “Can you hear me?” Max boomed. “Don’t tell me you passed out again!”

“I’m in here!” Alby called back, his voice sounding ragged.  “Just…give me a minute, okay?”

“Alright,” Max answered.  “I’ll be waiting in the hall.”

Alby rested his head back in his hands and took a moment to feel sorry for himself.  “The hell am I gonna do?” He felt tears threaten but none came. Either he was too dehydrated from last night or he was digging down into his reserves to keep from breaking entirely.

Sitting up straight, he gathered his faculties as best he could, flushed, wiped, flushed again, and pulled his pants back up.  He took an extra long time washing his hands and staring at himself in the bathroom mirror.  He could practically hear his father’s voice scolding him, telling him how ridiculous he looked; calling him a disgrace right before firing him.  It was a shame. He’d never admit it, but he thought he looked kind of cute in the girlish pee-jays.

“You can do this,” he whispered to himself. “You can still come out on top.” He wasn’t some tap dancing con artist in sales. He was the office manager! He. Got. Shit. Done.

As psyched as he tried to be, his momentum was killed the instant he stepped away from the sink and remembered what he was wearing.  Having his slight ‘indiscretion’ on underneath his regular clothes gave him a kind of charge that put him on alert that he channeled into boosted confidence.  Having his under and outerwear match, though?  Let’s just say the effect was greatly diminished.

Max was leaning up against the wall in the hallway, just a few steps away from a drunken Alby had thought was the bathroom last night.  His arms were crossed over his chest and his body at ease.   “Morning,” Alby said, clearing his throat.

“Good afternoon,” Max corrected him.

“Oh,” Alby felt his face flush.  “Good afternoon.  Happy New Year?”

“Happy New Year,”  Max nodded. “So do you want to tell me what you were doing or should I tell you?”

Alby gulped again and smacked his chops. “I uh…really had to go to the bathroom.” Alby sheepishly admitted.

“And?” Max asked expectantly.

Alby patted the top of his head and winced.  “And I hit my head I think…?”  

“And?”

“And I was drunk but I’m really sorry.”

Max stopped leaning against the wall and stood up to his full height.  He wasn’t directly facing Alby, not looming over him, but Alby still felt a twinge of intimidation coming off the wolf.  “You were looking for a bathroom, and so you found the first- and only- locked door you could find, and you busted it open,” Max said. “Now I’ve got to get a new door. You might’ve warped the frame too.”

“Oh,”  Alby looked down at his feet, pretending to focus on the bright pink cat pajamas around his waist.  

“You also peed all over your clothes and ruined my carpet.”

Alby could hear the tapping claws of Max’s foot.  “Sorry…” He mumbled, feeling like a naughty puppy. Staring down at his clothes, he remembered to muster a bit of outrage. He lifted his head and made eye contact.  “Why the heck am I wearing this though? This some kind of joke?”

It was hard to tell whether Max was stifling a laugh or just clearing his throat. “You’d pissed yourself.  I wasn’t about to risk you doing it again to my clothes.  My niece’s leftovers were the only thing I had that fit you.”

It was a blatant lie, but Alby didn’t know that. It was one that spared his feelings.  “Oh…”

“That and I thought you’d like wearing them.”

So much for that bit of comfort. Alby looked back down. “Oh…you saw that, huh?”

“Hard not to,” Max replied.  “Your pants were down.” A beat. “And you’d pissed yourself.”

The floor seemed very interesting all of a sudden. “Sorry,” Alby said.

“What side did you wake up on?” the wolf asked.

Confusion shook Alby’s head back up.  “Excuse me?”

“I left you on your belly.  Did you roll over?”

“Oh,” Alby scratched behind his ears.  “Yeah. I was on my back.”

“Any vomit? Did you puke?” Max continued. “Is there more to clean up?”

“No!” Alby yelped. “At least, I don’t think so.”  He brushed off and looked down at the hot pink kitty cats on his chest.  There was no vomit or anything that he could see. He sniffed himself to see if he picked up any traces of stomach acid or partly digested food on him.  “Baby powder?”

Max’s shoulders relaxed.  “Okay,” he said. “Come on downstairs.  Let’s get some breakfast.”

“Don’t you mean lunch?” Alby asked.

“Whatever.”

**************************************************************************************************

There was a few minutes of blessed silence while Max grilled up hot dogs and heated up baked beans in a skillet.  Max cut up the hot dogs and stirred them into the skillet. Then he slopped them onto a plate and set in front of Alby.  “Here,” Max said. “Eat up.”

“Thanks,” Alby said.  From how he talked, there was an implied ‘I guess’, though that could just be Max’s bias showing.

Max piled some of the stuff on his own plate, right as the toaster popped and added two crisp slices of recooked bread on top of everything before sitting down at the breakfast table. Beanie weenies wasn’t anything fancy, but it was good fatty hangover food. Max noticed the two aspirins he’d given Alby had been gulped down dry. He pointed to the glass of water he’d placed in front of the dog.  “Drink.”

Alby gingerly forked some beans into his mouth. “I’m not very thirsty.”

“You’re dehydrated,” Max said. “I don’t want you keeling over halfway home. Drink.”

The Doberman took the glass and started sipping. Gingerly at first, but after a few gulps he was lapping it up with gusto.  “Oh wow!” he gasped. “This is great!”

“It’s just water,” Max said. “It tastes great because you basically poisoned yourself.”  Max kept wanting to tack on words like ‘dummy’ and ‘stupid’ at the end of every sentence, and his tone did nothing to hide it.  He was still mad at the guy. Having to fix his nursery door and scrub the carpet clean was not how he had intended to spend his new year and he certainly wasn’t going to let Alby do it.

“Thanks,” Alby said after he’d chugged down the water. He started to eat with more gusto, shoveling down the chow like it was life saving medicine.

Max picked up a piece of toast and tossed it on top of Alby’s plate.  “Here,” he said. “Use this at the end to wipe up the bits of sauce and leftovers.”

Alby examined the bread, and put it to the side. “Edible napkin. Got it.”

Max ate some of his own food, deciding to give the little trespasser a few minutes to breathe.  This was meant to be restorative justice after all, so let the kid restore himself a little bit.  That and Max was admittedly hungry.

They ate in silence, the only noise being the clinking of forks on plates, the gnashing of teeth against gobs of beans and chopped up wieners, and near the end the crisp crunch of bread scraping up leftovers.  

“So,” Max said when they were finished.  “Let’s talk about a few things.”

Alby’s guard instantly went up. “Alright…”

Max took his phone out and showed Alby the pictures he’d taken.  He still couldn’t tell which of the two he’d taken the one of him in the soaking wet panties or the one with him sucking his thumb with a full erection- mortified Alby more.  But they did mortify him. That was enough.  

“From now on,” Max said, “you’re gonna take it easy at the office. No more holding services or slow rolling orders for people on your bad side.”

“You’re black mailing me?” Alby’s ears drew back.

“I’m not an expert on the term, but I don’t think so,” Max said confidently.  “Not by the strictest definition. I’m not asking you to give me money. I’m just asking you to do your job.”

“I do do my job!” Alby said, sounding defensively.

“Listening in to other people’s phone calls is part of your job?”

“They were on company time!”

Max tucked the phone back into his pocket.  “I’m not gonna argue with you, Alby, because I don’t have to. You’re not our supervisor, not our manager, you’re the office manager. I’m asking you to do your job, and only your job.”

“But my dad-!”

“Pretty sure your dad didn’t ask you to do that,” Max cut him off. “And like I said. I’m not arguing with you.  You’re going to stop being such a petty bitch at work.”

No doubt refreshed by cold water and greasy food, Alby narrowed his eyes. “Or else what…?”

Max didn’t back down.  “I can promise you that if you just take it easy no one but you or me will know about those pretty little panties you like to wear, or how you’re a thumb sucker.” He purposefully left out how he evidently liked getting his butt wiped.  “But if you don’t, there are people who will know.  Can’t promise who, but people will know.”

Alby drooped back down along with his ears.  “I didn’t know about the thumb thing…” he said, sounding dreadfully ashamed.

Max felt a twinge of sympathy for the twerp and shrugged his shoulders. “I guess you wouldn’t if it’s in your sleep.”  He tried his best to sound conciliatory.  

“Yeah.” Alby moped.

“Yeah.” Max agreed.

After a minute, Alby found the wherewithal to speak. “So…what next?”

“We talk about how you’re going to get your clothes back, and go home for the rest of the weekend.”  Max said.

“Okay…” Alby replied suspiciously.  ‘How?”

“You busted my door down.  I’m gonna need you to make it right,” Max said.

Nervously Alby looked around the room and patted his pajama bottoms as if looking for his wallet or phone.  “Sure sure,” he said. “Let me get my wallet. You can order the new door and use my credit card. Or I can zelle you the money after you give me the receipt.”

Max shook his head softly. “Nope. Not like that. I don’t have your Daddy’s money, but I can afford to fix a door.  It’s the principle of the thing.  You broke something, now you have to fix something.”

Alby frowned. “I don’t know how to fix a door,” he half-whined.

Max gestured around the kitchen.  Bottles of booze and full trash cans still littered the periphery.  Both of them had seen worse messes, but it still looked like a pain in the ass.  “You’re going to clean up down here.  Take out the trash. Wash the dishes. Do some vacuuming and dusting.”

“Chores?” Alby smirked. “You’re having me do chores?”

“Unless you want to go home in those pajamas,” Max said.

Alby seemed to consider it, stroking his chin.  “Okay. That’s fair.”  He stood up from the kitchen.  “I’ll clean up a bit and then we pretend this whole thing never happened. Deal?”

Max leaned further back in his chair at the breakfast table. “There’s one other small condition,” he said. “I had to clean up your pee soaked britches. So you need to do a little extra.  You’ve got to wear a uniform.”

“What uniform?”  Alby cocked his eyebrow.

***********************************************************************************

This sucked.  This totally sucked. Alby couldn’t believe he agreed to this. There was no agreement however.  Max was dealing purely in ultimatums.  Either he went home in girly pajamas, or he picked up Max’s house.  

His entire body felt like it was on fire from embarrassment. He should have just bit the bullet and drove home. Nobody would be able to tell what he was wearing while driving, and the run from the parking lot to his apartment wasn’t that far. He could have been a regular blur so that nobody would think he was wearing anything worse than a tacky jogging suit.

Yet he’d taken the deal.  He’d taken the deal and he didn’t know why.  Truthfully, he knew why, he just didn’t want to admit it to himself.

The uniform that Max had mandated he wear was a full blown French Maid costume.  White stockings jutted up to his knees, complemented by the frilled half apron draped over the frilly black dress with gray ruffles that didn’t go far enough for Alby’s liking. Everytime he bent over, he felt a draft on his stark white panties.  Max even made him wear the white bonnet hat.

Max had made him dust the shelves, standing on his tippy toes, followed by a thorough vacuuming of the floor.  As he worked, Alby felt Max’s eyes (and more importantly phone) on him, taking in his humiliation.  Despite how the food, water, and rest had helped revive him, Alby felt terribly sick.  Over the vacuum’s roar he kept imagining people at work seeing him like this.

It…

It…

It was a rush in the worst possible way.  

Max shouted something over the vacuum and Alby had to cut the power to hear him.  “What?” Alby asked.

“I said I think that’s enough vacuuming,” Max said. “I’ve got plenty of footage and you’ve gone over that same section of carpet seven or eight times.”  He had the biggest shit eating grin and had been following Alby around with a decidedly obnoxious swagger.

Nervously, Alby fluffed out the skirt. He’d never dared wear something like this before.  “Where did you get this, anyways?”

“Costume shop,” Max said.

“Why?”  

“That’s not important,” Max replied. “All you gotta do, now, is take out the trash and I’ll give you your clothes back.’

Some bit of intuition was plaguing Alby.  “Because I trashed your room?”

“Yup.”

“What’d I mess up, again?” Alby asked.

“The carpet.” Max said brusquely.

“Yeah, but what was in that room? What kind of room was it?”

Max looked ready to bark. “Do you want your clothes back or do you want to stay in that frilly little maid’s dress?”  

“I…I….” Alby stammered feeling like he might incinerate the cotton covering his fur.  He positioned himself so that he was standing directly in front of Max so the big wolf wouldn’t see his tail wagging.  “I want my thing back. Please. That was the deal.”

“Then live up to your end of it,” Max said, just barely suppressing a snarl.

“Yes sir!” Alby yelped, tucking his tail and getting back to work.  He trotted to the kitchen.  Max had been kind enough to already remove the garbage bags from their cans and tie them off. All that was left for Alby to do was to take them outside and put them by the curb at the end of the long driveway.

The young Doberman allowed himself a smirk while he hefted up the hefty bags. He’d finally figured it out. Max had some of the same kind of strange habits and secrets that Alby did. Probably more if they needed a whole room to contain them.  Alby only dared to have an underwear drawer and a few hangers in his closets.

The wolf had him over a barrel at present, but whatever was in that room was something Max definitely didn’t want Alby seeing or knowing about. The office manager clung to the hope that maybe he could arrange some kind of mutually assured destruction to get Max off his back.

That and maybe find a way to get an outfit like this…

Alby’s situation took on a new level of gravity when he stepped outside. Never in his life had he been in the open air wearing something like this.  He’d felt like a daredevil on the days when he switched things up with his underwear.  But walking out in the afternoon sunshine dressed like this took things to a new level.

His heart went pitter patter while he trotted along the long walkway leading out past the privacy fence.  His mind analyzed and felt every swish of his skirt and how it moved slightly with the crisp breeze.  It was still cold enough to where Alby should have needed a coat, but his body felt incredibly warm all the same from all the adrenaline that was coursing through his veins.

“Almost done,” Alby said to himself. “Almost done. Then I can put this…behind…”  

The sissified Doberman froze in his tracks as a car pulled up to the gate. His quiet enjoyment turning to absolute terror.  Someone was coming! Someone from the office!  He looked behind him to the few remaining cars parked in the field.  Someone was coming back for their car!  What if they saw him wearing…this?!  He’d be ruined! He’d never hear the end of this or command an ounce of respect ever again.

What if Dad found out?

Tail between his legs and still carrying the garbage bags, Alby bolted back towards the farmhouse.  He buried his nuzzle in the black plastic bags, hoping against hope that it would somehow conceal his identity.  

Non-kinky people hired maids, right?  Of course they did.  Or fuck! Maybe he was a kinky maid, as long as he wasn’t recognized as himself!  

Panting and whimpering, Alby almost broke down the second door in as many days, this one belonging to the kitchen, and slammed it behind him.

“What are you doing?” Max asked, sounding confused and annoyed. “I told you to take out the trash.”

Alby dropped the bags back onto the kitchen floor and collapsed to his knees. “Please don’t make me go out there, Max!” he begged. “Please don’t make me go.  I can’t. I just can’t.”

Max frowned. “A deal’s a deal Al-”

“No, you don’t understand!” Alby almost screamed. “I can’t go out there! Not right now! They’ll see me!”

“I’ve got a privacy fence,” Max scoffed.

“Someone came back for their car!  Someone from work!”  Finally, those tears that had been threatening earlier that day broke loose and ran all the way down Alby’s face.  “I’m sorry I fucked up your door, but please let me wait till their gone. Please!”

Max’s expression immediately changed.  One from a stern and angry know-it-all to someone softer and more compassionate.  He stepped closer and helped Max to his feet. “I’m sorry, Alby. I didn’t know. Of course you can wait inside until whomever drives off.”

“They can’t know!” Alby begged, his emotions boarding on hysterical. “They just can’t! Please Max!”

Max peered out the kitchen window and clicked his tongue.  “It looks like Barbara from H.R.  I think you’re okay.  If she says anything about it, I’ll spin it so it won’t seem embarrassing.  Turn you into the class clown or something.”  He turned his head and smiled at the dog. “It’ll be funny.”

“She can’t know!”  Alby said breathlessly. “Please, Max!”

Alby found himself pressed up against Max’s chest, held there and petted by big strong arms.

“Okay,” Max shushed him. “She won’t know. No one will know.”

“Promise?” Alby asked.

“Promise,” Max said.  “We’re square. You’re gonna be fine.”

[Personalias]

“You’re gonna be fine,” Max said. “You’re gonna be fine.”  He held Ably close to his chest, feeling the doberman’s heartbeat thudding and thumping at the pace of a machine gun. He petted Alby’s head again and again, shushing him.  “No one saw,” he whispered. “Nobody knows. Your secret is safe.”

He led Alby deeper into the living room.

“Promise?”  The dog sounded so pathetic to the wolf’s ears.  Less than ten years difference between them and yet Alby seemed so much the little kid in that moment. Someone who needed to be told it would be alright and comforted lest the bogey mammoth get them out from underneath the bed.

Come to think of it, he should use that the next time he put a pup to bed in the crib.  Raise the bars high to keep out the bogey mammoth…

“I promise,” Max repeated.  Was Max that…that…adorably pathetic when he was in his twenties?  Probably not.  Max was always something of an old soul.  His muzzle wasn’t even gray yet, he was only in his thirties, yet he often felt he had tendencies closer to someone in their fifties.  “Nobody’s gonna find out. Nobody’s gonna see you like this.”

Like this…

Alby caught sight of himself in a hallway mirror, all gussied up in that maid costume Max had forced him to wear.  In the back of his head, Max thought  he had to try that hard. Caught in pissy panties or not, everyone had their breaking point.  
If this outfit really offended the boss’s kid so much, he wouldn’t have put it on.  He’d have said “Fuck it,” and stormed out of Max’s farmhouse.  If he’d taken more than a second to think about it and had anything resembling a poker face, Alby would have realized he could have stormed out in his little girl pajamas and Max wouldn’t have had much of anything on him.  

He was just so embarrassed by a harmless little kink that his ability to bluff was completely destroyed by it.  Hard to play poker when all of your buttons, both the good and the bad, were being pressed.

Speaking of buttons being pressed, it didn’t take much for Max to guess at what Alby was thinking.  The doberman stared at himself, fidgeting at his reflection, looking without trying to look.  He kept burying his head in Max’s chest, but fidgeted and tore away to sneak peeks at himself in the frilly outfit.  Ashamed and transfixed at the same time.  Max tried to quietly maneuver the dog away and into the living room proper, but he felt a slight tug back and stopped.

Poor little guy.  Hating and loving himself at the same time.

“You know,” Max whispered. “I know how I can make you even less likely to get recognized by the boys in the office.”

Quivering, Alby pulled back just enough so that he could look Max in the eye. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”  He scooped Alby up in his arms like a groom taking his bride, and headed towards the stare.  “Let me show you that room.  I think we can find you some more…appropriate clothing options.”

“Yes, Daddy” Alby said.

Max shook the fantasy out of his head, stood up from the toilet, and flushed. He let out a sigh as he trudged over to the shower.  Nothing after the initial promises and reassurances that everything would be fine, had actually happened.  

What had really happened was that Alby had clung to Max for a good thirty seconds, they waited for the sound of a car starting up and driving off, and then Alby begged to be allowed to change into his regular clothes before taking the garbage out.  

Max, of course, let Alby do just that.  He’d already had his jollies and got some insurance to use against the little bully if started picking on people smaller than him, socially speaking.  No sense in being needlessly cruel.  Alby had been on the verge of having a panic attack from the look of things.

But damn, did he look cute in that maid uniform.  

The wolf lingered in the shower before turning on the water. Part of him felt guilty for that stupid, harmless, fantasy.  It’s not like he’d actually have done it.  It’s not like he was a character in some kinky romance fic.  Consent mattered. So did actually liking the person you were Daddying.

Nope.

Why the fantasy, then?  Just because the twerp was a jerk didn’t mean he looked all that bad.  Years and years ago, Max had caught his dad staring at a pretty lady when they were out and about.  “Your Mom doesn’t care where I get my appetite,” Dad told him, “as long as I always come home for dinner.”  Nothing wrong with a little fantasy.

Just in case, he made sure the shower water that night was freezing.
*************************************************************************************************
“Gotta…time it…just…RIGHT!”  Alby hit the parry button at just the right moment, not only blocking the cartoonishly giant cleaver coming down at his PC but clearing it completely, and throwing the two headed  zombie lizard wielding it off its balance for the precious second he needed to get his own attack in.

“RAWR!”  The thing roared through Alby’s computer speakers as its health went down but just a fraction.  

He jumped up, just in time to avoid the retaliation swing.  Blocking would just bowl his character over and make him ragdoll.  He’d found that out the hard way the first time he faced this boss.

Every creature in Blackest Spirits was a boss though. Each with its own effects, speeds, tactics, and A.I.  Next should come a two handed attack that he would have to roll out of the way to avoid.  That would get the cleaver stuck in the ground and leave the thing open again.

Alby dived too early though, telegraphing his intent.  The two headed butcher stopped its swing well above its head, and just stomped on Alby’s prone body, with realistic cracking sounds followed by a death rattle while the pool of blood spread out beneath him.

The screen faded to black.  “DEAD!” the screen spelled out in dripping blood red letters.

This game is really fun, the reviews said.  

Challenging with complex A.I.  

Variety of opponents and tactics.  

A sense of real skill development combined with character upgrades.

Bullshit. Such bullshit.  All of that was just code for ‘This game is so frustratingly hard that by the time you manage to beat even one enemy you’ll feel like you accomplished something and then keep playing because you’ve tricked yourself into thinking it will get easier.  

And it worked.

Alby had tricked himself into playing this game again and again and again, and every inch felt like a mile. Countless hours spent analyzing the A.I. and attack patterns of over the top creeper monsters.  Yet he was only about halfway through the game.  He would not let it beat him. He couldn’t.  Quitting for good was letting the game win and Alby was not a loser.

But he would be for now.  If thirty eight times wasn’t enough to kill this thing, thirty nine wasn’t going to be the charm.

Alby held his temper enough to log off properly and not toss his controller on the ground.  “Stupid fucking game,” he grumbled and set it down as calmly as he could. The doberman tossed his head back, ran his paws over his scalp and then went and laid down on his bed.

It was his bed, too, though one wouldn’t guess just by looking at it. Corner to corner, his walls were covered in anime posters. Tanuki-Nin, Human Orb X, Treasure Pirate, Fightbots, Fetcher X Fetcher, and Fabric Softener. His collection of Bitty Kritter stuffies kept him company at night, as did a special pillow with a pretty dalmatian in a swimsuit on it. The light pink walls beneath the posters was also something of a mislead.  As was the matching comforter.  This appeared to be more of a thirteen year old girl’s room he was going through something of a weeb tomboy phase.

Everything in Alby’s apartment was immaculate; practically spartan in spots. His kitchen had fancy countertops and fancy cabinets that held sophisticated wine glasses and dishes that were hand washed before being put into the dishwasher. Alby’s couches in the reception area were almost never sat upon, but when they were, he went over them with a lint roller after in case he shed. His bathroom was always spotless and he had a neurotic habit of cleaning the tub after every shower.  He likened it to how a trained hibachi chef would clean the grill at the end of a meal.

Deep down, all he was really doing was what he’d taught himself to do to survive and earn his father’s praise.  Life was about presentation and appearances.  A positive presentation created positive expectations and a clientele who was inclined to see good results despite lack of quantifiable evidence.  One’s expectations often inform one’s reality. Those who expected a good time found it easier to have one.

This philosophy had been imparted on Alby when he was in late middle school. It was time to grow up, his father informed him.  Time to start acting like an adult. A man.  Time to learn how to start managing things. And the key to start managing people is to start managing their expectations, first.

That was probably why Alby’s bedroom decor hadn’t aged up much once he moved out and got his own apartment.  The only difference between this room and the one he grew up in were the color scheme leaning infinitely more femme. The young doberman’s bedroom was one of the few places in the world that he could let his guard down and be himself; or at least a reasonable facsimile thereof.

Still on his bed, Alby turned his head towards his dresser. The top drawer mocked him. He could practically hear it accusing him, calling to him. Just like in that one raven guy’s story, the contents seemed to pulse, mocking him like the beating of a dead man’s hideous heart. Alby hadn’t worn panties since Max had caught him and humiliated him for it.  He hadn’t dared.

Back to boxers for him.  Boxers were safe. One couldn’t get caught with boxers on.  No one’s expectations could be messed with. He’d tried walking around with the panties in his pocket, like a good luck charm or something, but it just didn’t feel the same.  There was no thrill, no softness, no nothing.  

And if this weekend had been any indicator, they might not do the trick anymore. Alby reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone.  He looked at the photos he’d taken of himself in Max’s bathroom before he’d stripped that damned maid’s outfit off and gotten back into his normal clothes.

He really did look cute in that black maid’s dress, he thought. More than cute; pretty even!  He’d taken photos of himself from several angles using the mirror.  Each one, he swore, was going to be the last one. It just took him many, many last ones.  It would be the last one too.  Because he was never going to get to wear something like that ever again.

That thought made him feel a little sad.  He hadn’t expected to end up liking how much everything looked and felt.  If he thought he could have gotten away with it, he would have at least smuggled the black panties away for himself. So soft and frilly. But that would have demanded swift retaliation from Max and Alby would have deserved it.

The whole thing would have been wonderfully naughty if it wasn’t for two things.

One was the presence of that smug killjoy wolf, and the other was that close call he’d had. Alby wasn’t completely naive. Max was obviously into some strange shit, just like Alby. Nobody just had a maid outfit lying around.  Same went with the pajamas.

That’s probably what Alby had stumbled into: Max’s drag closet.  Lucky son of a bitch got an entire room for a closet…

Not that it mattered.  Because Alby wasn’t going to do it again.  He just wasn’t.  He was going to play this smart. Genius I.Q.  Super cautious.

The dog’s thumb hovered over the delete button. He just couldn’t make himself push it.  What was one little photo shoot; for the sake of memory?  For the sake of fantasy?

Feeling feisty, Alby unzipped his pants, grabbed his member and started quietly dreaming of all the wonderful little ways that encounter could have gone wrong. He imagined the big strong wolf picking him up and carrying him over to the couch. Placing him on his lap and bouncing him as if he were a helpless little thing.
Alby didn’t fantasize Max talking, because the wolf’s voice would be a total buzzkill in this moment, but in his imagination he knew that he’d missed a spot.  Sliding down to the floor, he lowered himself to his knees and spread Max’s lap open. He unzipped the other man’s pants and took out the hard throbbing cock inside.

“I think I forgot to polish something,” he whispered to himself and licked his chops.

The young doberman felt his lips start to pucker and his pace started to quicken. As he neared climax, he almost whispered a certain D-word. Almost.

Didn’t though.

“Wooof!” Alby said to himself. The post orgasm guilt shattered the illusion. Max could never know about this.  Ever!  He’d never live it down.  “I gotta go take a shower.”
*********************************************************************************************
Alby worked all that month and well into the next like a man possessed. It turned out that when he wasn’t busy trying to make sure certain people knew he was above them for reasons beyond being the boss’s son, or trying to correct them from doing a substandard job, it was actually easier to do his own job.

It was a bit like gaming, really.  It was all about reading the data and understanding the meta, the people behind the numbers to make accurate predictions.  The main copy machine was due for maintenance, but that also meant it was probably about to break down. Better put a call in.

The accounting team tended to take their office supplies in bulk. But it had been a while since a request had been made.  Time to order up. A binge was imminent.

Christine was shedding, and Morgan was sick.  Sanitize both of their areas heavily at the end of the day. Come to think of it. Morgan got sick a lot when Christine was shedding and their cubicles were very close to one another.  Was Morgan allergic to cats and didn’t know about it?

Something to look into.  

The big wigs tended to go out and take three martini lunches. Better to schedule their most important meetings before lunch, just in case, (unless Alby needed to be involved in said meeting).  The sales reps stayed sober and tended to eat lean, so it was most sensible to schedule tutorials, workshops, and strategy updates for them in the afternoon instead, when they’re re-energized from the break. Yeah they’d bitch and moan about wanting to go home right after their lunch break instead, but bitching and moaning was generally what sales reps did.

Speaking of sales reps, thoughts of a certain wolf hung darkly over Alby’s head. He’d only gotten a knowing nod from Max whenever they passed each other. No mention of what happened at the New Years Eve Party.  Or the blackmail.  Or any of it.  It was like it had never happened.
It had happened though, and Alby couldn’t quite sort out how he felt about it. Wasn’t Max supposed to pop in with veiled threats or reminders every once in a while?  Wasn’t that how blackmail worked?  Alby assumed it did, but that was mostly because his only experience in it was movies.

This wasn’t any normal blackmail, though.  A normal blackmail, and Alby could have tried to bargain for those pictures, pay a ransom or something.  Or he’d have to humiliate himself. Or keep doing favors. Not hold off on some of the peons.  

More importantly, a normal blackmail wouldn’t result in him kind of wanting to lose…


*******************************************************************************************

A month and a half had passed since the party, and Alby had continued to behave. Better than just ‘behave’ as a matter of fact.  He’d really stepped up his game.

Christine’s shedding wasn’t an issue, as the cleaning crew were given special instructions to clean her space instead of to ignore it.  The copier busted from overload and was fixed by the end of the same day. Meetings were organized and arranged around people’s lunch time instead of going over them. Everyone’s emails and queries were replied to within minutes instead of hours. Just ithe other day, one of the secretaries called in sick the, and Alby stepped in to help take over their duties.

Alby? Doing actual work instead of just telling people when and where to work? Remarkable!

The office at Madden & Maddox had always been fairly well run in the sense that Alby’s transition into the role didn’t really disturb anything. The positive momentum of Alby’s predecessors had mostly taken care of that.  Bully or not, Alby still had a job to do and he did it without breaking any rules.  Things had changed, however, and in a good way.  For the past two months the office had run like a motherfucking Swiss watch..  There was efficiency, and then there was perfection.

It really showed how good Alby was at his job.  It also, Max noticed, showed what an asshole the kid could be.  If he could keep things going this smoothly all along, then it was a wonder of how petty he was capable of being by slow rolling, browbeating and generally inconveniencing people he didn’t care for.

A deal was a deal however. Max decided not to show the photos to anyone. He expected the kid to be less of an asshole and back off some of his work buddies. Humble the boss’s brat.  Making things at work significantly better was three scoops of ice cream on top. Christmas was still a long way off and there was no fat Clydesdale with a beard hanging around, so Max wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Imagine Max’s surprise when he got an email asking to see Alby in his office.  

The dog was sitting at his desk when Max walked in, typing away.  “Hey, Alby. You wanted to talk?”

“One moment,” Alby said, not yet looking up from his computer.

“You said you wanted to talk at eleven,” Max said.  “It’s eleven now.”

“I know,” Alby droned. “Just a moment. I need to put out this fire real quick.’

Max frowned.  “What kind of fire?”

“Nothing to worry about…” Alby said.

The wolf’s personal bullshit detector was going off.  Invite someone for a private meeting and then make them wait for you when you show up on time.  It’s a shame. This really was too good to last.  “Sure…”

“Aaaaand done.”  Alby looked up from his screen. “Now. What can I do for you?”

Oh yeah. Power play incoming. “You asked me here, dude. Not the other way around.”

Alby smirked. “Oh yes, that’s right. Would you do me a favor and close the door?  I think you’re going to want to give us some privacy.”

Oh boy. Here it came.  Idiot thought he had some kind of silver bullet.  Probably found one of Max’s fetish profiles. “Sure, if you want.”  He closed the door and then sat down in the chair across from Alby’s desk.  It was one of those low seated ones that made it so that you unconsciously felt compared to the higher seated person across from you.  Cheap trick. Wouldn’t work.  “What did you want to talk about?”

“That deal we made? The one under coercion?” Alby said. “It’s off.”

The wolf didn’t blink. “Nope.”

“I thought you might say that,” Alby said, like a villain in a third rate spy movie. “Hear me out: The other night, I did a little research.“

“Mhm.”  Max crossed his arms.  He knew where this was going but might as well let the guy talk.

“I’ve been thinking about those pajamas that you forced me into when I was unconscious. You don’t really have a cousin, do you?”

“Of course I have a cousin.”  Max replied flatly.  She just happened to be in her forties and was much too big to fit in them.

Alby seemed annoyed by Max’s flippancy. “That maid outfit was more than just some halloween costume.”

“Doesn’t matter what people have or where it comes from, it’s how it’s used.”  Max felt dirty saying it. He was playing defensive when he didn’t need to. It was like he was luring Alby into a trap.

Let him show his ass again.  He’d seen it before.

“Still. I did a little digging. Did some image searching, and went to a whoooole lotta sights, and you won’t believe what I found!”  Alby turned the computer monitor around.  

Yup. It was Max’s kinky dating profile.  

Isn’t that interesting?” Alby mocked. “Or should I call you ‘Daddy’?  You do look good in leather, by the way.”

Max’s blood boiled but he kept his composure.  “Say your piece.”

“It’s simple,” Alby said. “The deal we made? It’s off. You show people those pictures of me, I’ll show them these pictures of you.  Mutually assured destruction.  So why don’t we just stay out of each other’s way from now on?”

Max leaned back in his chair and folded his arms over his chest. “Nope.”

“But if you ever follow through on your threat, I’ll post these pictures of you,” Alby said.  He scrolled through some more photos.   “Is that person wearing a diaper?”

Max ignored that last question. “Deal’s still on  Behave or everyone will know what I know.”

“But then they’ll know you’re into all this crazy stuff.” He squinted at the screen.  “Enema play?”

“Go for it. I don’t care.”  The key to blackmail is that you need someone to care about the secret. “If you act like an asshole, I’m gonna show it off to everybody.”

“What if I show these first?”

Max tilted his head ever so slightly and shrugged. “Probably nothing. That won’t affect my job performance so I don’t care.”

“Job performance?!” Alby practically yelped. “You’ll be the office laughing stock! You might even be fired!”

So as to show that he was just done and not upset, Max took the time to slowly rise out of the chair.  Once again, he was the bigger of the two.  “Nah. Probably not.  Might get an annoying email telling me to adjust my privacy settings or something. But that’s about it. The guys in H.R. like me.”

“But…but…I…I just want…”  Alby had turned into a robot on the fritz. He really thought this gambit would work.  Granted, Max was bluffing, but not by much.  

Max thumbed behind him. “The difference between you and me, kid, is that most of the people out past that door like me.  You dad won’t fire you because you’re his kid. He won’t fire me because I’m a damn good salesman.”

“Wanna bet?” Alby’s eyes were twitching.

“Yeah,” Max said. “I do. Call your dad.  Tell him what you found. Go for it.”

There was a long, uncomfortable stare.  Finally, Alby looked away.

“Did you really think that’d work?”

Alby hung his head. “Yeah. I sorta did.” He exhaled and deflated, defeated. “So what happens now?”

Max shrugged again. “Nothing.” He couldn’t tell if Alby was shocked or panting. Both?  “What? You’re an alright guy when you’re not trying to be an asshole. Just don’t be one and we won’t have a problem.”

“So you’re not gonna…retaliate?” The pup just couldn’t wrap his head around the concept.

“Naw. The deal was you lay off my friends. I’m fair game if you want to come at me.”  That came out with more double entendre than Max had intended.  

“But last time-”

“Last time,” Max cut him off. “You got drunk and busted down a locked door that I then had to replace. This is nothing.”

“Oh…okay…”  Alby said, sounding slightly disappointed.

Max went to the door and rested his paw on the knob. Time for his own parting shot. “Oh yeah,” he said. “I know you switched to boxers, but it’s okay to put something more exciting on if you want.  It won’t make the pictures any better or worse.”

Alby looked like he was about to faint.  “How did you know?”

The slightest grin came from Max. That had been another bluff. “You’ve been walking differently.”

*************************************************************************************************
Alby didn’t know what he was thinking. Literally.  It was like there were two different people inside of him telling him completely conflicting things.

The first voice spoke of vengeance. It had a desperate need to get even with Max. He wanted to get even. To make the wolf pay for humiliating him.  First he dressed Alby up in little girl pajamas, then made him perform chores in a maid outfit!  Then when Alby went through all the trouble to cyber stalk Max back, the asshole didn’t have the decency to seem concerned!  It was like Alby wasn’t even a threat to him.

Oh, he was a threat, though! When Albert Madden Jr. put you on his shit list, you were gonna get shit on!  It was better to be feared than loved, and even if he couldn’t make Max fear him, he could at least get the bastard’s temper up! That’d show him!

The other voice was egging towards Alby for failure and both he and Alby knew it.  He’d gone off half-cocked with the picture plan because he was kind of hoping that Max might take exception to it; might try to coerce him into something else.  Something that started along the lines of ‘I see you haven’t learned your lesson yet.’

Any excuse to be permitted to wear that maid outfit again. Or maybe something more risque. Maybe nightie, perhaps.  Or if not risque, more coerced.  Alby imagined being forced to wear those satin panties again; forced to buy more.  And every day he’d have to wait for Max to come into his office and inspect him to make sure that he’d worn them again.  It was okay if it wasn’t Alby’s choice, or so the voice assured him.

Both voices were incredibly drunk.

That’s why Alby was here outside Max’s farmhouse in the snow at two in the morning, holding a ladder.  He’d parked his car just outside the privacy fence, used the ladder he’d just bought to get over it, pulled the ladder up over with him and climbed down.  

The plan was simple: Climb up onto Max’s roof. Break the window and burst into his sex dungeon or whatever he called it from the outside.  Then piss his pants and go to sleep in it.  Max would find him the next morning, and then things would get interesting from there. Scientifically speaking, it should have similar results as the first time.

Objectively, it wasn’t a very good plan. Alby was no cat burglar.  He was probably going to make a lot of noise breaking in. There was a very real possibility that he’d make so much noise that Max would think he was being robbed and just shoot Alby instead of asking questions. The doberman didn’t so much as have a way to break into the house, assuming the windows were locked from the outside.  He hadn’t thought of getting even a hammer or a crowbar. It was a bad plan. But any plan sounds good when you’ve had enough scotch.

Alby reached into his winter coat and took another swig. It went down easy, almost like water. He didn’t want his bladder to be too empty.  He had to really make a good show of it.

The ladder went up against the first story roof with a clack. In the stillness and quiet of the night, enhanced by Alby’s own guilt and paranoia,  it sounded like a gunshot.

This was going to work.

Alby counted to thirty and waited. No footsteps sounded. No lights came on.  

This was going to work.

He grabbed the ladder, and just like with the wall he started to climb and make his way up. Up, up, up, towards whatever he’d stumbled into but couldn’t remember because of darkness and drunkenness.

This was going to work.

He might not even remember what was in that forbidden room this time with how he was feeling.  He was almost as drunk as he’d been on New Year’s.  That’d be kind of neat, actually.  It would make this a magic door or ritual wherein he went into a trance and woke up wearing something cute that he’d never have the balls to put on by himself.

This was going to work.

He was more than halfway up the ladder before he started to question whether he was on the right side of the house.  Was it the east side or the west side?  Which way was east anyways?

This was going to work.

Alby shouldn’t have taken that last swig.  As he neared the final rung and went to step onto the first story roof, Alby’s blood alcohol level spiked just enough to make his limbs too loose and wobbly.  

“Whoah! Whoah! Whoah!” He lost his balance and rocked back, his arms flailing like a chicken trying to fly despite itself.  “FUCK!”

The faintest flash of starlight registered in the Doberman’s brain for the split second that he was parallel with the ground.  Then, much too fast, he plummeted backwards knocking the back of his head on nearly every rung all the way down.

“-UCK -UCK -UCK -UCK -UCK!”

He crunched into the snow, pile driving himself on the top of his head and momentum carried him all the way back onto his belly.

The fact that he was able to roll over onto his back was all the proof he needed to know he hadn’t paralyzed himself.  There was no way to tell when he wet himself; on the way down or after the crash.  But his pants felt warmer in the snow.

He felt so cold. And dizzy.  Here was good enough. Here he could pass out. Get some sleep. Close enough.

This was going to work.

Alby wouldn’t get the chance to pass out.

A  door slamming open. Tromping footsteps. A very angry wolf looking down at him.

“Jesus,” Max swore. “Not again! Goddamn it Alby!”

“Heh,” Alby whispered to himself. “Whadya know? It worked…”  It was probably for the best that the wind had been knocked out of him.

[Personalias]

(Part 4)

Max looked down at the drunken twenty-something idiot there in the snow.  “Goddamn it, Alby…” he’d already said it two or three times in the last ten seconds, but apparently he needed to say it a couple more times.

This dumb fucking kid. 

“Heeeeeeeeey, Max…”  Alby wheezed with the stupidest panting grin on his smug face.

Max made no effort to help the dog up to his feet.  He was too baffled to be angry, and the adrenaline surge from the sudden turn of events was having an oddly calming effect.  Not so much serenity as it was tunnel vision. “What the hell are you doing here, dude?”  The way Max said ‘dude’, wasn’t with the casual familiarity of two friends greeting one another, but with the derogatory and pitying contempt that a rancher might call a stupid city slicker in a ten gallon hat and a Roy Rogers costume. 

Alby took a few moments to pant, catch his breath and let out a groan.  “Uuuugh.  Wanted…to get…into…that secret room… that you didn’t…want me to see”

Max’s mouth lowered like a drawbridge in surprise. “Why the hell would you want to do that?”  He sniffed.  It didn’t take a wolf’s keen senses to smell the booze on Alby’s breath. “Are you drunk?”

“Yeah…” Alby’s eyes clouded over for a moment. Max leaned over and snapped his fingers right in front of Alby’s face.  “Hm? Oh yeah. Yeah.  I was drunk lasht time,” the doberman slurred. “So if I did it again, I thought I’d get to…get to wear that pretty outfit…again.” He belched. “Please?”

Max rubbed his forehead to keep the pounding headache this was becoming at bay.  Adrenaline was subsiding into pure annoyance.  That’s why there’d been that little game of psychological chicken back at work. Alby had been hoping he’d lose. He’d wanted to up the ante.

“Okay…” Max sighed.

Still on the ground. Alby’s eyes lit up.  “Really?”

“Not that kind of ‘okay’,” Max said. “I’m just not gonna call the cops or shoot you.”

“Really?” Alby looked torn between relief and worry.  Good. Let him sweat.

Max did not deign to answer that question.  He leaned over and held two fingers out. “How many fingers?”

“Two,” Alby said.

“Good.” He started patting down and pressing Alby’s chest and limbs.  “Any of this hurt?”

“Nuh huh.”

“Turn your head to the left and the right.” Max commanded.  Alby did that and more, giggling.  “I didn’t say make a snow angel, asshole.”  Alby froze.  Max bent over and hoisted Alby up.  “Stand up. It’s cold. I need you to walk.”

“Ho-kay.”  Alby was able to hold his own weight, but he had no balance. He kept leaning on Max for support lest he fall back down.  He was either concussed, even more drunk than the New Year’s Eve Party, or playing it all up for an excuse to practically hump Max’s leg. Maybe all three.  Max decided right then and there that if Alby did something stupid like go in for a kiss, he’d be short a few teeth.

Together the pair shuffled out of the cold and into the warmth of the farm house.  Max flipped the lights on and stood Alby up.  “Hold still,” he instructed. “Don’t go to sleep.”  Alby’s pupils were both the same size.  “Doesn’t look like you have a concussion.”  God really did look after children, drunks, and fools.  Alby was practically all three and nothing short of divine intervention explained his current condition.  “You’ll live.”

“Yaaaay…” Alby’s cheer came out as practically a whisper.  His eyes were getting droopy, and his body was starting to ragdoll.  “Can I pass out now, please?”

Max’s grunt and growl came out as a resigned sigh. “Sure.”

The young doberman needed no further permission.  He slumped over entirely and fell into Max’s arms.  “Thaaaaank yooooou…”

“Here we go again,” Max muttered. If he had had a nickel for how many times he was having to strip down an uninvited guest and put him to bed, he’d have two nickels. That wasn’t a lot, but it was weird that it had happened twice.  One way or another, Max resolved, there wouldn’t be a third time.

For the second time, he picked up the passed out man-pup and carried him up the stairs.  This time he carried Alby over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes instead of a cradled infant; his annoyance bleeding over into his treatment of the lout. Hopefully the dog would be a little more sore if not a little more wise in the morning.

Intrusively, Max thought that the way he was carrying Alby wasn’t that different from how parents carry their sleeping two year olds on a long day of shopping, but he chased that image right out of his head.  There may or may not be time for those sorts of thoughts later, but now was decidedly not the time.

The process was very similar to how it had been on New Year’s: Max stripped Alby’s clothes off, wiped him down, and dressed him in thick cotton training panties and childish pajamas.  It was more difficult than the first time because Alby had more layers this time and hadn’t had the courtesy to shimmy his pants down to his ankles first.  Max noted the jingle of Alby’s keys and dug around the discarded jeans to retrieve them.  The wipes were more than ceremonial.  Alby had pissed himself again and the wipes came back slightly yellow and discolored after making a pass over Alby’s junk. 

“This had better not become a habit,” Max grumbled.  If he were being honest with himself, Max would question who that comment had been directed at.

The panties were a light purple this time and the pajamas were a mint green.  Max wondered if Alby would notice, but then shook the question off as something silly.  Of course Alby would notice.  He’d obsessed over the last time to the point where he thought breaking and entering was a good idea.

When it was done, he put Max into bed on his side and gently tucked him in. He let out a loud groan that stifled into a yawn.  He wasn’t even forty yet, but the wolf was beginning to ache like he was fifty. The hardest part about the whole procedure was that he’d opted to do it all in the guest room instead of the nursery.  The changing table was higher off the ground and had all of the supplies in easy reach.  It was a wonder what pain could be avoided by not having to bend over for every little thing.  Max decided not to use his special space, however, because it felt like it would be rewarding Alby’s bad behavior.

He picked the cold and soiled clothes off the floor, turned the lights out, and closed the guest bedroom door behind him.  “Mother fucker,” he swore to himself. This had really gotten out of hand.  “Should’ve just kicked his ass or something.”

Max stopped just long enough to grab some gloves and a decent pair of pants.  He was cursing quietly to himself all the way back outside.  He grabbed the ladder Alby had brought and trudged through his yard back to the barn.  Animals hadn’t lived there since before he’d inherited the place and it functioned more or less as a storage shed.  “The fuck do I do now?”

Despite his cold and weariness, he went out into the street and found Alby’s car.  He cranked the heat all the way up and drove it back so that he could park it in his garage.  “I oughta just put that ass hole in here, roll down the windows and close the garage.”

He didn’t really mean that, of course, but murder was a darkly satisfying thought in that moment. Going with darkly satisfying thoughts and impulses had gotten him into this situation.  He’d meant to embarrass and humiliate the little shit so that he wouldn’t do it again.  What had happened instead was he’d created some kind of feedback loop. To a brat like Alby, any attention was good attention.

“What am I gonna do?”  Max had no idea how many times he’d asked himself that question tonight, whether it was inside his own head or out loud. 

Calling the cops made the most sense. It was the most practical solution. That’d get it to stop. So would reporting it to Madden Sr.  Neither of those felt right, to him.  Alby was an idiot and an ass, yes, but he wasn’t really a threat.  If Max thought it otherwise, he’d drop the hammer in a heartbeat and ruin the punk’s life.

He thought of a thousand other good reasons why it should end here and now, but Max’s own peculiar code of honor wouldn’t allow it. He wanted to handle this privately and relatively quietly, but he didn’t know how to. 

“When did I get roped into somebody’s goddamn slashfic?” he heard himself say back inside his own bedroom.  Boys climbing up ladders going on goddamn panty raids like it was some eighties college movie.  “I am getting way too old for this.”

It was past three in the morning, and Max knew himself well enough to know he’d be tossing and turning till sun up no matter how hard he tried. He dug out his phone and sent a quick email indicating that he was calling in sick tomorrow. Better to be an agitated wreck at home than at work. He wouldn’t be having any more dreams tonight, just revenge fantasies and problem solving scenarios to stop this nonsense from ever happening again.

Max didn’t know what the best thing to do would be. He only knew what he wanted to do.  Might as well try that, he supposed…

***********************************************************************************************
Alby’s crusted eyes shot open.  He tossed the blankets off like a kid on Christmas Day and dashed out the guest bedroom door and into the hallway.  His speed and fleetness of foot was not out of joy or excitement, however.  When he flung the door open he hooked right towards the bathroom instead of left towards the stairs.

Every single inch of Alby’s digestive tract was screaming at him. That had been the thing to wake him up. He ran to the toilet and didn’t even think to shut the door behind him. The first bits of bile and vomit were in his mouth just as he hung his head over the toilet.

He heaved burning chunks of whatever he’d had for dinner (mostly scotch) into the bowl. The splashback onto his muzzle did not help his constitution.  He flushed it away, stood up, turned around and dropped trou right as the other end emptied itself out beneath him.  He groaned in pain as more burning blobs shot out of him, his throat feeling scratchy and raw. 

As soon as he stopped, the stink of him hit his nose and that made his stomach spring back into action.  Thus the deadly dance of the porcelain throne started:  Puke, flush, turn, sit, shit, flush, stand, turn, bend, puke, and so on.  By the fourth chorus, each end of him was nothing but sound and fury; lots of heaving and staining, but nothing more was coming out to play.  Whatever pains were left inside of him had more to do with emptiness and irritation than a need to evacuate.

He ended the process sitting down with his face in his hands.  The sudden quiet gave his brain room to process how much his head throbbed and his eyes burned. He wasn’t even able to properly appreciate that he was in a similar yet different colored bedtime outfit from the night before. That meant Da-...Max had more than one.

As much as his mind stirred at the thought, it was very little comfort where his body was concerned.

“I am never drinking again,” Alby said to himself once he finally got the strength and the will to wipe himself.  He’d said it many times before this,  but this time he meant it.  He flushed one last time, pulled the training panties and pajama bottoms back up and hobbled to see himself in the mirror.  Needless to say, he did not look his best.  “Fuuuuuuuu…” he didn’t even have the strength to curse properly.  Never. Drinking. Again.

Lids blinked over burning eyes and a tongue that was closer to sand paper nervously licked at his chops.  Looking at himself, the full memory of what he’d done last night played itself back to a much more sober mind.

The scotch. The drive over. The scotch. The ladder. The scotch.  The attempted break in. The fall.  A very confused and angry Max.  Passing out. The voices in Alby's head were both silent, and the only one he had left was telling him just how messed up his actions had been and how fortunate he was that he wasn’t dead, fired, or in jail.

The latter two were still potentially on the table. He dry swallowed at that. Damn he was thirsty. He was sorely tempted to just turn the sink on and lap up the water.  Just as his eyes started to wander over to the faucet’s knob, he saw the cup of water and two aspirin left out for him.

Alby smiled weakly at that. He hadn’t even seen the wolf this morning, but already Max was looking out for him and leaving things to help. His tail wagged a little at that thought. It almost made Alby feel bad for what a jerk he’d been.  Almost…

The doberman took the aspirin and gulped down the glass without breathing.  He let out a satisfied gasp, refilled the glass and did it all over again.  He was tempted to go for a third helping, but his stomach gurgled a warning about tanking up. Instead he opted to splash his face a couple of times to help him wake up.

Once he toweled off, Alby slowly walked down the hallway, feeling more the trespasser and strangely at home simultaneously.  The aspirin kicked in quickly on his empty stomach and the pounding in his temples subsided so that he could more appreciate his surroundings and clothes.  Very soft. Very nice.  No sign of Max yet.  He paused back at the guest room to see if the aspirin had been the only thing left for him or if he just hadn’t noticed due to the rude awakening.

There was nothing in there that didn’t register to his frenzied brain and hungover body just before the bathroom dash.  The door to the secret room had been repaired, and was now padlocked for good measure. Alby thought it best if he didn’t try to open it or to check if Max was in the master bedroom.  Only one thing left to do.

Alby paused at the top of the stairs, and he took one last deep breath before going down.  His paws scritched and clicked against the wood, threatening to make him slip. The unsteady sensation caused him to grab hold of the hand rail.

It was all happening again, just like before, and the young Master Madden allowed himself one last dopey grin and a fantasy: What if this wasn’t the last time?  What if this was only the second time?  What if it  turned into some kind of game?  They’d ignore each other at work, then Alby could get antsy, and then drive up here and do something stupid.  Then he’d be carried away, redressed in comfortable pajamas and then have to perform some humiliating task in a frilly dress and have his picture taken so that they could be ‘square’.  Then everything would be fine again…until the next time.

He could keep it going as something that happened once a month.  Then twice. Then weekly…

Maybe he wasn’t done drinking, just yet.

The creak of the fifth stair from the top signaled his presence in a much less subtle way than the clicking of claws.  Alby froze and scolded himself. He was still chasing the car; no point in imagining what he might do if he caught it.  The sixth step was just as squeaky.  Again, Alby became statue still, wondering and hoping if he’d get caught.

“Come on down,” Max’s loud but calm voice called up to him.

Alby didn’t move. He was afraid to. He didn’t want to. Experimentally,  he sniffed the air but his nose detected none of the delicious smells of breakfast from the last visit.  Disappointing.
His back foot started to lift up and retrace his steps.  Mayube Max needed a little more time. It was still awfully early.

“Alby. Now.”

Alby’s body kept going down the stairs as if compelled by magic. There was no shouting. No anger. Not even an expectation. Max issued the command with such certainty, as if Alby’s obedience were just a statement of fact.  It had been forever since anyone had talked to him like that.

Without realizing it, Alby was starting to wag his tail again as he finished his descent.  Max was waiting for him. Alby’s tail stopped and his ears drooped. The wolf was dressed in a navy blue polo and khakis with brown loafers.  Everything from his clothing to his posture to his gaze looked so…adult. 

And the way Max looked at Alby; like a parent looking disappointed at their child; ashamed even. It had been a long time since anyone had looked at him like that; including his father.  Albert Madden Sr. had stopped emotionally engaging and investing in Alby since his voice had started cracking. 

Seeing Max looking at him like that made him feel…bad. Really, really, bad! Awful. Worse than all of the hangover symptoms he’d experienced when they were at their peak.

“Hi…” Alby said sheepishly, staring at the floor.  Unbeknownst to him, his thumb started twitching nervously.

“You sober?”  Max asked, brusquely. 

“Yeah. Sor-.”

“Here.”  Max interrupted, holding Alby’s phone out to him.  “Work’s already started and you need to call in sick.”

Alby took the phone. “What? What do I say? What am I supposed to…?”  He’d taken personal days before, obviously, but he hadn’t even thought of work yet.  The juxtaposition of where he’d be calling and what he was wearing and who he was with rattled him.

The first trace of actual irritation crept into Max’s tone. “Just send an email to tell them you’re unavailable.  Or unlock your phone and I’ll do it for you.” 

“No, no.” Alby said. “I’ve got it. I’ve got it.”  He fumbled in the password and wrote a hasty one sentence email to work telling them not to expect him.  He hadn’t set up contingency plans for the day, but there was enough momentum and routine in place to make up for his absence. “There.”

Max had yet to withdraw his hand. The wolf’s paw remained out expectantly.  Alby placed it back in his host’s palm.   “Thank you,” Max said.  Fortunately, Alby was smart enough not to say ‘You’re welcome’.

He stared at Max’s shoes and took a deep breath.  “Look,” he said.  “I’m sorry.”  Alby waited for a reply. Max said nothing.  “I’m sorry,” He repeated, thinking he’d said the first one too softly.  It was only met with silence.  He lifted his head up so that he could look Max in the eye and found that the wolf had resumed his original firm but disappointed stance.

Alby broke off eye contact and waited for a reply.  He was hoping for Max to say something. Anything.  Chew him out. Cuss at him.  Threaten him.  Call him an idiot.  Anything. The silence was worse.

“I’m sorry,” Alby said again. Nothing. “I’m sorry.”  Still no reply. The pressure was building inside Alby and it had nothing to do with anything in his gut.  “Look, I screwed up okay!” he half-shouted.  “I was drunk and stupid, and-and-and I thought it would be funny!” His heart skipped a beat and he pressed on, not waiting for a response. “I haven’t been able to get what happened last time out of my head and I was hoping that maybe if it happened again maybe I could get it out of my system!”

“Out of your system?”  It was the first time Max had spoken since Alby had given his phone back.  How long ago had that been? Two minutes? An hour?

The doberman’s tail tucked between his legs and he hunched his head into his shoulders like a turtle retreating into its shell.  “I’m sorry, man, okay? You have every right to be pissed off or hate me or some shit. I messed up! I’m messed up!  What I did was illegal and wrong and I’m sorry!   Call the cops if you want! Tell my dad! I’ll admit everything! I’m sorry! I’m messed up inside, man!  I’m messed up!”  Alby was close to crying, but he didn’t have it in him to let the tears flow.  He still couldn’t let his guard down.  He could tuck his tail, roll over, show his belly, and expose his throat, but he couldn’t let his guard down.

It was another uncomfortable collection of many many seconds until Alby got Max’s reply.  “I’m not calling the cops.”

Alby unshriveled a tad. “You’re not?

“Nope. Not telling your dad, either.”

Alby’s tail untucked and his ears perked up.  “No?”

“Uh-uh.”  Max finally seemed to loosen up.  He closed his eyes and shook his head. “But that doesn’t mean you’re not gonna be punished.”

The corners of Alby’s mouth fought to stay down. His tail stiffened and he resisted the urge to wag it again.  “I’m in trouble?”  Yessssssssss!

Max took Alby by the wrist and led him out towards the living room. “Come on.”  It was only when Max turned his head all the way around that Alby allowed himself a smirk.  He’d been bad, sincerely admitted it, and was being rewarded with a treat disguised as a trick.

Or was it?

Alby was led into Max’s living room.  He scanned the area but saw no sign of a certain frilly maid’s dress.  Maybe he’d have to do something embarrassing in an elegant ballgown?  “Where’s the dress?”

Max seated himself smack in the middle of his couch, but kept a firm hold of the younger man’s hand.  “No dress.”

“Then what am I going to-?” Alby was yanked roughly off balance. “DOOOOOOOOO?”  He tripped and landed smack dab on the wolf’s lap, belly first. Instinctively he tried to roll and wriggle away or push himself off.  He was trapped when Max pinned him down to his lap with whis forearm.  “Huh?”

Alby wanted to ask what was going on, but more questions flooded his mind before his mouth could form the first. Like what was happening to his pants?  He struggled and looked back over his shoulder and managed just enough to see what he was feeling: Max was using his free hand to roughly yank the mint green pajama bottoms and the light purple cotton panties off his waist and all the way down past his knees. 

“Stop,” the wolf ordered. Alby froze, practically compelled as if by magic.

His mouth was not stilled, though. “Why?”

FWAP!

A painful stinging slap sounded across Alby’s backside. “Ow!” Alby yelped. It hurt, sure, but it was more the surprise than the pain that caught his attention.  “What-?”

FWAP!

A second one stung Alby. It was just as intense as the first and impacted him in almost the exact same spot. This made it hurt a little worse.  “Ow! Fu-!” 

FWAP!

Again! Same spot! Just as hard! More pain!

“Language!” Max barked.

FWAP!

Somehow he’d found away to hit harder!

“AWOOOOOOO!” Alby howled in shock and pain. Something finally clicked. “Are you spanking me?”

Three more thunderous slaps were given in reply, making Alby tense up and grit his teeth.  A spanking? Really?!  This wasn’t hot or sexy. This wasn’t hot at all!  Alby hadn’t been spanked since he was a little kid, and even then it was only done by a Nanny in careful, counted, measured strokes so that he’d know when it was over. No more than two or three. Not this rapid reign of hellfire on flesh!

  He hadn’t asked for this! He hadn’t wanted this!

FWAP!

Okay. Maybe he’d asked for this.

“STOP!” he yelled. 

FWAP!

“STAAAAAAAHP!”

FWAP!

Alby started clawing at the cushes and kicking his legs, trying to get out from Max’s grip and off of his lap.  Max had already adjusted his grip and pressed his body tightly up against Alby’s midsection with his cinching the young man tightly.

Alby’s attempts to get away only gave Max an excuse to pick up the pace.

FWAP! FWAP! FWAP! FWAP! FWAP!

“MOTHER FU-!”

FWAP!

“I SAID WATCH YOUR  LANGUAGE!” Max roared and picked up the pace. Each spanking thundered in his ears and stung his bottom like a giant hornet plunging its stinger into him again and again and again.

Again. And again. And again.

Again!

FWAP!

And again!

FWAP!

And again!

FWAP!

“YOU CAN’T DO THIS TO ME!” Alby shrieked.

Max seemed to disagree and was proven correct.

“I DON’T DESERVE THIS!”

Max disagreed with that as well, and once again, was proven correct by the results. Alby’s flesh was bruising, and the burning warmth with each stroke was spreading further and further away from the source of impact. All over his skin, down to his toes and all the way up to his head.

“I’M AN ADULT!”

If Max recognized that, it wasn’t shown by his actions. The wolf was short on words.

So was Alby. “I….AYE AYE AYE AYE AYE!”  He’d never felt this powerless before.  He’d never been this powerless.  Out of control, sure.  He liked being out of control.  But it had been a literal dog’s age since Alby Madden Jr. had felt truly and utterly powerless and at the mercy of someone that couldn’t be bought, bullied, or bargained with.

““STOP!” Alby begged, on the verge of tears. “PLEEEEEASE!”

To which Max quietly, but firmly replied, “No.”

Alby broke and sobbed openly while tears burst forth from his eyes.  He had lost count; had no idea how long he’d lasted; but Alby broke down started bawling like a baby then and there.  There were no more words.  Just crying.  Just sorrow and regret and adrenaline, and a stinging pain that spread its aftershocks everywhere to the point where the only way to stop himself from feeling light headed was to scream louder.

It was incredibly liberating. Cathartic even.  Something spasmed inside him as he continued to yowl and howl and cry.

******************************************************************************************************

Max didn’t count the swats he’d delivered.  Only the seconds. In his head he kept a steady and reliable count, as easy and regular as every heart beat.  Seventy-four…seventy-five…seventy-six….seventy-seven.

He didn’t believe in corporal punishment for children.  He’d never been spanked himself before he got into the scene.  But maybe if somebody had beat Alby’s ass earlier, Max wouldn’t have to be doing it in the here and now.

When Alby stopped protesting and trying to get off of Max’s lap, he switched cheeks.  It was the closest thing to mercy that he cared to show.  When the brat’s screams and sobs became soundless, he paused for two whole seconds and then targeted the thighs.  He didn’t want to cause any lasting damage, he just wanted the so-called Office Manager to have to sit down very slowly and carefully for the next few days.

It wasn’t the most rational desire, Max realized, but damn it felt good.  One way or another, Alby wasn’t gonna pull this crap again.

Two hundred thirty-eight…two hundred thirty-nine….four minutes.  That oughta be enough.  Max stopped completely, but held firm to the dog’s waist.  Alby was still quietly, breathlessly sobbing into the couch cushions as expected.  He twitched and sobbed and twitched and sobbed, occasionally tensing up and waiting for a swat that wasn’t coming. He kept his hands well out of the line of fire, however.  No trying to rob his bottom or to intercept Max’s hands.

Smart kid.

“Alright,” he said softly.  “That part’s done.”  He released his grip and patted Alby on the back between his shoulder blades.  “Get up.’

“O-o-o-okay!” Alby stammered.  He only moved when Max nudged him up.  When he stood up, Max got a look at his face, with his muzzle wet and matted with tears and gobs of snot dripping out of his nose and bubbling with each breath. 

Alby wiped his nose with the back of his forearm and Max did not correct him. When he bent slightly as if to pull his pajama bottoms up, the wolf shot him a warning look.  “Nuh-uh.”   Alby stood up straighter. “Good.”  Max pointed to over to an empty corner.  “Now, March.”

“Ye-ye-yes D-”

“I said ‘march’.” Max cut him off.

Head down, and his pants now in a puddle down to his ankles, Alby shuffled all the way into the corner. “O-o-okay…”

“Nose in the corner,” Max said evenly. “Hands above your waist. Don’t even think of touching it.”

“Y-y-y-yessir.”

“Now you just stand there, little boy. Stand there and think about what you’ve done.”  Max waited for an affirmative and got none.  “Understand?”

“Y-y-y-yes…” Alby cut himself off with a massive, wailing sob, and then finished his sentence. “YES DADDY!”  Whimpering and whining, he stuck his thumb into his mouth and started sucking on it like a two year old that hadn’t weaned yet.

Max blanched, and did his best to conceal a snarl.  “I’m going to the bathroom.” 

He quietly stepped away from the living room and went to the half bath on the ground floor, slammed the door shut, locked it and turned on the water before he said anything else.

“Holy fuck,” Max hissed.  “The fuck did I just do?”

He’d just beaten another man so badly that he’d called him Daddy, that’s what. And it was the boss’s son.  And just like everything before it had come so naturally.  Was Alby already a thumb sucker, or was that something that Max had somehow dragged and teased out of him accidentally?

“Jesus….” he growled. Damn that was intense! It’d been years since he’d gotten to do anything like that; gotten close enough to someone to even think about doing that.  Just why did it have to be Alby friggin Madden Jr.?

Max started to run his palms under the faucet.  He moved to splash some water on his face but stopped cold when he noticed something clinging to his inner forearm.  It was white and gooey like certain kinds of hair gel.  Except Max didn’t use hair gel.

There was more of it on the front of his khakis, too.

Alby had cum all over Max’s lap in the middle of the spanking.

Max had promised himself that Alby’s bullshit was going to stop one way or another.  Based on the contents of his lap, it looked like it was going to be ‘another’.

“Fucking hell.”