Alby & Max (Part 3) (Patreon)

“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.
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“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.”
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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…


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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.”

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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.