Alby & Max (Part 4) (Patreon)

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 processes 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 that 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 Maddden 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 because 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 Maxed 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 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 of 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 ball gown?  “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 tab 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 his 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, directly across the right cheek. “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 save that it was on the left side of his bottom. “Ow! Fu-!”  

FWAP!

Again! Back on the right! Just as hard! The stinging from the first swat hadn’t fully subsided so the third hurt even more.

“Language!” Max barked.

FWAP!

Somehow he’d found a way to hit harder the fourth time!  He was alternating swats, but the stinging never faded before he was back on a particular spot.

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

Three more thunderous slaps were given in reply, right-left-right, 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 fire machine gun stuff!

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!

Left-right-left-right-;left!

“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.  

The pace of it was so fast and the strike had become so painful to the point where it felt like the wolf had grown giant and was spanking Alby’s entire buttocks with just one enormous palm.  Or perhaps it was more that Alby felt very, very, small.

Again, and again, and again the open handed slaps to Alby’s rear fell upon him like burning sulfur raining from the heavens.

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, Alby felt the hot buzzing tingle radiating outward from him.

“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 Albert Madden Jr. had felt truly and utterly powerless and at the mercy of someone that couldn’t be bought, bullied, or begged.

““STOP!” Alby pleaded, 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 and 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 until his body shook and his throat rattled.

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 heartbeat.

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 kink 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 stopped targeting Alby’s cheeks and started moving down to the backs of his thighs.  It was the closest thing to mercy that he cared to show.  When the brat’s screams and sobs became soundless gasps for air he paused for two whole seconds and then alternated between thighs and cheeks evenly.  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 girl. 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.”