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The vents in the ceiling whirred, the squirrel cage fans behind them purposefully noisy to cover up the occasionally embarrassing sounds of a trip to the restroom. Dane always found the sound relaxing. Beyond the fact that the restroom was the most private room in the building except for perhaps the CEO's office, it was a change from the sterile silence of the office. It made the room feel a little more alive somehow.

The weasel sighed and closed his eyes. With a little push, he started to piss. It splashed across the urinal puck, not a golden shower but a mildly yellow stream. Dane drank so much coffee and tepid water that he pissed nine or ten times a day, a habit that occasionally saw him compared to the secretaries - and sometimes worse. Boss got ol' Dane pregnant this time, one joke went. Baby's pushing on his bladder.

He had just started to run dry when the door creaked open, and the weasel's muscles tightened. His stream broke off and he winced. Just when he tried to start again, a heavy paw closed around his shoulder, causing Dane to gasp and flinch. He hadn't heard the footsteps on the tile, and that could only mean one thing.

"Christ's sake," Dane groaned. "In the bathroom?"

A cool nose prodded Dane's ear, bumping into the cup of it. "You know I like to keep an eye on my employees. Just making sure you know not to shake more than two times. Jerking off if you do it any more than that."

"Thank you very much, Mr. Grey," Dane hissed irritably. "Now if you don't mind-."

Hank Grey's paw closed around Dane's flaccid penis, startling a breathless croak out of the weasel. He gripped it tight and gave it two sharp shakes, slinging beads of urine mostly onto the abdomen of the weasel's jacket. "There we are. Now kneel down, Lockhart, and spare me the you-wouldn't-dare B.S. this time, because I dare, and you know what happens if you don't indulge me."

The color had already drained from Dane's face. What had begun as a decent, albeit not great day was turning into garbage and it wasn't even noon yet. "Aw, hell," Dane groused, kneeling down, not bothering to stash his cock away. "At least get it in my mouth, would you? You know how much it costs to dry-clean a suit?"

Hank unbuttoned his fly and pulled apart the flaps of his breathable, brown boxer shorts. "Afraid I don't, Mr. Lockhart. I have assistants for that kind of thing. I'll be sure to pander to your taste for urine, though. Open up that sassy mouth and mind the teeth. It'd be an awful shame to have to knock them loose."

Dane obeyed because there was no other choice with Hank Grey, the wolf who could have him in a federal penitentiary before the day was over if he so desired. The wolf guided his semi-hard cock past Dane's lips and needle-like teeth. Biting never even occurred to Dane; the will to straighten his spine and show defiance had been wrung from him long ago.

Wearing his easy, friendly smile reserved for clients and interns, Hank relieved himself. A little push started things off, putting just a wrinkle in his brow before he relaxed into calm superiority again. Hot and foul, dark to the point of resembling rusty water, the wolf's piss offended Dane in every way possible. Its flavor was nauseously bitter even to the weasel who drank black coffee incessantly. The stench of ammonia rose up Dane's throat like steam, backwashing into his sinuses as he swallowed. The weasel's consumption seemed eager, something not lost on Hank, but even the wolf understood that Dane simply wanted to get rid of it as fast as possible like gulping down foul medicine before it could rest on the tongue.

The wolf eased back, and his grasp on Dane's round ears prevented the weasel from following suit. In pulling away, Hank ensured that his piss washed across the full slab of Dane's tongue. Over Dane's sickened groans and heavy swallows, Hank sighed in relief: "Aaahhh. That's the ticket."

When the stream thinned down to a dribble, Hank pulled back and thrust Dane away in the same movement. The weasel buckled on his knees, uttering a grunt, and he glowered at Hank with impotent hate.

"You know," Dane hissed, "I put up with a lot of shit, but I think being your urinal is about the line."

Hank shook off twice, splattering the weasel's features and jacket with the final few drops of his urine. As though he hadn't heard his employee, Hank said as he stowed his penis away, "I should really do a better job of keeping hydrated. That's what causes such foul urine, did you know that? Toxins build up in your bladder, and if you're not taking in enough liquids, you just don't have enough to piss away. Very unhealthy."

Dane groaned. He stood up, put his own cock away, and slipped off his jacket. "I'm not doing that again," he said bitterly, beginning to dab at the spots on his jacket with a dampened paper towel. "Never. I don't care what you do to me."

"You don't?" the wolf asked, feigning concern. "Well, Dane, if it bothers you that much-."

Hank never finished. He snatched the weasel in his overwhelming paws and dragged him down to the tiled floor. He wrestled briefly with the weasel, who struggled and thrashed despite being so outmatched by a muscular predator. Eventually working Dane to his knees, Hank held the weasel with a heavy paw on the back of his neck as if he were ready to snap it.

"The hell are you doing!?" Dane bleated, feeling like he might cry. This was the most physical Mr. Grey had ever been with him.

"If you don't like being my urinal, then let's just undo all that, what do you say?" Hank asked, trying his hardest to sound civil and pleasant, but he was grinning monstrously. His penis pushed against his slacks. He loved abusing Dane; it brought out his most loathsome tendencies. Things he would never do to anybody else seemed only natural with the broken weasel, and nothing seemed more natural now than to gag Mr. Lockhart.

Hank jabbed two fingers deep into the weasel's maw. This time Dane bit down, plunging his enamel needles into Hank's knuckles and the heel of his palm. Hank acknowledged the pain but it didn't stop him; his fingers stabbed down the weasel's throat, ramming deep even as Dane chomped his paw and pulled desperately on his arm.

Dane's first retch was drowned out to the office outside by the ventilation, but inside the bathroom, it was sharp and horrid. Hank jabbed and Dane retched again, harder. Holding back a laugh, reducing it to a petty snicker, Hank pulled back his bloody paw and watched, delighted, as Dane lurched forward and vomited.

What had tasted horrid going down was unbearable coming back up. Piss marbled with bile and a half-digested breakfast erupted from Dane's maw in a foaming spray. A self-sustaining reaction, the foulness washing across his tongue made him retch and retch again and he emptied the contents of his stomach across the tile in a slow-moving, vile tide. Chunks of doughnut, engorged with bile, splattered into the muck with soft, sickening plops. Just when it seemed the torrent had ended, Dane retched again, dousing the filthy tile with pure bile. And he retched again, gagging so sharply that his gut felt like a knot, and again, this time making his gut feel like a fist trying to punch its way out of his body.

"Ooh. Oh, gawd," Dane whimpered, looking down at the mess he had made. The muck oozed around his bracing paws like a small marsh. Specks of vomit, as if it had ricocheted off the floor, dotted his shirt and tie. "Fuck. Oh, fuck. I hate you..."

"There you go," Hank said lowly. "Now you're not my urinal." He washed his paws, paying special attention to the punctures Dane's teeth had dug into him. In all that time, Dane did not move.

On his way out, Mr. Grey said, "Clean up this mess and get back to work, Lockhart. And next time you bite me, for any reason, I'm making a necklace out of your teeth."