ABDL Story - Corporate Crinkles

I stayed late because the quarterly deck still needed numbers, and because leaving before seven made her text. Mira closed the glass door with her hip and locked it. The click landed in my stomach.

“You missed check-in.”

I stood too fast. My chair rolled into the credenza. “I was finishing the client file.”

“You were hiding.” She set her bag on my desk and took off her blazer. White silk. Open at the throat. “Rule three. After five you come to my office for care. You do not stay out here pretending you still run your own body.”

My cock twitched against the thick padding between my thighs. I hated that it did. The crinkle under my slacks was soft, constant, a private joke I could not unhear. I had been dry all day. Still the diaper held me like a secret she owned.

“I can go now,” I said.

“You will stay.” Mira walked around the desk. Her perfume cut through the stale coffee air. “Hands on the wood. Feet apart.”

I put my palms flat. The grain pressed into my skin. She stood behind me and cupped the seat of my pants, fingers mapping the bulk. Plastic crackled. My face went hot.

“Soaked?” she asked.

“No.”

“We will see.” She unfastened my belt. The leather slid free with a soft slap. Zipper down. Pants shoved to my knees. Cool office air hit the plastic shell. I was thirty-one years old, senior analyst, and I was standing in a locked suite with my diaper on display for my boss.

My cock pushed up against the front panel anyway. Hard enough that the fabric tented. Shame crawled up my neck in a thick flush. She pressed her palm over the ridge and held it there until I made a sound I did not mean to make.

“There he is,” Mira said. “The part of you that begs.”

You could still walk. You could pull your pants up and quit and never smell lavender powder again. The thought hit sharp and useless. My hips rolled into her hand once before I locked them still.

She peeled the tapes. Left side. Right side. The front dropped. Warm residual heat left my skin. Fresh air on my cock and balls made me flinch. Precome already wet the tip. She looked down at me like I was a report she meant to correct.

“On the couch.”

I stepped out of the pants and walked. Diaper dangling, cock bobbing, socks still on. The leather couch stuck to the backs of my thighs when I sat. She pushed my knees apart and crouched between them with the calm of someone who had done this a hundred times.

“Lie back. Hold your knees.”

I pulled my legs up. Exposed. Open. The pose made my hole feel huge in the room. Mira snapped on gloves from her bag. The latex sound cracked through me. She took a packet of wipes and cleaned my cock in long strokes, base to tip, then under the balls, then lower. The wipe was cold. My cock jumped. A bead of precome slid down the shaft and she wiped that too.

“You keep yourself hard for diaper changes now,” she said. “That is progress.”

“I do not.”

“Your cock says otherwise.” She set the wipe aside and ran two gloved fingers along my perineum, pressing until my breath snagged. “Routine starts the second the tapes open. You go small. You stop managing. That is the deal you signed when you asked me to keep you.”

I had asked. After the Christmas party. After three drinks and her hand on the back of my neck in the elevator. I had said I wanted to be cared for. I had not said I wanted this exact version of it. My body had decided for me anyway.

She powdered me with a light dusting, white on skin. The scent of baby powder filled the office and made my stomach drop. Adult powder. Adult size. Still the smell turned something soft and dangerous loose in my head. Littlespace waited behind my teeth like a word I would not say out loud.

Mira lifted a clean diaper from her bag. Thick. White. Plastic rustle when she unfolded it. She slid it under me with practiced hands and brought the front up over my cock. She did not tape it. She left it open, my cock resting on the padding like an offering.

“Not closed yet.” She stood and unbuttoned her silk blouse. Black bra. Cleavage rising with each breath. She reached under her skirt and stepped out of her underwear, then from the bag she pulled a harness of black straps and a thick flesh-colored dildo, already shiny with lube. The cock was long enough that my throat tightened just looking at it.

“You edged yourself in the bathroom at lunch,” she said. “I saw the camera flag. So tonight you do not come until I fuck it out of you.”

My mouth went dry. “Here?”

“On my time. On my couch. In the diaper I put on you.” She stepped into the harness and cinched the straps tight around her hips. The dildo jutted out, solid and deliberate. “You will keep the padding under your ass while I open you. When I am done, I tape you wet with your own mess and send you home on the train like a kept little who forgot how to be a man in public.”

The words landed low. My cock leaked onto the open diaper. I could already picture the ride home, crinkling with every step, cum drying under plastic while strangers sat around me with their phones.

Mira lubed two fingers and pushed them into my ass without warning. I gasped. The stretch burned clean. She worked me open in firm strokes, curling until she found the spot that made my vision white at the edges. My cock slapped against my stomach, untouched, dripping.

“Ask.”

“Please.”

“Full sentence.”

I swallowed. “Please fuck me with your strap, Mira. Please use me.”

She smiled with her mouth only. “Good boy.”

She lined the head of the dildo against my hole and pressed. The blunt width forced me open. Inch by inch she sank in until her hips met my ass and the diaper crinkled under both of us. Full. Stuffed. My cock throbbed in the open air between us, so hard it hurt.

She started to move. Slow pulls. Deep pushes. Each thrust made the plastic whisper. Her hands pinned my knees wide. The dildo dragged over my prostate on every stroke and my brain went stupid with it. Soft surrender rose up my spine like heat I could not refuse. I was safe and small under her weight, and I was also a hole she owned in a glass office with the city lights blinking outside.

“Look at you,” she said. “Analyst by day. Adult baby on my cock when the floor empties.”

I tried to form a protest. A moan came out instead. She fucked harder. The couch creaked. My balls drew tight. The edge rushed up fast, too fast, the denied climax from lunch clawing back with interest.

“Do not come,” Mira said. “You hold it. You feel me rearrange you and you hold it.”

I clenched around the strap. Sweat ran down my temple. She reached between us and closed her fist around my cock, not stroking, just gripping, thumb smearing precome over the head until I shook.

“Caregiver sets the pace,” she said. “Little follows. That is the rule.”

She pulled almost all the way out and slammed back in. My cry bounced off the glass. Somewhere down the hall a vacuum started, distant, ordinary. Life going on while I got pegged open in a diaper on company leather.

Mira leaned over me, silk open, harness digging into my thighs. Her voice dropped.

“Tonight I am going to milk you until you cry into the padding. Then I am going to plug you, tape you shut, and walk you past security with my cum still drying on your cock under all that bulk.” She twisted her wrist once on my shaft. “But first you are going to take every inch and tell me who keeps you.”

I opened my mouth.

She drove the strap in to the base and held there, buried, her free hand already reaching for the remote vibrator still waiting in the open bag, the one with the green light blinking like a promise she had not finished making.

“Say it.”