Regressive Ad Campaign:Part 13



By Sage Ann

This story is set in the incredible world created by AlteredStates14. Her universe is brought to life not through traditional written narratives, but through a powerful collection of images—advertisements, media articles, and other visual artifacts—that vividly capture everyday life in her setting.
All images associated with this story are her original work. Please consider supporting her so we can continue to explore and enjoy more of this fascinating world.
You can find her work here:
 https://www.deviantart.com/alteredstates14
Another author has also written a story based in this universe from a different perspective. You can find it here:
 https://www.deviantart.com/fatherfish/art/Pampers-and-Propaganda-1028729633



Morning arrived with dampness—both sisters discovering their nighttime protection had succeeded in its singular purpose. Kalie stared at the ceiling, the familiar warmth spreading beneath her a sensation she was beginning to anticipate rather than dread. Beside her bed, a stack of fresh pull-ups sat in mute testimony to her new reality, their cartoon patterns simultaneously infantile and necessary.
The bathroom became a staging ground for their shared regression, Kalie and Mary moving around each other with a practiced efficiency born of shared embarrassment. Kalie helped Mary secure her pull-up, trying not to notice how the younger girl's cheeks flushed pink at needing assistance. In turn, Mary kept watch at the door as Kalie changed herself, both pretending this was a temporary arrangement, a blip in their otherwise normal teenage existence.
"You'll be fine," Kalie assured her sister as they lingered by the front door, backpacks slung over shoulders, pull-ups hidden beneath carefully selected jeans. "Just go to the bathroom between every class, even if you don't think you need to."
Mary nodded, her green eyes wide with an anxiety Kalie recognized all too well. A week ago, it had been Kalie standing paralyzed with fear at the thought of walking into school wearing what amounted to an undercover diaper. Now she was the expert, dispensing wisdom with a confidence she didn't entirely feel.
Their mother kissed them both on the forehead—a gesture typically reserved for elementary school send-offs—and Kalie found herself leaning into the contact rather than pulling away.
"Call me if either of you needs anything," their mother said, her eyes lingering on them with a warmth that felt both protective and tinged with something unreadable.
The school hallways seemed unchanged despite the seismic shifts in Kalie's personal landscape. Lockers still slammed with percussive urgency, conversations still ebbed and flowed like tidal patterns, and teachers still droned through lessons as if nothing in the world mattered more than the quadratic formula or the causes of World War I. Kalie moved through her morning classes with one part of her attention always diverted to the state of her pull-up, excusing herself between periods to check and change if necessary.
By lunchtime, she had already gone through two pull-ups, the second barely wet but changed anyway out of an abundance of caution. The routine was becoming familiar—slip into the handicapped stall, quick change, wash hands, return to class as if nothing unusual had happened. She had mastered the art of keeping spare pull-ups wrapped in a sweatshirt at the bottom of her backpack, indistinguishable from normal teenage detritus.
As afternoon classes began, however, Kalie found her vigilance waning. The constant monitoring had become exhausting, and her mind—usually so ordered and deliberate—began to wander. During history, she became engrossed in a discussion about the Civil Rights movement, forgetting entirely about her bodily needs until a warm trickle alerted her that her pull-up was already damp. Rather than excuse herself immediately, she decided to wait until the end of class, reasoning that the pull-up could handle a little more.
Physics lab followed, and Kalie found herself paired with a quiet girl who rarely spoke but worked with focused precision. They were measuring the coefficient of friction, and Kalie became absorbed in the task, relegating her wet pull-up to the background of her awareness. When a second wave of warmth spread between her legs, she barely registered it, merely shifting her weight slightly to adjust to the increased heaviness.
It wasn't until the final bell rang that Kalie realized her error. Standing from her desk, she felt an unmistakable squish, the pull-up compressed beyond its capacity. A quick glance down revealed no visible leak, but Kalie knew she was living on borrowed time. She hurried to her locker, gathered her books, and walked with small, careful steps toward the parking lot where her mother waited.
The car's fabric seats proved to be her undoing. As Kalie slid into the passenger side, the pressure forced the oversaturated pull-up to release its contents along the leg bands. She felt the warm wetness seep through her jeans, and a small gasp escaped her lips.
Her mother glanced over, instantly understanding. "Oh, sweetheart."
"I'm sorry," Kalie whispered, mortification washing over her in waves. "I forgot to check. I got distracted."
Her mother reached across the console to squeeze her hand. "It's okay. It happens. But this is why I've been thinking—if you're wetting multiple times throughout the day, these pull-ups might not be enough protection."
The ride home passed in uncomfortable dampness, Kalie sitting perfectly still to minimize damage to the car seat. When they arrived, her mother led her directly to the bathroom, helping her out of the wet jeans and pull-up with the same matter-of-fact tenderness she'd shown when Kalie was a toddler.
After a quick shower, Kalie wrapped herself in a towel and padded to her bedroom where her mother waited, a thoughtful expression on her face.
"Kalie," she began, patting the bed beside her, "I've been noticing something at school drop-offs and pick-ups. Have you noticed how many girls your age seem to be wearing protection lately?"
Kalie frowned, thinking back to her school day with new awareness. There had been subtle signs she'd overlooked—the slight waddle in some girls' walks, the occasional crinkle when someone sat down too quickly, the bulky outlines beneath certain skirts and dresses.
"I guess maybe... a lot of them?" she ventured.
Her mother nodded. "I'd estimate about forty percent of the girls in your class are wearing some form of diaper. It seems to be quite common now."
Kalie absorbed this information, recalibrating her understanding of her situation. If nearly half her classmates were dealing with the same issue, perhaps it wasn't as isolating as she'd feared.
"So," her mother continued, "I'm wondering if we should consider something more absorbent for you. Something that can handle multiple wettings without leaking."
She produced a package from beside the bed—thicker diapers that looked more substantial than the pull-ups but still had the pull-on design.
"These are a hybrid," she explained. "As absorbent as regular diapers, but you can still pull them up and down if you need to use the toilet."
Kalie took one from the package, feeling its weight and thickness. It seemed like a reasonable solution to her current predicament, and the thought of avoiding another leaking incident was appealing.
"I'll try them," she agreed, standing to pull one on.
The diaper slid up her legs with more resistance than the pull-ups, settling heavily around her hips and between her thighs. The bulk was immediately apparent, forcing her legs slightly apart as she moved experimentally around the room.
Reaching for her jeans, Kalie encountered the first problem. Try as she might, she couldn't pull the denim over the padded bulk. The waistband wouldn't close, the zipper refusing to ascend past the top of the diaper.
"I can't wear these with my clothes," she said, frustration edging into her voice.
Her mother nodded, as if she'd anticipated this very issue. "I thought that might be the case. I picked something up that might work better."
From a shopping bag on the floor, she withdrew a pair of overalls made of soft denim. Unlike Kalie's usual clothes, these had a wide, roomy bottom half, clearly designed to accommodate additional bulk underneath. They also looked decidedly juvenile, with bright stitching and a small embroidered flower on the front pocket.
Kalie held the overalls up, her expression caught between dismay and resignation. They looked like something Mary might have worn in elementary school, not appropriate attire for a high school junior.
"These are my only option?" she asked, already knowing the answer.
"Unless you want to stick with pull-ups and risk more leaks," her mother replied gently.
Kalie stared at the childish garment for a long moment, weighing her limited options. The memory of sitting in wet jeans on the car ride home tipped the scales.
"Fine," she conceded, stepping into the overalls and pulling them up over her diapered bottom. The fit was loose elsewhere but snug over the diaper, creating an unmistakable bulge. She avoided looking in the mirror, not ready to confront the visual evidence of her regression.
When Mary returned home later that afternoon, she took one look at Kalie and pressed her lips together, clearly suppressing a laugh.
"Don't," Kalie warned, though without real heat. "This could be you next."
Mary's amusement faded, replaced by a thoughtful consideration of her sister's new attire. "Do they help with the leaking?"
"So far," Kalie admitted. "But I haven't had to use it yet."
That changed by dinner time, when Kalie felt the familiar relaxation of her bladder without any conscious decision to void. The diaper absorbed the wetness efficiently, leaving her dry on the outside but distinctly aware of the swollen padding between her legs.
Her mother noticed her slight shift in posture. "Do you need a change, sweetheart?"
The question, asked in the same tone one might inquire about homework or dinner preferences, somehow normalized the extraordinary situation. Kalie nodded, following her mother upstairs to her bedroom, where a changing pad had been laid across her bed.
Lying back as her mother unfastened the overalls and expertly changed her diaper, Kalie stared at the ceiling and accepted that this was her reality now. She was seventeen years old and back in diapers full-time, being changed by her mother on what amounted to a changing table. The strangeness of it all had begun to fade, replaced by a resigned acceptance that felt almost like peace.