Regressive Ad Campaign:Part 14

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


Mary twisted the cap off her oversized water bottle, the plastic giving way with a satisfying crack. The classroom lights bounced off the clear liquid inside—innocent, innocuous, and central to her carefully constructed plan. She took a long swig, feeling the cool water slide down her throat, knowing exactly where it would end up later and precisely what that would accomplish.
The water bottle had been her mother's idea—stay hydrated, she'd said, especially while your body is going through these changes. Mary had seized upon the suggestion, transforming a maternal concern into the perfect vehicle for her scheme. She'd filled the largest bottle she could find, a thirty-two-ounce monstrosity with measurement lines along the side that allowed her to track her progress throughout the day.
By second period, she'd already drained half the bottle, her bladder sending insistent signals that she stubbornly ignored. The pull-up beneath her jeans felt secure, its presence both a comfort and a stepping stone toward her true goal. Mary shifted in her seat, crossing her legs tightly as her English teacher droned on about symbolism in "The Great Gatsby." The pressure built, a physical manifestation of anticipation rather than discomfort.
Between classes, rather than heading to the bathroom as Kalie had instructed, Mary made a beeline for the water fountain. She bent her head to the stream, drinking deeply, pointedly ignoring the looks from passing students who wondered why anyone would spend precious passing-period time at the fountain. Let them stare. They were background characters in her private performance, extras with no knowledge of the plot.
By lunchtime, Mary's pull-up had already absorbed one substantial wetting. She'd felt the warmth spread during history class, had pretended shock and dismay while secretly noting the protection's capacity to handle the volume. Not enough—not yet. She needed more.
In the cafeteria, she refilled her bottle twice, drawing commentary from her friends.
"Are you training for a desert trek or something?" asked a girl with copper hair and freckles that spanned her nose like constellations.
Mary offered a practiced laugh. "Doctor's orders. Something about proper hydration helping with... stuff." She let the vagueness hang in the air, knowing teenage politeness would prevent further inquiry into bodily functions.
The afternoon stretched before her like a canvas awaiting paint. She continued her methodical consumption, feeling her bladder fill again, straining against her abdomen. In math class, she excused herself to use the bathroom, but instead of relieving herself properly, she simply changed into a fresh pull-up, ensuring maximum absorption capacity for what was to come.
The deliberate pressure she placed on her lower abdomen as she sat down for her final class was almost unnoticeable to observers—just a girl adjusting in her seat, nothing to see. But Mary knew exactly what she was doing, applying just enough force to weaken her already tenuous control.
When it happened, it was everything she'd planned for. The pull-up, already containing one wetting and now subjected to a second larger one, reached its capacity and surrendered. Mary felt the warm wetness spread past the leg barriers of the protection, seeping into her jeans in a visible patch that would be impossible to hide.
Her performance was flawless—the gasp of surprise, the mortified expression, the sheen of tears that she had prepared by thinking of genuinely sad things. A classmate noticed first, a whispered "Mary, I think you..." that carried just far enough for nearby students to hear.
The teacher, a middle-aged woman with kind eyes and a perpetual coffee stain on her cardigan, noticed Mary's distress and approached her desk.
"Do you need to go to the nurse?" she asked quietly, her voice pitched to minimize embarrassment.
Mary nodded, gathering her books with trembling hands—the tremor real enough, born from excitement rather than shame. She felt eyes follow her as she left the classroom, the wet patch on her jeans impossible to conceal, exactly as she'd intended.
The school nurse, a no-nonsense woman with silver-streaked hair and hands that smelled perpetually of antibacterial soap, took one look at Mary and sighed with something like recognition.
"You're the second one this week," she said, gesturing toward a vinyl-covered cot behind a curtain. "Wait here while I call your mother."
Mary sat on the cot, feeling the damp fabric of her jeans cling uncomfortably to her thighs. The discomfort was worth it—a small price to pay for what would come next. Through the curtain, she heard the nurse's muffled voice explaining the situation to her mother, using terms like "accident" and "might need more protection" that sent a thrill of anticipation through Mary.
When her mother arrived thirty minutes later, concern etched in the fine lines around her eyes, Mary allowed herself to be enveloped in a hug that smelled of home and safety and everything she'd been missing.
"It's okay, sweetheart," her mother murmured against her hair. "We'll figure this out."
The car ride home was filled with gentle reassurances, her mother's voice a soothing balm to manufactured wounds. Mary kept her responses appropriately subdued, with just enough vulnerability to nurture the maternal instinct she'd been craving.
At home, her mother led her upstairs to the bathroom, where a fresh towel and a change of clothes waited.
"I think," her mother said carefully, "that we might need to consider the same solution for you as for Kalie. These pull-ups don't seem to be enough protection if you're having multiple accidents during the day."
Mary nodded, affecting a reluctant acceptance that masked her inner triumph. "I guess that makes sense."
After her shower, Mary found her mother waiting in her bedroom, a thick diaper identical to Kalie's laid out on the bed. Next to it sat a pair of overalls similar to the ones Kalie had been wearing, though Mary's were a deep purple rather than denim blue.
"This might be more comfortable," her mother said, gesturing to the diaper. "And more reliable."
Mary allowed herself to be guided through the process, lying back on her bed as her mother applied powder and secured the diaper with practiced ease. The thickness between her legs was substantial, the crinkle of plastic unmistakable as she stood to step into the overalls.
"How does that feel?" her mother asked, adjusting the straps over Mary's shoulders.
"Different," Mary replied honestly. The bulk was more significant than she'd anticipated, forcing her legs into a slight waddle that would take some getting used to. But the sensation of being completely encased in protective padding, of being babied by her mother, provided exactly the comfort she'd been seeking.
Later, as her mother left to prepare dinner, Mary stood before her mirror, examining her transformed appearance. The overalls did little to disguise the diaper's bulk, her silhouette distinctly childlike despite her fifteen years. She smiled at her reflection, a private acknowledgment of a plan well executed.
For years, she had felt her mother's attention slipping away, consumed by work demands and adult preoccupations that left little time for Mary. The distance had been subtle at first—a distracted response here, a missed school event there—but it had grown until Mary felt like a background character in her own home.
The solution had presented itself in an unlikely place: an online advertisement for Huggies Trainer Shakes. According to the ad, the shakes were designed to make it more likely that a teenage girl wearing pull-ups would have an accident in her pull-ups. The small print said that they would induce incontinence and temporary mental bladder anxiety. All of it was designed to enable a mother to get her daughter back into diapers. The shakes had promised exactly what Mary needed—a way to recapture her mother's nurturing attention.
She had ordered the shakes using a prepaid card and drank the first one that night. The bed-wetting had been embarrassing, yes, but the resulting maternal concern had been worth every moment of discomfort.
But Mary had quickly realized a flaw in her plan. If she alone regressed while Kalie remained a mature, functioning teenager, the contrast would eventually cast her in a negative light. The solution had been simple: ensure Kalie experienced the same symptoms, creating a medical mystery that would require their mother's full attention and care for both daughters.
After some more research Mary found that the active ingredent in the shakes was a substance called Tinklex which suprisingly could be bought over the counter. She quickly but a small bottle form the local CVS. 
Slipping the Tinklex into Kalie's evening tea had been surprisingly easy, her sister never suspecting that her own regression had been carefully orchestrated by the person she trusted most.
Mary sat on her bed, feeling the diaper crinkle beneath her. She wasn't sure how long she would continue the deception—perhaps until her mother's work schedule eased, or until she felt secure again in her place within the family. But with the new laws raising the age of majority for girls, she knew that Kalie could remain in this infantilized state for at least five more years without raising eyebrows or legal concerns.
And wasn't that for the best, really? Kalie had always been the more fragile one, despite being older. Her quiet, introspective nature often masked a sensitivity that Mary, with her outgoing confidence, had never fully understood. In some ways, this regression suited Kalie better than it suited Mary herself.
Yes, Mary decided, adjusting her position to accommodate the thick padding between her legs. This arrangement made perfect sense. After all, Kalie had always been less mature than her, hadn't she? It was simply the natural order of things, now made visible through the physical manifestation of diapers and childish clothing.