Baby Talk

You can use a translation app online. The one I used translated the text you copied as follows: "I was always very disobedient and often wet myself. That's why I got a diaper on every evening from mom or my older sister and rubber pants. During the day, I was only allowed to wear rubber pants at home. If I wet myself or was disobedient, there was a beating. In the hallway hung, for all to see, a dog whip and a strap whip. Even if we had visitors, I had to get a whip, give it to my mother or my sister and ask them to whip me. It always aroused me very much when I was whipped in front of spectators. I also often provoked them so that I would be whipped."

Ninotchka (1939- The filmed billed "Where Garbo Laughs".

Chapter 8: While my mother was the one who bore me, Maria was the one who raised me. She came from La Luces. A tiny oceanside territory, it was a very pretty place with warm weather all year round surrounded by other islands, and fruit that grew on trees. I didn’t remember a time without Maria. She was there when I was born until I packed for college.  She potty trained me defying my parents orders, taught me how to ride my bike, kissed my booboos away when I scraped my knee, and showed me how a true mother’s love was. I yearned for her attention like a bee craved nectar, like the human body needed oxygen to breathe, and where the sail met the sea.  She was not just my nanny. I loved Maria in a way I’d never cared for anyone else. Winking at me over Mother’s shoulder, she held her finger up to her lips.  Shhh.  Just a few minutes longer. But I was antsy. My leg jumped repeatedly and I could just barely stop myself from rushing forward into her arms. Her tanned skin was like velvet and raven hair glowed. As always, she excluded an eternal warmth that shone bright in her sparkling gaze. But there was one problem standing in the way. Mother. As she spoke, her tone was like nails on a chalkboard. “- they’ll be arriving at exactly a quarter past five. Wilson is going to collect them at the airport,” she huffed before turning to Maria. “I expect my daughter to be properly clothed and groomed. Am I understood?”  “Yes Ma’am.” the words came from both our mouths.  Like the toxin she was, Mother soaked all the joy out of any room she occupied. There was no doubt that she was the true head of the house. Though Father built its foundations, it would have crumbled by now if not for the ruling of her iron fist.  But I did not want to dwell on what could not be changed. She left without another word, giving me a once over glance before departing back the way she came.  That was all it took.  Maria glided down the spiral staircase so effortlessly it was as if she was flying.  Suddenly, I was lifted up into the air.  Greedily inhaling her sweet scent, I buried my face in the space between her shoulder and neck. I clung onto her as tight as I could. My legs wrap around her waist as her hand rested on my bottom.  “Oh Mija,” she breathed. “You’ve gotten so big!” “Stop!” I giggled, shyly rolling my eyes. Lifting my head where it met her chin, I glanced up. “It’s only been what - three months?” “A lot can change in three months,” the r rolled off her tongue. “I’ve missed my baby.”  There was a lump in my throat as I swallowed. “I- I-” I've missed you too. She knew what I meant and there’s a pause before we're laughing all over again. I shoved my head back into her side, as if I was attempting to bury myself into her skin. I did not care if I resembled a baby. I knew in my heart that if Maria were to try to adopt me today, I would let her.  She was just that special.  “Let’s get you ready,” her voice took a sobering tone. “We don’t have much time.”  That we don’t and I was violently reminded of the real reason I was home again.  Maria was only nine feet and seven inches tall, just barely making the cutoff to be considered an Amazon. Still, she carried me with the same ease as when I was only three pounds light. She’d only been twenty-four at the time, not much older than I was now, and new to Astoria.  She said that she took the nannying job as a part time gig to earn enough money to attend night classes at the community college. She wanted to get her accounting degree, and had no plans to stay with our family long term. But then I was born. According to her, I was so small with such a hearty pair of lungs, she didn’t have it in her to leave.  As I grew older, I realized that there was much more to the story but didn’t know what. Yet, our love for each other was the realist thing there was. My room was on the second floor, up three flights of stairs, down the long hall and to the left at the very end. The house was like an empty museum. Covered in marble floors and ceilings with empty halls, soulless artwork, and an endless echo.  My room was a mix of pinks and whites with a wrought iron crib and a spinning mobile above, a white plush rug, and rocking chair in the corner. There was a distinct smell of roses and baby powder that I was pretty sure was infused into the walls. A changing table was pressed beneath the window overlooking the sprawling back garden. Another door lead to the bathroom. That was where there lay the object of doom - a simple pink plastic potty chair designed for potty training children and well, those who just wouldn’t grow up (or couldn’t).  This would be an actual child’s dream room, but for me, it was a representation of everything I’d fought so hard to overcome.  It was a symbol of a neverending youth.  Despite the permission to attend university, it came with severe stipulations. If I got any grade beneath a B+, GPA fell below a 3.8, or received two or more strikes on my record, it would result in my immediate removal and admittance to Miss Lou’s Etiquette School for Immature Littles. The threat was severe and very real. It was designed for me to fail because my parents already had no confidence in my ability to make it anywhere in life but to the nursery.  But Maria had always believed in me even when my parents didn’t, and with one more year until graduation, I knew they were panicking. I wasn’t supposed to make it this far.  And they did not like to be proved wrong.  “Arms up,” Maria instructed. Dutifully I obeyed.  Only for her.  There were cameras everywhere always watching. We never could be too careful.  Seated on the edge of the tub, she stripped me bare. Maria had seen me naked more times than I’d seen myself so I didn't attempt to cover myself up, it seemed kind of silly even thinking about it.  The tub was filled to the halfway point with warm soapy water. Plopped down with a splash, my head just reached the above of the tub.  Maria knelt on the outside, cupping water and pouring it over my head.  For how much Mother acted like she didn’t care, she was abnormally paranoid about me drowning to death. She adamantly insisted that I not be left alone in the bathroom for even a second.  “You’re going to be all nice and shiny after,” Maria hummed, lathering shampoo and conditioner into my hair. She scrubbed my scalp in the way she knew I liked, almost causing a moan to emit from my lips.  “You like this, don’t you?”  She was teasing me now.  I loved it.  My hands hovered over the water, swishing back and forth, and I had to admit that I missed this.  I missed her.  Drifting to the rest of my body once the soap was cleared from my face, she moved quickly but thoroughly. “We’re going to get you all pretty. Just you wait.” There was not much we could freely say in fear someone heard something they didn't like. The opportunities where we truly were alone were few and far between.  Arms up, I was lifted from the tub and wrapped in a fluffy towel. She cradled me in her arms and I had no choice but to press my face into her large bosoms. I used them as a sort of cushion to hide the pink of my cheeks as the changing table came closer into view.  There was already a diaper laid out, prepped and ready for its owner's immediate use, aka, me. Even potty trained with the occasional accident here and there, it had been years since I’d had a true one. There was the perceived notion that littles were inherently incontinent, past the ability to be taught to control themselves (physically and mentally) and so it was hopeless to even try.  While I was used to the degrading treatment, it didn’t mean I liked it. I’d just learnt not to complain because that would only get me a spank to the bottom, and if they were feeling extra cruel, an enema up the ass. I shiver at the thought, having spent too many days writhing in pain and discomfort at a reddened bottom and overextended stomach.  But Maria wasn’t like them. She was soft and gentle and took great care to not make this any harder than it needed to be.  “Your mother insisted on the Waddlers,” she apologized knowing they were my least favorite type of diaper, even more than the Crawlers. Nonetheless a whine slipped through my lips. I kicked my legs in despair earning a chiding rebuke but it was all part of the plan. After twenty-years we had it down to a pat.  “Do you want the Rollers instead?” she clicked her tongue, messaging a thick oil into my skin.  Ankles captive in her hands, she lifted them above my head.  Next came the powder.  I let out a sneeze. “Please!” I whimpered. “I - I don’t need ‘em,” diapers. “I’mma - I’mma -”  “Big girl?” Maria finished for me. “Big girls don’t whine like little babies.” she contradicted. “Big girls don’t wear diapers, do they?”  To the outsider looking in, I was just a little girl who had gotten too big for her britches. There was no need to worry about me rebelling against higher authority. There was no need for me to even think I was any more important than the larger beings. There was no need to worry that I had forgotten her place.  “Remember - naughty behavior means Mr. Bubbles gets to take a slippery journey through your tummy.”  The threat of an enema, which Maria definitely would give in order to preserve our cover, was too real.  That was why I responded in a sweet and dainty tone, “Yes, Nanny.” Mother was always watching.  ooOoo My thighs were unnaturally shiny and reeked of talcum powder yet I could only imagine Theo’s face seeing me this way. Yeah, naked and diapered… that screamed maturity.  I hoped I hadn’t hurt him too bad. I wasn’t even sure that there was anything going on between the two of us, but looking back at his reaction, surely that had to mean something, right?  If we were just classmates it would mean nothing, but he invited me to his house, protected and defended me. People who were just classmates would not go through all of that trouble to help another person that they didn’t at least consider a friend. Could we even be called that? I could count the number of times on my hand that we had interacted.  Maria pulled me back to the present. Sat up and leaned against the wall, she said, “let’s get you dressed now.”  The padding was so thick that it had to be tapped up just above my belly button and nearly ballooned out to my knees. There was a reason they were called the Waddlers because it was absolutely impossible to move around in. Unable to close your thighs, the victims were forced to waddle on unsteady feet which more than once had you tumbling to the ground. That’s why I preferred the Crawlers because at least you could somewhat comfortably move, even if it was on your hands and knees. I’d rather that than awkwardly stumbling my way around. I could only be thankful Mother hadn’t thought of the Rollers. They were more of a punishment diaper used when Mother and Father thought I’d been extra naughty. They left me only able to roll around on my back and I had to wait for someone to move me like a babe fresh out of its mother womb.  “Your mother picked out a very pretty dress for you. You’re going to look just like a doll,” the joy in her voice was laced with a warning to control my reaction because Maria knew that I wouldn’t like it. Obedience and perfection was expected. Especially when the Family came to visit.  And that’s what I had to be for the next three days - a perfect little doll.  Watching as she pulled the outfit from the wardrobe, it wasn’t anything worse, it was exactly what I had expected.  Mother always had a flare for the theatrics.  It is a combination of pink and white frilly lace, tiny little bows, a poofy pink skirt and puffy shoulders. The tightly fitted corset smothered whatever womanly features I possessed. I was not able to catch an actual glimpse of myself until the end in the tall standing mirror. The skirt flared out at my waist allowing my diaper to be on full display, and Maria just managed to pull the pink tights over the thick padding.  I bite down on my tongue, stopping myself from saying something that I would come to regret.  Are we done now? I hoped but it was as if God had stacked the whole world against me.   A bonnet was tied in a bow beneath my chin in a floral patterned cloth that was as hideous as it looked. My hair pooled out in perfectly coiled ringlets, however, the final look was not complete without a pink inflatable pacifier, ensuring no unsavory words could slip past our esteemed guests - not that it ever was a problem.  “Now we are ready.” Maria smiled sadly yet with a hint of maternal affection in her gaze. I pressed myself close to her, gathered in her arms and wished we could stay in our little bubble forever.  There was still an hour before they arrived and so we were content to rock in the chair. Swaying back and forth as I straddle her waist, I allowed my eyes to rest as she hummed a foreign tune into my ear.   Content as could be, the dream was shattered when the clock struck five and were made to descend to the foyer where my parents already stood. Maria held me on her hip, a step behind my parents and to the left. I didn’t miss the grunt of acknowledgement from Father when he saw me for the first time. He was dressed in his finest pressed silk shirt and dress pants. His age showed at his salt and pepper hair, and severe lines around his eyes and forehead.  My eyes drifted down and as a little, I was to be seen and not heard. I knew even from a young age that this was the expectation. While other kids would fuss and whine when bored, I never did. Still and silent beside my parents when required, it earned the approval of many.  “What a well behaved little girl you have!” they’d comment.  “I have to send my little to etiquette school to get her this behaved.”  Mother preened like a peacock at the compliments, portraying the role of loving parent until we were behind closed doors.  What the outside didn’t see were the scars that marked my skin beneath the pomp and frill, the disparaging remarks, and toxin that dripped from her pores.  I could not help but recall that one summer six years ago. The memory was still as fresh as the day it occurred.    “You insolent girl!” Mother hissed when we returned back to the house from Wendy Harbour’s eighteenth birthday party in the Aster Islands. We weren’t even in the door before her hand shot out and my head snapped to the side. I felt the stinging pain before I even realized what she had done.  Wendy Harbour was a bitch.  The daughter of a powerful tech Giant, she always took the time to cruelly remind me that despite our shared age, we would never be the same. I would never be considered the mature and responsible adult that she was. All the Amazonian children of our parents' socialite friends were the same, and it was at the birthday that everything took a turn for the worse.  They’d made a game of Hunt the Little (meaning me). The other littles present were spared the humiliation because I was the only true daughter born to their kind. I was the one needed to make an example of.  Blindfolded and dropped in the middle of  the .70 square mile island, the game was simple. No one knew where I was, only the timeholder. If I found my way back to the house without being captured before the clock ran out, I would win the game. If I was captured, well… I didn’t want to find out. Now, I’ll spare you all the details, but in short, I won. They’d discounted the fact that Maria grew up only two miles away and had spent many a night teaching me the lay of the land.  Just follow the flow of the current and it’ll take you wherever you want to go.  Wendy screeched like a banshee when I waddled my way out of the bush and onto the beach in less than half of the time given.  I was made to apologize for ruining the game before being passed around to the over thirty Amazon’s present and forced to beg to be spanked. I didn’t remember the rest of the trip because Mother kept me hidden away, drugged out of my mind with all the infant-conditioned littles in the nursery.  That was only one of many instances and perhaps it was  the reason that I was the way I am. Since then, I’d learned it was better not to raise my voice… or speak at all.  Invisibility meant safety and that’s all I longed to be.  That made this weekend particularly difficult because there would be no hiding. OoOoo Author’s Note:  Hey everyone! As promised, here is another chapter! Thank you for those that have liked and reviewed. As always, I love to hear what you think so PLEASE REVIEW! It inspires me to write and will update faster I should post again next week and until then, happy reading!   

can someone describe the graphic for me? thanks for the help.

Camila thought she was winning as this was going far easier than she thought, she would have to keep herself on her toes to get Madison in her grasp, "well losing control means you're unable to control your bladder or bowels even in the daytime, you start feeling more panicked and making wrong choices." This was a simple definition of what she considered losing control.