I hate Monaca. I want to move her into a gray, empty basement, tie her to her wheelchair, and leave her alone for hours.
Then I'll visit her, untie her, feed her and give her some water. Neither of us will say a word.
I'll keep on doing that, going down at irregular time to feed her, take care of her needs, but I'll also like act it still take care in the day. I'll slowly add more furniture to her room, but I'll never give her anything advanced. Eventually, she'll stop thinking of me as a jailer, and will think of me as a caretaker.
One day, I'll walk down with my arms full. She'll wonder what it is that I'm carrying, but once I dropped it all on the table, she'll freeze, for it will be an assortiment of canes, paddles, wooden spoons, spatulas, hairbrushes and even switches from the garden.
Still without saying anything, I would feed her as usual, and then, I still pick her up, sit on a bench, put her over my knees, and start spanking her. Slowly at first, over her skirt, Enough to surprise and shock her, but not enough to redden her ass. Once the spanking is over, I would carry her back to her wheelchair, and strap her legs, forarms and waist to her chair, so that she's stuck in an uncomfortable position, her spanked butt pressed against her seat, and I would abandon her like her until it's time to see her again.
As time passes, and each time she tries to sabotage my effort by damaging the tools, the spankings will increase in intensity and length, until they're applied to her naked little butt. And each time she get spanked, she would get strapped to her chair, stuck in an uncomfortable position for several hours.
And time would pass like that, with Monaca unable to feel hope or despair. She would try, once she hears the trapdoor opening, to determine whether she'll get spanked this time by analyzing the way I walk, or whether or not I carry an implement.
