The car pulls up on the verge, and an attractive woman in her thirties gets out, frowning at her phone, and then looks around.
There's a large house set back from the road, but it's not clear whether it's lived in or not. Beyond that are the woods, and rolling countryside. She's miles from the nearest village.
The woman is obviously trying to work out if she's in the right place or not, and thinking her satnav must have led her astray. She looks a bit hot and flustered - her chunky grey jumper was a poor choice for what's turned out to be a sunny day.
She's wearing tight black leggings and little boots, and you can see that she has a great figure.
She taps the screen and then holds the phone to her ear as she strolls away from the car, towards the house, peering at it for signs of life.
To her surprise, a phone rings somewhere in the trees. The person she's calling is obviously in there.
A man steps out of the trees now, in a hoodie and jeans, and the woman literally jumps in fright. He's probably around the same age as her - early thirties, and good looking. But while she looks groomed and well-off, this man has had a harder life.
She realises that he is holding a gun, which he now raises and points directly at her. Her face is a picture of unadulterated terror. She slowly takes the phone away from her ear, her eyes focused on the revolver that he's pointing at her.
You can see that to her, it feels impossible that this is happening. Guns only exist in rough city back streets, or on television. Not here in this beautiful English countryside. Not pointing at her right now, with no one to help her, and no escape.
The man who has obviously lured her here speaks now, in a rough voice.
"Throw your phone on the ground," he tells her, gesticulating at the ground between them with the gun.
She does as he says, and begins to plead with him. "Please... Please what do you want? Please don't kill me."
"I don't want to hurt you," he says gruffly. "I want your car."
"You can have it," she says quickly, shaking her head to indicate that the BMW behind her means nothing to her.
But he goes on.
"And your purse."
"It's on the passenger seat," she says.
"And your phone," he adds, moving forwards and picking it up.
He slips it into the pocket of his jeans.
"And your clothes," he says, looking her up and down.
She gasps. "No, please!"
"All of them," he says, uncompromisingly. And when she still doesn't move, paralysed with fear, he barks: "Now!"
Shaking slightly, she pulls off her jumper, and lays it on the ground next to her. Underneath she is only wearing a black lacy bra, and suddenly seeing her stood there in just her bra and leggings, she looks very vulnerable. But it's clear from the way the man is looking at her that he's enjoying the view.
She now pulls down her leggings, and with them halfway down, bends over to awkwardly take off her boots. She's wearing an extremely small black G-string which matches the bra.
With the boots and leggings off, she now stands looking at him with her eyes full of fear and humiliation, wearing nothing but her underwear, bare-footed on the grass. She is attempting to cover herself with her arms.
"Keep going," he tells her with a twitch of the gun.
The woman pads from foot to foot and pleads with him, but he says "Do it. Now!"
She quickly removes her bra to reveal beautiful full breasts. The man, who has a grin on the corners of his lips, raises his eyebrows at how sexy her body is.
But she is oblivious to this, looking down at the ground in embarrassment as she lays the bra on top of the pile of clothes.
She goes to hook her thumbs into her tiny knickers, but he stops her.
"Wait," he says. And then after a moment, "Turn round. Slowly."
She does as she's told, shuffling round, her arms by her sides, wanting to cover herself but knowing that that's not what he wants.
Having admired her from all angles, he steps closer to her now, and she looks rigid with fear.
With his free hand, he takes hold of the tiny triangle of her G-string, and roughly yanks it down to halfway down her thighs, and leaves it there.
She is perfectly smooth, no hint of hair, and he squats down so that his eyeline is level with her hips, and putting his free hand to her flat stomach, he runs his fingers down to her bare pubis, grunting in satisfaction.
Then, he takes hold of her hip and uses it to turn her round. She obliges, her hand hovering to cover herself, but managing to stop herself because she knows he won't be happy if she does.
She looks at him anxiously over her shoulder.
He pings the elastic of the G-string against her leg, grinning. And then he stretches it right back, pulling it gradually downwards until she's obliged to awkwardly step out of her final remaining scrap of clothing. He's obviously hugely enjoying himself.
He gently runs his hand over her bottom, appreciating the shape of it.
Then he says: "Kneel down."
She does as she's told, kneeling on the slightly damp grass, and at the sound of metal clanking she looks over her shoulder again in shock.
The gun is gone, in his pocket. But now he has a pair of handcuffs in his hand.
He reaches round in front of her and takes hold of her forearms, pulling them away from where they currently cover her breasts, and roughly puts them behind her back and cuffs her wrists together.
Then, holding her arm, he pulls her to standing, and turns her round to face him again.
"I'm going to take your car now. Good luck getting home," he chuckles. And then he stoops to pick up her pile of clothes, and walks to the car with them.
"Please!" she begs him, alarmed. "No please. You can take the car, but please don't leave me like this!"
He ignores her, tossing her clothes across into the passenger seat and then getting in.
