I was tired out, muscles sore and limbs aching from a workout. My body lay scrunched up in a contorted position inside the trunk of a vehicle, what muscles weren’t aching were numb. I had exhausted my vocal chords from pleading, and now my cries came out in whimpers. Not that it would make any difference if I were to scream out. He returns, pulling off my Sketchers sneakers and no-show sport socks, which get stuffed straight into my mouth and tied tightly in place with rope rough enough to bite into my lips. Disorientated, disheveled in my gym gear, I wriggle against my restraints inside the carboot. He steps back to take a memento photograph, one for the album perhaps... My freshly bare feet feel the chill of the air, my futile hands gripping at the vehicle carpet, as I hear the swish of his belt through the air and the slap of stern leather connecting with my soft soles. My feet wrinkle up in a scrunch to protect the tender skin but he holds my splayed, spread toes to swat each barefoot with the lash. His bastinado belting makes me gasp, wide eyed and tearful, but loving every moment. I had asked for this. Happy damsel, distressed, I am shut inside my contented containment as the trunk is closed upon me.