We decided on nachos and settled down on a rug to dip into them. It was difficult for me to manoeuvre myself into position in my short, tight skirt without flashing again, and in my panty-less state I was reluctant to be too cavalier. I sat on my side, with my legs tucked demurely beneath me, resting my hand on the rug for support. My Master observed my attempts at conservatism with undisguised disapproval, but he made no comment. Ostentatiously, he pulled the nachos plate closer to himself, forcing me to stretch to reach them, and I was surprised by the rudeness of his gesture: my Master may be demanding of me, but generally he is unfailingly polite. As I stretched to reach, however, his reasoning became clear: I may have positioned myself to prevent glimpses of my pussy, but my Master was ensuring that, with my tee-shirt falling forward due to my bending, my breasts were exposed. There was no end to the man's cunning, I thought ruefully, remaining in that position and earning an encouraging smile from my Master. People were passing all the time, on their way to or from the food stalls to our rear, and anyone passing within a yard or so would be getting a clear view. In the course of the next half hour, perhaps twenty people passed; I had no way of knowing which of them, or how many had seen me, but the thought of it, the knowledge that I was positioned in such a way that a casual observer could see me, left me flushed with embarrassed excitement. I was dying to move, dying to cover myself, but pride refused to allow me until my Master sanctioned it. Far from it, however: as I might have anticipated, he upped the stakes.

"You haven't moved for ages, you must be getting quite stiff."

"No, I'm alright Master."

"I think you ought to move a little, though. Perhaps your right leg 3; Perhaps back a bit 3;" My right leg was close to my left, right foot tucked under the left, and in that way I was completely covered. My Master indicated with his eyes what he expected of me, and I slid my leg backwards, stretching until my right knee was touching my left foot. Immediately, a large gap opened which my short skirt was unable to conceal, and I could feel the breeze wafting on my pussy.

"And perhaps if you slide a little bit further down the rug." Knowing his intention, I complied, sliding my bum across the rug and feeling the skirt ride up so that a further inch of upper thigh was revealed. And now, I knew, anyone standing in front of me would be able not only to see down my tee-shirt, but up my skirt. I was completely exposed. A hot flush swept across my brow and I felt my face reddening furiously. I looked down at the rug, too embarrassed to face anyone, and cringed any time someone passed by. Pray god people are unobservant, I thought to myself, but I knew it was a vain hope: so much of me was on show it would be impossible to overlook. Again, my Master left me to my discomfort, basking in my humiliation as a stream of people passed by from the food stalls.

"You're causing a stir," he said finally. I looked up.

"I am?"

"Certainly. See that bloke there, the fat one with the Newcastle top on?" I nodded. "He's passed three times now. Look up and watch people as they go by. See the effect you have on them." My Master prolonged my ordeal, forcing me to watch passers-by, making me register the look of surprise that crossed their faces: that made it much worse, made it more real. Before, like an ostrich, I could take the view that if I didn't see them, they couldn't see me: by making me confront my audience my Master made me acknowledge their presence, and the effect I was having on them.

A few moments later, my Master informed me that the Newcastle fan was circling again, ostensibly to put his finished lunch packaging in the bins.

"Open your legs further." I slid my leg back, revealing myself to such an extent that my pussy was no longer hidden by the skirt at all: sun glinted on the sparse hairs and I could feel its heat on my pussy lips. "And give him a smile as he passes."

This was even worse. The act of smiling as someone passed by served to confirm that I knew what I was doing and wasn't flashing inadvertently. My humiliation ratcheted up another notch, and I wasn't sure whether I'd be able to do it. I could see the Newcastle fan now, and he was indeed fat, a pasty, unhealthy, pallid slob of a man, and the thought of revealing myself to him - and even worse, smiling and acknowledging the fact - was too horrendous to contemplate. He approached slowly and I braced myself for the moment.

"As he passes, I want you to pull your skirt up completely."

"Yes Master," I heard myself saying. I was in a dream by now, the humiliation thrumming in my ears. He was a yard or so away, and I forced myself to look up. Catching his eye, I smiled, a huge beam of a smile revealing my teeth and tongue. Surprised, he smiled back weakly. Okay Harriet, I told myself, go for it. I gripped the hem of my skirt and pulled it as far as it would go, revealing my swollen pussy lips, trimmed bush and flesh all the way to my stomach. Keeping his gaze, I remained in that pose. The man stopped in his tracks, stunned by proceedings, and my discomfort increased with every passing second. Finally he passed by and deposited his rubbish in the bins. Relaxing, I lowered my skirt again and looked at my Master. He smiled, then nodded behind me.

The man was returning.

I watched with sinking heart as he passed by again and this time, instead of continuing to where he had been sitting before, he stopped and sat on the grass two yards behind me.

"Time to show again, Harriet," my Master said, smirking.