My hair is not especially long, but as the music reached a particularly raucous and speedy passage I tilted my head back and shook it vigorously from side to side, sending the tresses flying in ragged and breathless waves just beneath his chin, and as I bent further backwards I felt the ends rustling against his face. That ought to attract his attention, I thought as I prolonged the contact long enough to ensure it would indeed register with him, before pushing myself harder against his crotch. I was now pressed so firmly to him I must surely be displaying more than the requisite level of familiarity in such a crowd.

Rather than pressing forward in recognition of the pass, though, as I had anticipated, my target moved backwards until he was clear of my touch. Oh god, I thought, don't tell me I've picked a polite one. I took a step backwards until I made contact again and resumed my dance, shaking my hips and sliding my backside across his crotch. This time, this time, I thought. My target continued to stand behind me, and this time made no attempt to back pedal clear of me. Progress, at least, although he was not exactly doing anything to encourage me either.

The song ended, and in the lull while the band introduced the next piece I relaxed my backward thrusts, but tilted my head back so that my hair remained in his face, giving him a reminder of his new attachment. As the trumpets parped the opening bars I began to dance anew, more vigorously than before, more daring, more blatant.

And my supposed conquest disappeared.

I lost contact with him and thought he had stepped backwards again, but as I pressed myself further and further back I couldn't locate him and turned to see the back of his head receding through the crowd. A spark of panic lit in my stomach as I imagined the repercussions. My Master, I knew, would be close at hand, observing, and he would be noting my failure to follow his instructions. I couldn't begin to think what the outcome would be, what indignities my Master would inflict on me. A spanking in my tent seemed the most likely bet, an anonymous yet hideously public retribution. I could feel my apprehension rising in my throat, a light-headed nausea which left me dizzy with fear. Part of me wanted to look round for my Master, but mostly I didn't dare, for fear of what his eyes would tell me.

The song cycled through to its conclusion, its merry inflections now leaden in my heart as I swayed desultorily in the heat and noise and press of the crowd. I had largely built myself up to acceptance of my fate when I saw a sight which caused my senses to jolt in my frame: to my right, about five yards away, indistinct in the gloom of the tent, was my target. I calculated what it might mean: had he deliberately moved to avoid me? Or had he simply gone to the toilets? The latter wouldn't be surprising, with my arse thrust against his crotch and bladder for the previous ten minutes. There was only one way to find out, and sidling between the dancing crowd I began to edge towards him.

I positioned myself in front of him again, and to herald my presence I shook my hair in his face once more. Satisfied that he would now be in no doubt that I was back, and that therefore my contact of earlier had not been an accident, I pushed back into his groin again.

I felt him tense, his hips pushing forward for an incriminatory instant before locking in place with my arse firmly pressed against him. I was assisted by the music, which had built once more to a frenzied pace, and I began to gyrate recklessly, sliding my backside to and fro sideways across him. At first he made no move, but then I began to discern a slight pressure against me, and then I felt the first hint of an erection as I moved against him. I bent down, pushing my arse against him, and very deliberately slid myself from side to side.

And there was no doubt, he was stiff as a board.

I felt a rush of excitement as I realised I had succeeded. Pulling myself upright, I leaned back so that my hair brushed against his face again, and this time I sensed him lowering his head towards me. Turning slightly, I brushed my cheek against his jaw.

And in that moment we both knew the way the evening would end.

We continued to dance while pressed tightly together, his erection rubbing awkwardly against me. I gripped my skirt at the back and began to slide it upwards, gradually baring my arse to his touch. In the darkness and crush no-one could see what I was doing, and indeed I doubt even my target realised at first. When I had rucked my skirt up to the waist I reached behind me and felt for his hand. In his excitement, he was now dancing animatedly and at first I couldn't locate it, but finally I made contact and gripped him tightly. I smiled as he squeezed my palm, reflecting that he was, indeed, a polite young man. Guiding his hand, I led him towards my bared arse and placed his fingers against me. For an instant I felt him recoil, the shock of touching bare flesh jolting him out of his casual acceptance of this bizarre circumstance, but I kept hold of his hand and swayed my hips, causing his fingers to pass across my arse from one cheek to the other. I pressed my whole body against him and felt for his other hand, pressing it, too, against me, and as we danced I delighted in his surprisingly delicate touch against my arse.

All the while, of course, I could still feel his cock pressing through his shorts into me. We danced on, and I leaned back until my head was rested against his collar bone. I felt behind once more and found his waistband. Delving underneath the elastic, I slid my fingers downwards until I felt his prick. It was a meaty one, a goodish length but satisfyingly thick: just the kind I like, in fact, not so long that you feel you are being speared and wide enough to graze satisfyingly against all those nerve endings.

I stroked my hand up and down it a few times. He wasn't circumcised and appeared to have a particularly generous foreskin which on the upstrokes seemed to cover his head: I would have to inspect that later, I thought. I tugged at his shorts, trying to pull them down, and my target realised what I was doing. I felt the fabric slide free as he lent some assistance and suddenly I felt the heat of his cock against my bare arse. He pressed forward, pushing his dick flat against me and I bent forward once more, pressing myself backwards in the process until we were tightly locked together, his cock jammed against the crack of my arse. All around, the concert was in full swing, oblivious of the events unfolding in their midst. I swayed in time to the music, feeling my new conquest's cock pressing against me. Leaning back, I felt for it and pulled it down. I felt him tense in pain as I yanked at it, but finally I settle it into place between my cheeks, thrusting between my thighs and stroking against my lips. He was too tall for the effect to be completely satisfying, but the thrill of such a public performance fully compensated. I parted my legs and allowed him to slide himself fully between them, then locked them tight against him.

By the change in angle I could feel he had evidently bent his knees, and I could feel his cock thrusting against me excitedly. His hands had snaked round from my arse to my front, and I felt him try to push his fingers inside the waistband of my skirt. I wasn't having that, however, and pushed them downwards: I wanted to be totally exposed. He took the hint and began to slide my skirt upwards until he felt my bared pussy. He rested his hand on my pubic hair and I could feel his breath on my neck. I was in a quandary: should I make him come here or wait and savour the moment in his tent? It was a tough one, but the thrill of the moment, the knowledge that I had a cock pressed against my cunt in the middle of several hundred people as the concert played on, won the day. I thrust backwards, the movement causing his hand to slip against my pussy lips, and I felt his fingers begin to spider against me, sliding across my clit and down to my already soaked slit.

I had his cock well and truly trapped between my thighs and I dry-fucked him, grinding myself back and forward against him, feeling his cock slide against my flesh. I took his right hand and guided it underneath my tee shirt to my breast and at that moment I felt myself enter the realms of true delight. In the middle of the festival I was having my tits and pussy felt up, while I wanked a stranger's cock between my thighs.

I could feel my conquest tense and try to pull free from me. He was close to coming, I realised, and probably wanted to stop things before we reached the messy stage. I was having none of that and reached back until I felt his backside. Pressing him forward, I made clear my intentions, then redoubled my efforts, grinding faster and harder and more purposively against him. The fingers of his right hand were squeezing ever tighter against my nipple as his climax approached, the gentle stroking of his other hand against my pussy lips degenerating until he was simply pressing his fingers aimlessly inside me, and I knew he was on the verge. I leaned back and turned my head towards him and when I had attracted his attention I whispered in his ear.

"Come for me."

With that he jerked and thrust harder against me, and I felt the first spurt of hot liquid, then another, then another. I could feel it flying from his cock and then getting caught between my thighs, before beginning to drip inexorably down my leg. As the music continued I laughed uncontrollably, thrusting back and forward until my target was spent and his come had spilled all over my thighs.