"He hasn't seen everything."

"Yes he has. I was practically doing a Playboy pose for him."

"No he hasn't, Harriet. He hasn't seen your cute little bottom yet, has he?"

"Master, I can't. Not here. There's hundreds of people around."

"That isn't disobedience is it, Harriet?"

"No, Master, but 3;"

"It sounds very like it to me. Now, show the man your bottom, or I'll have him spank it for you." I froze. I knew my Master well enough to know that this wasn't an idle threat: from bitter experience I knew that if I annoyed him enough he would do as he said. I could never forget the spanking I received in the garden at home after I had spilled my wine glass, nor the fateful consequences. With a shudder I recalled the subsequent encounters with the brat schoolboy Clive, and with the witch woman Sue. No, I couldn't go through that again. I looked over my shoulder at the Newcastle fan, who was making no attempt to hide the fact he was staring at me. And after all, why should he, since I had made it perfectly obvious I was purposely flashing at him? My stomach was churning, my hands and brow sweaty and my ears ringing with alarm. I felt such tension that I thought I was going to be sick. In all my exhibitionist adventures, this one probably ranked as the most humiliating of all. I wasn't sure why it was affecting me so strongly, but I think it was the fact that on the one hand I was performing for the Newcastle fan, deliberately flashing for him, while at the same time hundreds of other casual onlookers were passing by, any number of whom could also observe if they looked in the right place at the right time. It made me feel hideously exposed, not knowing when or from where I could be seen.

I turned away again and rested my weight on my left hand which was pressed to the rug. Tugging at my skirt, I slid it upwards, instantly feeling a draught of warm air on my cheeks, and when I thought I had gone far enough I settled myself into place again. I didn't need to look round to know that my entire backside was revealed, and the Newcastle fan, no more than a few feet away, was getting a free view. I looked at my Master. I shivered and a wave of goosebumps settled on my skin.

"Okay?"

"Splendid. You're very red-faced, Harriet."

"I know I am, Master. Probably something to do with my bare arse sticking out in the middle of a festival site."

"Don't get smart with me, Harriet."

"Sorry Master. Is he looking?"

"I should say so. His eyes are on stalks. Roll your right leg forward, over your left."

"Oh Master, no."

"Harriet, you are closer than you know to a spanking."

"Yes Master," I sighed. I knew what he wanted and did as he asked, lowering my body as I slid my right leg forward. I trembled as the movement had its inevitable result and I felt my buttock cheeks begin to part. Well Mr Newcastle fan, I thought, you really have seen everything now. The feeling of the warm afternoon air wafting against my arsehole was excruciating and I tried to block from my mind the image of what I was exposing.

"Excellent, Harriet. I think you've definitely got his attention now."

"I'm pleased, Master," I said, calculating how defiant sounding I could get away with and hoping I had stayed on the right side of the line.

"Are you hot?"

"Yes,"

"And wet?"

Yes, damn him, I was wet. The most extraordinary emotions were flickering through my stomach and womb, and despite my humiliation, despite the terror and shame of the moment, I was deeply turned on.

"Yes," I whispered.

"Probably feel like having a damned good stroke."

"Yes."

Why did I say that, why did I say that?

"On you go then, Harriet."

Mechanically, I dropped my right hand to my lap and slid it underneath my skirt, resting my fingers on my bush. I looked around guiltily, but let's be honest for the past hour I had been so brazenly on display this latest performance would barely raise a curious glance. Or so I tried to tell myself as I wormed my fingers down towards my slit and skirted round my clitoris en route to my swollen, soaked pussy lips. I closed my eyes as I began to stroke delicately along their length, feeling the instant surge of excitement zap through my body.

"Don't be coy, Harriet. Our guest is behind you, make sure he can see what's going on. Let him see what you're doing with your hand."

I raised my legs and pushed my hand further down, ensuring that my fingers could be seen from behind. It was difficult to achieve without parting my legs completely and ending up in a totally obscene pose and, in order to keep some semblance of decency, I screwed my body round until I was reclining on the rug. Even so, my arm was twisted awkwardly to allow me to make the gap between my legs as small as possible. Finally, I settled into position and stroked my index finger up and down my lips, feeling their moisture, dragging agonisingly against their sensitive flesh and ran my fingers backwards towards my arse, the nails coarsing against my skin and finger tips playing against my puckered hole. All the time I had the feeling that everybody in the entire site must be staring at me. And I knew for certain, of course, that just feet away the Newcastle fan certainly was. I had never felt more exposed. My Master smiled.

"You're doing very well, Harriet," he said. "Our friend thinks so too, judging by the way he's fiddling with his trousers. Now, I think it's time for phase two." I froze.

"Phase two?"

"Yep. Go up and ask him if he wants a blowjob. Then take him back to his tent."