And it is also an event where a Master can have lots of fun with his slave girl.

We arrived early for the Cambridge Folk Festival, but still the campsite was crawling with people in various stages of erecting tents, displaying in the process the range of human emotion from the serene calm of the experienced camper to the baffled rage of people who had borrowed a tent but not the instruction book. There were few patches of bare grass remaining and already the safety instruction to keep at least two metres between tents was being disregarded, with tents butting against one another and what little space there was criss-crossed by a tangle of guy ropes. My Master strode around the site with our tent under his arm, looking for a suitable venue. Most people, of course, look for the quietest, least overlooked spot, in order to afford themselves a modicum of privacy: my Master would be seeking the opposite.

I knew from the outset that the festival would be a four-day test of my obedience and willingness to display. I didn't know what my Master had in mind for me, but I felt sure that by Sunday evening at least one lucky festival goer would be intimately acquainted with the charms of Harriet the Slave Girl, while who knows how many others would have been given observers' rights.

"This'll do," my Master said, dropping the tent to the ground. "Not perfect, but good enough." The spot he had chosen was elevated, the ground sloping sharply and creating a raised area, almost like a natural platform.

"Great," I said. Logic dictated that we would pitch the tent parallel to the ridge, but my Master had begun to peg it out with the entrance overlooking it. I skipped down the slope and looked back up. Hmm, I thought, this looks like Harriet's weekend stage. My Master had his smirking face on, the one he used when he was formulating a plan, and I knew it was a only matter of time before I was called into action once more.

Because no cars are allowed on the site, setting up is a chore, involving dragging all your equipment from a drop-off zone to your tent. It's hot and thirsty work, and my Master and I tore into cans of lager as we completed the task. Done, we settled on the grass and looked around us.

"Hot?" my Master asked.

"Not half," I replied, wiping sweat from my brow.

"Not surprised, with all that stuff you've got on." I looked down. I was only wearing a tee-shirt and trousers.

"Uh huh?" I said, edgily.

"Time to get into the festival spirit, don't you think? We can relax now the tent is up. Why don't you go and put on something more festivaly?" I made no reply, but crawled into the tent and unzipped my leather hold-all. I took out a sleeveless tee-shirt and held it up for my Master to see. He shook his head, and I delved deeper, pulling out a blue vest, cropped dramatically at the midriff and very revealing. My Master nodded.

I searched through my clothing for a companion to it, and alighted on my short, yellow skirt. Totally inappropriate for a festival, of course: it was figure hugging and barely reached an inch or two past my crotch, making it unsuitable for sitting, far less the lounging on the grass required at Cambridge. I would be on almost constant display. Knowing instantly that it was perfect, I held it up for my Master, that familiar tingle of dread and anticipation riffling underneath my heartbeat as he smiled and nodded his approval. The weekend was about to begin.

I reached forward and began to close up the entrance zip while I changed, but from outside I could hear my Master sucking in his breath.

"Master?"

"It's far too hot to shut the tent up, Harriet. Just change where you are."

"But people will see."

"And?"

And, indeed. There was no point prevaricating, I knew, and I slipped off my tee-shirt, cautiously looking outside to see if there were people about. I reached for the new one, but once again my Master intervened.

"Don't think the bra will work with that, do you? Too many straps on show."

"No, Master," I replied and reached behind to unclasp my bra. I barely need one anyway, with my tiny tits, but at least it kept my nipples under control. I knew I was in for a weekend of constant arousal, and my stiffened and unprotected nipples would be beaming my condition to every passer-by. I felt the first brush of wind against my breasts as I pulled my bra off and knelt, topless, in the tent.

"You must be hot in there," my Master said. "Tents in sunshine just soak up the heat. Best sit forward a bit where you can get some air." I shuffled forward until I was in the doorway, barely concealed, rays of hot sunshine settling on my exposed breasts. My Master was looking around, checking who was passing by, who might be afforded the first flash of the weekend. "Show me again the top you're going to wear," he said.

I lifted the flimsy vest and held it in front of me for my Master to see. At that moment, as though choreographed, a young lad of perhaps sixteen or seventeen walked past and my movement attracted his attention. He looked in our tent and caught a glimpse of my outstretched arms and exposed tits. And there we were, flash number one.

My Master grinned at my reddening face. "You ought to take those trousers off as well," he said.

"Yes, I'll just put my top on first."

"No, just strip everything off first."

"Everything?"

"Everything."

"Panties?"

"Panties."

"I have to wear something with this skirt, it's so short."

"You don't have to do anything, Harriet, except what I tell you," he replied testily, an ominous edge to his voice. It was early to be incurring his displeasure, and I hastily got to my knees and fumbled with my trouser button and zip, peeling them down to my knees. I swung onto my backside and unceremoniously hauled each leg off, before sitting cross-legged in only my panties. From outside I could hear a rustle of noise and below us, on a patch of green below the tree next to our tent, the young lad I had just flashed at appeared, with a gaggle of his mates and a frisbee. They began to toss the frisbee around in a desultory manner, all the while trying to glance nonchalantly over at our tent. The boy had obviously told his friends of his discovery and they all wanted a glimpse. I looked at my Master, my mouth dry and anticipation ringing in my ears. He nodded. There was no escape, I was going to have to go through with this.

I rose up and sat on my knees, thrusting my chest forward. I was now framed in the doorway of the tent, topless and unmissable. The boys stopped any pretence of playing and watched as I hooked my fingers in the waistband of my panties and swooped them down to my knees. I stayed like that for a moment, looking directly at my Master's smiling face, allowing the boys an uninterrupted view of my naked body, then once more settled onto my backside and pulled the panties down to my ankles and off. I sat, legs akimbo, my slit in full view. My nipples were taut and erect, thrusting out and upwards in a display of my excitement, and my pussy, I knew, was moist. The boys could now see everything I had. I reached for the tee-shirt, spreading my knees wider as I did so, a delicious ripple of wind breezing across my pussy lips, and with a defiant glance at my Master pulled it over my head and settled it into place. The boys stood, mute, as I grabbed my skirt, lay on my back and twisted myself into it. Finally, after some effort, I was clothed again and as decent as the skimpy attire would allow. The boys, disappointed that their show was over, slouched off.

I had a feeling though, looking at my Master's scheming expression, that they hadn't seen the last of me yet.