So I was rather curious to see how our trip turned out. We packed our gear in a battered old bag, bought sun cream and a couple of hats and headed east towards the coast. En route, my Master insisted that I strip off completely and allow myself to be exposed to any passing traffic: the many lorries we overtook got a ripe view of my assets. Not that I particularly minded: after what I had been put through by my Master in the last few months, a bit of anonymous flashing was of little concern to me. It was an indication, though, of the kind of day I had ahead of me: it was evident that my Master had plans, and they would surely involve me in more embarrassing situations before nightfall.

We arrived in Hunstanton around 11am, and as we drew into the town my Master allowed me to put on a tee shirt and shorts. The sun was becoming almost unbearably hot, and the car was desparately uncomfortable, so we were glad to be free from its stifling confines. Managing to park surprisingly close to the beach, we unloaded and headed towards the sands, where we set out a blanket and settled down.

The beach was already busy, with a couple of large groups near us, and a number of couples and singles bathers. There were hardly any children, which was a relief, as it meant we would not be assailed by screaming and yelling all day; there was a stretch of beach half a mile or so further down, which catered for families, with lots of facilities and entertainments, and the stretch we had alighted on was a blessedly mature area.

My Master had bought me a very, very revealing bikini for the occasion. It was white, with tiny triangles of fabric which would cover my nipples but barely anything else, and a thong which was almost as devoid of material in the front as in the back. Clearly, my Master was intent on showing me off.

"Put your bikini on now, Harriet," he told me.

"Here?" I asked.

"Yes, of course."

"Am I allowed to hide myself?"

"No, just undress and put it on, please." I knew, of course, that this would be his reply. I stood up and, looking around me momentarily, whipped my tee shirt off. A few people spotted me instantly and began watching. I undid my shorts and slipped them off, then stood for a moment, completely naked. The sand was hot and tickled deliciously at my feet, while the sun's rays burned agreeably on my skin, a faint whiff of wind ruffling the hairs on my arms and flicking across my body. There is something delectable about being naked outdoors, with the sun and wind caressing you. I bent to pick up my bikini bottoms and slipped into them. They were obscenely brief, with only the merest triangle of white material covering my pussy: it was as well that it had been solicitously trimmed by my Master the previous evening. My bum, of course, was completely exposed, and as I twisted round to look, I realised, with a start, how much of my flesh was being revealed. I affixed the top to my breasts and reached behind for the clasp. This, too, was incredibly revealing, and even my meagre breasts were bursting out of the flimsy fabric. There was no doubt, in this outfit I was going to attract a lot of attention; indeed, I already had been the focus of a great deal of interested observation during my brief strip routine, and as I looked around the beach, I realised that a great many people, men and women, were openly staring at me. I blushed and looked down to my Master.

"Very good, Harriet, you can lie down now. I'll rub some cream into you."

I took advantage of my Master's offer to lie on my stomach and bury my head in my arms. My Master began to rub cream into my shoulders, causing my to gasp as the cold substance touched my skin. His touch was lovely, firm but tender, hard without being coarse. He rubbed the cream over my back and unhooked my top, pulling it to either side, allowing him an unrestricted passage down from my shoulder to the small of my back. He ran his hand around my waist and slid back up again, easing the cream into my side, upwards to my chest, where he rubbed long and hard, pushing his hand downwards and gripping my right breast. He began to stroke my nipple, tweaking it and pinching, causing it to erect instantly. I was being fondled in public, and a wave of excitement surged through me. He repeated his actions on my left side, and this time forced me to lie further on to my right side, so that my left breast was exposed, clearly visible a few inches above the blanket. I raised my head and looked cautiously around: as expected, there were a number of people openly watching us.

After a few minutes of smoothing and stroking and rubbing my breasts, my Master turned his attention to my lower body and began to rub the cream into my bum, using both hands to fold it into my skin, kneading and massaging it, vigorously pressing and pushing at my cheeks. A flush of arousal sweated over my forehead as he continued to run his hands over my reddening buttocks. He worked inwards and downwards, his fingers edging further and further into my crack, and lower and lower, until he was touching my pussy. It was unbearable. I was being masturbated on a public beach. I buried my head in the blanket and tried not to think about it.

"Harriet, lift your head, please. Sit up on your elbows." My Master knew what I was trying to do, knew that I was doing my ostrich impersonation, shutting the outside world out of my experience. Making me to look up forced me to confront what was happening to me. I wanted him to stop, because I knew that if he continued to stroke me through the flimsy fabric it would be only a matter of minutes before I came, and I couldn't bear the prospect of being forced to climax in full view of dozens of onlookers.

He didn't stop, of course. I knew he wouldn't. There was so little fabric on the bikini briefs that it was only a minute or so before he was stroking my bare pussy, his finger sliding through its sopping entrance and deep inside me, grazing against my lips, scratching, teasing, brushing them, sending quivering pulses of excitement through their puffy, tender form. Pressing forward, his fingers curled around my clit and began to scratch gently at it, pressing against the swollen, tender nub, and I knew I was lost. I let out a moan which in our bed would have sounded barely louder than a miaow of pleasure; here, in the open, with the onlooking sunbathers observing the very instant of my climax, it seemed to reverberate like a cannon shot, loud and penetrating, heralding for all to hear and see this most intimate moment. Conflicting waves of embarrassment and exhilaration rushed through my prone body, and I felt myself shiver and shake as the climax shuddered through me. Forced to sit upright, forced to watch the watchers, I had nowhere to hide.