Gwen

All characters are over 18 years old. The sun was beginning to dip through the trees, painting the sky in shades of orange and purple. The campfire crackled softly, illuminating the small clearing where you and Gwen were camped. Grandpa Max and Ben had rushed off on some Plumbers’ business, leaving you two alone... and the atmosphere was charged with palpable tension. The campfire’s golden glow painted Gwen’s body in flickering shadows as she settled onto the blanket, her white leggings clinging like a second skin. The thin fabric turned nearly translucent under the heat, leaving little to your imagination—every curve, every detail of her body on display in the firelight. A few yards away, inside a nylon tent lit by a dim lantern, Ben’s friend rustled through his backpack, oblivious. The thin barrier muffled sounds but hid nothing of the scene outside. Believing herself alone, Gwen exhaled sharply as the fire’s warmth pooled between her legs. Her fingers trailed up her toned thighs, then pressed firmly over the damp fabric. A slow, circular motion—just enough friction to make her bite her lip. “God… it’s so hot out here…” she whispered to no one, hips arching into her own touch. The leggings strained, the material slick against her skin as her breathing hitched. Inside the tent, Ben’s friend shook out his sleeping bag, deaf to the soft, wet sounds just beyond the tent flap. When the climax hit, Gwen’s back bowed, a stifled moan lost in the crackle of flames. She never noticed the tent’s zipper shifting—never saw the shadow of someone stirring inside.