The campsite was quiet, night having fallen without any great event. A gentle breeze flew in from the south occasionally. The camp looked set for one person: one backpack strung up between the trees, out of reach of the animals; one small tent; one log pulled up by the fire pit to act as a seat.
Bree returned to her campsite from the river, her bottle full of water. She went to the fire pit and tossed some twigs onto the logs left from last night's fire. She started a new one. While she waited for the flames to grow, she poured the water into a metal canister and nestled it in the ashes. Then she sat there, watching the flames. She was camping alone that weekend, her boyfriend having screwed her over by messing around with her friend. And she really wasn't enjoying herself.
Bree dug in the dirt with her toe, sulking, when an idea hit her. She was all alone in the woods. She was horny as hell. It was a warm enough night. She had the fire going. Why not?
She stood up, kicked off her hiking boots, and started to strip down. Off came the flannel button up, the tight white T under it, and the bra under that. She peeled off her jeans and panties in the same motion, hooking her socks with her thumbs to pull them off, too. Then she sat on the ground with her back to the fire, and braced herself against the log. She spread her legs wide and started to stroke her smooth pussy with one hand, the other curling around her breast. She sighed.