Fiends SSC Read Online Free PDF Page B

her damp hands on her shorts and took a deep breath. Then she walked to the screen door of Mickey’s Bait Shop, dust rising behind her white sneakers.
        A bell jangled when she opened the door.
        ‘Be right with you,’ a voice called from a back room. It wasn’t the voice she expected.
        Not Mickey’s.
        But at least it belonged to a man.
        She shut the door and hooked it. With a flip of her right hand, she reversed the cardboard sign so it read OPEN on the inside.
        The shop was shadowy. It smelled of damp earth, fish, and something else. Machine oil? It smelled good - fresh and masculine.
        Boots thumped on the hardwood floor. Cowboy boots, probably. Seemed like half the guys in Wisconsin dressed like cowboys.
        ‘Hi, there,’ this one said as he took his place behind the counter. A good-looking guy, couldn’t be older than twenty. His faded blue shirt was open at the throat. From the look on his face, he liked the looks of Peggy.
        She took off her sunglasses.
        ‘Can I help you?’ he asked.
        ‘I was looking for Mickey.’
        ‘Dad? He was taking a group out on the Eagle Lake.' The son checked his wristwatch. ‘He should be back any time, though. You might try the motel.’
        ‘My name’s Peggy.’
        ‘Hi. I’m Brad.’
        ‘Nice to meet you, Brad.’
        ‘Is there something I can help you with?’
        ‘I could use some bait.’ She looked over her shoulder and spotted several tackle boxes on shelves near the door. ‘And how about one of those tackle boxes? My old one’s all rusted out. Would you show them to me?’
        ‘Happy to.’ Brad came around the end of the counter. He wore cowboy boots, all right. And old, faded blue jeans. When she looked at his face, she caught him checking the front of her T-shirt.
        ‘How’s life at Camp Wahtooki?’ he asked.
        ‘A little lonely.’
        ‘You a counselor there?’
        ‘Yep.’
        ‘Well, what sort of tackle box did you have in mind?’
        ‘Who says I’ve got a tackle box in mind?’
        ‘You?’ he asked, and grinned.
        ‘Me?’ Gazing into his blue eyes, she reached forward and gently squeezed his crotch.
        His eyes suddenly got very wide. ‘Jeez,’ he said.
        ‘Let’s go behind the counter.’
        Brad glanced at the screen door.
        ‘That’s taken care of,’ Peggy said.
        She led him around the counter, knelt in the narrow space behind it, and pulled off her Camp Wahtooki T-shirt. Brad stared.
        She helped him take off his shirt, then embraced him. When she sucked on his mouth, he finally started to move.
        He stroked her breasts.
        She lay on the cool floor. It was rough and hard beneath her shoulder blades. Brad unfastened her shorts. Knees up, she raised her buttocks off the floor. Brad pulled the shorts up to her knees, down to her ankles. She kicked them away. Brad opened his jeans and crawled between her legs.
        He was big. Even bigger than Mickey. So big it hurt. Stretching her, filling her. She dug her nails into his back, crushed her mouth to his, and met each hard thrust with one of her own. Again and again. Clawing, groaning, together pounding him high and deep.
        A face appeared above the counter. A girl’s face. She looked sixteen or so. A beautiful face. A horrified face.
        It watched.
        Somehow, the watching excited Peggy even more.
        She didn’t care where the girl came from. Maybe from a rear entrance. It didn’t matter.
        Nothing mattered except Brad inside her.
        ‘God, darling!’ she gasped, clenching his buttocks.
        Nothing but Brad.
        His teeth clamped on her shoulder as he plunged.
        Nothing.
        The girl looking down from above had tears in her eyes. She lifted a hand to wipe them off. Her short sleeve was a