Teasing Mr. Douglas

I had just finished filling the compartments of the stand that had been in front of our house for years, and as I made the tomatoes and corn look just right in their places, I remembered how my wife used to get upset if the display looked ragged. The idea of selling vegetables out of the little cart had been the idea of my late wife Carol, and I kept filling the thing as a way to keep her memory alive after she passed, I guess.

It sure wasn't for the income. Most people were honest, dropping money into the locked box that was nailed to the end of the little cart, but I didn't charge that much for the stuff anyway. A heck of a lot less then the supermarkets in the city did, and it was something to do to pass the time.

As I turned to go back up the driveway, I saw the little figure pedaling up the dusty road toward my house. It was little Whitney Allen from down the road, and I felt the same way that I had the last three days when the girl had come visiting, a mixture of dread and excitement.

The dread came from the fact that the girl was trouble waiting to happen. At 60, I figured that I was about four times her age, which made me way too old in every way, and while I knew she was just a kid who liked to flirt, I'm still a man. The fact that I had been a widower for a couple of years, was lonely and still had the urges that all men have only made it worse.

The excitement came from the fact that while Whitney was not a voluptuous girl, she was a perky little thing with bright red hair and freckles who had a natural beauty about her and liked to flaunt herself. I knew that this was 1993, but it still stunned me that girls dressed like they did.

I made it to the picnic table in the back of my yard before Whitney caught up to me, jingling the little bell on her bike that was almost as old as she was, and while I tried to pretend that I hadn't seen her, I think she knew better.

"Morning Mr. Douglas," Whitney chirped. "How's business?"

"The same as usual," I said, and next came the inevitable offer of hers to work at my stand, which I declined as usual.

"You'd fall asleep out there waiting for customers."

"Nothing to do around here anyway," Whitney mused as she put the kickstand down and walked over toward me.

"Can't argue with that," I agreed, the tedium having gotten to our two kids as well, and they had moved away to more lively areas as soon as they found mates.

I sat down at the table and started fiddling with the lawn ornament which was falling apart with age, like me I suppose, and as I tried to screw in the spinning thing that was supposed to look like a plane's propeller I watched Whitney out of the corner of my eye as she unbuttoned the short sleeved shirt she wore.

This was something she had done yesterday as well, and I suspected that she would end up tying the shirt around her waist like she did the day before as well. She had something on underneath of course, and today it was a white cotton t-shirt, one of those wife beater tank-top things.

Like the more modest top Whitney had on yesterday, she wore nothing underneath it, and while the snug top showed that while Whitney might not really need to wear a bra, she probably should because there was little left to the imagination without the undergarment. Little Whitney might not have much on top but she had big nipples and they sure poked out in that t-shirt.

"Your folks know you dress like that?" I asked while trying not to look at Whitney's breasts, which weren't much bigger than ping-pong balls. "I mean, you leave the house with the blouse on, but do they know you walk around like that after you're out of their sight?"

"I dunno. You want to tell them?" Whitney said, and then did what she did the day before, which was to reach up and hold the edge of the umbrella.

Predictably, I found myself unable to resist the urge to look, and I could see Whitney was amused by my weakness.

"It's gonna be another hot one today," Whitney said. "Might as well try to stay cool, and besides, you seem to like to look. Least that's the way it seems to me."

"I see you still didn't shave," I said while nodding toward the wild sprays of red hair that practically exploded from the deep hollows of her armpits.

"I told you that if you wanted to, you could shave them for me," Whitney cooed, reaching over with her right hand to rake her fingers through her left armpit while giving me a look that suggested she knew all about me. "Lot of men like it though. I know a guy who used to be married to a woman who didn't shave her pits."

I sighed, regretting the fact that people seemed to know a lot about each other these days. That guy Whitney talked about was me, and the woman Whitney referred to was my late wife, who eschewed fashion trends and razors with my blessings.

"Sorry," Whitney mumbled after sensing that mentioning my wife like that had brought me down a little, but it didn't stop her from continuing to tease me with her display of her natural charms.

Whitney and I had spoken about this yesterday, when she first started flaunting herself. I had been stunned not only that the girl didn't shave, but that a little girl could have so much hair under her arms.

"I'm not a kid, you know," Whitney had declared, although when she said she was 18 that did seem unbelievable, and I guess she saw where my eyes went after she said that.

"I know they ain't very big," Whitney had said, nodding towards her breasts. "Nobody ever complained yet, and I ain't ashamed."

I had assured her she shouldn't be, and tried to change the topic. Overnight I did the math and I guessed that Whitney was right. The years had sure flown by, and went even faster now that I aged. The girl was indeed a woman now.

"I thought you liked me, Mr. Douglas," Whitney said after I did my best to ignore the little nymphet hanging on the umbrella.

"I do, Whitney, but I'm busy," I said, fumbling with the screw that wouldn't cooperate.

"That goes on the other side," Whitney said with a smile as she watched my attempt and being a handyman with amusement. "If you weren't busy trying to look at me while you did that, you would have had that done by now. Why don't you just look at me and stop pretending you aren't? I like it when you check me out. It makes my nipples hard."

"Look Whitney, I know you think I'm a sad old man that you like to make fun of..."

"No I don't," Whitney said. "I like you, Mr. Douglas. Always have."

"Then you should realize that while I may be old, I'm still a man, and have the same urges most men do," I snapped.

"I know. I can see your boner," Whitney said, nodding down toward the tent that my erection was making in my baggy trousers. "Saw it yesterday too. Looks like you got a big one."

"That's something you'll never find out, dear," I said, finally getting the contraption put back together. "I've known your family for a long time, and there's no way I would take advantage of a young lady like you."

"I'm not going to tell anybody, Mr. Douglas," Whitney said, mercifully lowering her arms and giving me one less thing to unsuccessfully ignore. "And I ain't no virgin either?"

"You aren't a virgin, you mean," I corrected.

"Whatever. Haven't been for a while. Want to know who did me first?"

"No, I don't," I assured her.

"It's okay. He's dead now," Whitney said, as if that made a difference. "Remember Sheriff Higgins?"

"The county Mountie who crashed into the bridge abutment a few years ago?" I asked, recalling the asshole who gave me a ticket when he first started on the force.

"Yeah. I got caught shoplifting a lipstick at Woolworth's and they called the police," Whitney explained. "They do that to scare kids. Have the cops take you home and read the riot act top your folks, but he didn't take me home. He took me out to Bennett Pond, took me back to one of the picnic tables and made me take my clothes off."

"Scumbag," I muttered.

"Made me suck his dick and then had me lay on the picnic table and he fucked me standing up."

"That's terrible."

"It was but I didn't know any better," Whitney said. "He was my first but he couldn't fuck worth a damn, although I didn't know it at the time. Sheriff had a little stub of a dick no bigger than my thumb."

"That's not what I meant," I said. "I meant that it's horrible he did that to you."

"Didn't make your boner go away through," Whitney said, nodding toward my crotch. "I think you liked my story but are ashamed to admit it."

"You mean it was a story?" I asked.

"No, it happened. Right up until he died, whenever he would see me riding my bike or in town, he's pick me up and off we went back to Bennett's Pond. If somebody would be back there first he would drive somewhere and just have me suck his dick and then take me home. I can do it real good."

"What?" I said, my throat getting drier by the second.

"Give head. I'm a good cocksucker. Want to find out?"

"Whitney..."

"You could take me inside and undress me," Whitney cooed, her thumbs in the belt loops of her denim shorts. "You seem to like hairy girls - you should see my bush. Look."

Whitney coaxed the top of her shorts down, exposing pale white skin and a deep belly button, and right under the indentation a thin trail of burnt orange hair grew, getting thicker and wider the further the shorts went down, before Whitney jerked them back up.

"Thought you'd like that," Whitney giggled. "The hair grows out wide too outside of my panties. If you don't want to go inside we can go behind your shed and I can suck your cock."

"Whitney, you should find a boy your age," I muttered, trying not to look at the nipples that seemed to have gotten even bigger.

"Don't like the ones that are around here," Whitney said. "I know you think I'm a pig but I only been with three guys, and they were all older. Sheriff Higgins was the youngest and he was almost 50. I like older guys. I fucked a guy older than you. You probably know him."

"I don't want to know."

"I wasn't going to tell."

"You ratted out the Sheriff," I reminded Whitney.

"He was different. He kinda forced himself on me. Besides, he's dead so who gives a fuck?"

"Whitney!"

"Sorry. I forgot you don't like swearing," Whitney recalled from yesterday when I scolded her for cursing. "You don't like dirty words, but you do have a dirty mind judging by the way you stare at my little titties."

"I'm sorry," I mumbled while trying to go back to fixing the ornament.

"What do you like better, Mr. Douglas? Hairy armpits or hairy pussies?" Whitney asked, and when I didn't answer and shook my head she continued. "That old man - the one you know? He loved my hairy pits because he said it reminded him of this hippie chick he used to screw. You know what he used to do?"

"I'm sure I don't care but I'm also sure you're going to tell me whether I like it or not," I sighed, and when I used the back of my hand to wipe my brow it wasn't all because of the heat.

"He used to..." Whitney started to say and then stopped, and when I looked up at her she was smiling.

"What?"

"Well you said you didn't want to hear it so I won't tell you," Whitney said with a giggle as she went back to hanging on the end of the umbrella.

"Why are you teasing me like this?" I finally asked.

"I'm bored. You're bored," Whitney said. "I like you and think you like me too. I think I get you excited too. Should I finish telling you what the man did?"

"Fine."

"He would lick my armpits like a hungry puppy," Whitney explained. "Really bury his face in my pit and chew and suck, all the time making grunting noises, and when his face would come out from under my arm he would be red-faced and sweaty. Even more than your face is now, Mr. Douglas."

"And you let him do this? You liked it?" I asked.

"I thought it was weird at first but after a while I really got off on it. I liked the way he got excited while he did it. His dick would get so hard," Whitney declared. "I couldn't really feel his tongue all that much, probably because my pits are so hairy - especially in the center. See?"

Whitney took one arm down and with her fingers sliding through the lush growth of the still raised arm she continued.

"When his tongue went up here," she said while stroking the inside of her upper bicep where the hair thinned, "That I could really feel and it felt nice. Same with down here."

Whitney punctuated that by stroking the hair that grew down toward the armhole of the tank-top before using her fingers like a rake in running through the jungle with her nails.

"You like me doing that to my armpit hair?" Whitney asked. "He sure did. He got a kick out of me having more hair under my arms that he did. Said it turned him on. He liked it when I did this too."

Now Whitney was craning her head over and letting her tongue dip into the blazing orange tuft under her arm, pausing to check my reaction before doing it again for my benefit.

"How about you, Mr. Douglas?"

"You know that one day you might tease the wrong person and end up getting more than you bargained for," I warned her, shaking a finger at her that was trembling.

"That sounds like fun," Whitney declared. "Wanna be that wrong person?"

"What if somebody comes by?" I asked.

"You're the one that says nobody stops at the stand," Whitney said, reaching down and grabbing my hand. "Besides, nobody will see us on this deserted road and nobody will ever know besides us."

I was damn near a foot taller than the girl and outweighed her, so it wasn't her strength that had her drag me back behind the shed. She wasn't strong. I was weak, and once we were behind the shed I was done fighting it.

"Know you wanna see me," Whitney giggled as the wife-beater up and over her head, revealing the galaxy of freckles on her neck and shoulders and the tiniest pair of titties I had ever seen, the little buds that were mostly nipple sticking straight out, and then she dropped her shorts and kicked them off.

"Told you I had a hairy pussy," Whitney said as she raked her hand through the blazing bright red untrimmed triangle. "And what do you think of this?"

Whitney turned around and bent over, spreading her creamy white butt cheeks to show up that the hair grew all the way up to her ass, and when she straightened up and turned around she giggled when she looked at me.

"You're leaking," Whitney said, nodding toward the wet stain that my erection was causing. "Why don't you take them off. Shy?"

I'm sure I looked ridiculous, a grown man standing there paralyzed, unable to speak or move, and I guess Whitney got tired of waiting because she was on her knees undoing my belt, and after my trousers dropped to the ground she was yanking down my boxers, cackling with glee as my erection sprang around after being released.

"Holy shit Mr. Douglas!" Whitney exclaimed as she grabbed my cock shaft with both hands. "You're even bigger than my Uncle Roy!"

"Huh?" I managed to say before Whitney had my cock in her mouth, forcing her lips down over the head and quite a ways down the shaft before pulling back off of it.

"You want to fuck me don't you?" Whitney asked, looking up at me while licking the dripping tip of my boner. "I'm so wet Mr. Douglas."

Whitney had the shaft of my cock in her left hand and was busy between her legs with the other, her hand almost lost in the dense jungle.

I felt like an animal when I reached down and lifted her to her feet and pinned her against the back of the shed, bending my no longer aching knees low enough to run the head of my cock into what was indeed a soggy bush.

"What are you..." Whitney managed to get out before I pushed the head of my cock into what was a very tight pussy while lifting her tiny frame up and practically having her sit on my lap while I was standing in this crouched position.

This had the effect of impaling Whitney with almost my entire cock before I was able to better hold her, and the resulting scream made me glad I lived in the sticks.

"Fuck!" Whitney cried as I put her not-so-gently against the shed and began rooting into hard, but she wasn't complaining as she let me have my way, her sweet pussy like a vise around my cock.

It wasn't romantic, and in fact it must have looked brutal the way I slammed into her, her skinny back pounding into the faded wood while she wrapped her legs and arms around me and gave it back to me as good as she got.

Whitney yelped as her pussy clamped around my cock, squealing as she bit into my collarbone before going a bit limp in my arms.

"Damn, you fuck good Mr. Douglas," Whitney wheezed, a lot of the sassy knocked out of her with that orgasm, and she seemed surprised when I hadn't cum with her. "Want to take me over to the picnic table? I love it on a table."

I think she was afraid that I was going to die on her at this rate while holding her in my arms, since I'm sure my face was beet red and I was dripping sweat. I was deathly afraid that someone would see us running around naked back there but despite that I let her sweaty body out of my grasp and went over to the picnic table with her.

"How's this, Mr. Douglas?" Whitney said as she sat on the edge of the picnic table and spread her legs as she reclined.

"Never saw a girl as hairy as you," I said as I looked at the wild red bush that filled the valley between her bony legs and spilled onto the insides of her thighs.

"Too hairy?" Whitney cooed, knowing the answer to that.

"Sit up," I said, and not only because on her back her breasts disappeared.

"Ooh!" Whitney sighed as I lifted her arm by the wrist and pulled it up behind her head before burying my head in her steamy armpit jungle.

Whitney's armpits were sweaty and pungent, but not only didn't I care but the tart aroma seemed to inflame me even more. I was like a feral animal as I devoured the soggy pit hair, licking and sucking while sounding like the pig I was.

"Yeah! You love my sweaty armpits don't you?" Whitney gasped as she tried to yank my shirt off. I was pushing my cock into her tight pussy while we wrestled on the table, and when my shirt came off I was stunned when Whitney put her face under my arm.

"Shit!" I groaned as I felt her tongue lapping my very modest spray of armpit hair, and it felt so good that I was fighting back the urge to cum, finally pushing her away and onto the back on the table.

I had mounted her like a preying mantis, my lanky old bones bouncing like I was a kid again, pounding my stiff cock into her without mercy until I groaned that I was going to cum.

"Not in me Mr. Douglas!" Whitney yelled, and just in time I pulled out my beet-red veiny tool and watched my load spurt onto her pale stomach and breasts.

I stayed hovered over the little redhead, my sweat raining down onto her frame like rain as I caught my breath. We both looked like we had gone through a car wash, with Whitney's glorious armpit hair that was so fluffy and full before, was now plastered against her skin with sweat and saliva.

"Aren't you on the pill?" I asked, and Whitney nodded.

"Yeah, but I like to watch dicks cum. You came a lot."

"Been saving it up for a while," I admitted, and as I climbed off of the table I felt guilty. "Look, I'm sorry this happened."

"I'm not," Whitney said as she sat up and scooped a wad of cum off of her and put it in her mouth.

"Well, it will never happen again," I assured her.

"Bullshit. Unless it wasn't any good for you."

"It was great but..."

"Then let's forget the regret,' Whitney said. "I'm going to come over here every day - some nights too. I'll say I'm sleeping over at a friend's house and we can fuck all night."

"Don't I have a say in this?" I asked with a smile.

"Not really. All I have to do is come over here and hang on the edge of the umbrella and you'll be drooling like always. You're easy. I like easy."