The way seemed almost surreal to her now. As she lay on her bed, drifting in the narcotic fog of the pill, she could almost feel the air around her, a liquid like water-thick and unyielding. The room was growing darker, and she was finding it more and more difficult to breathe. The pain was less now ; she could barely feel anything anymore.

A rich breath. Her last ?

A thought struck her. Who would find oneself her, laid out here like this ? What would they think ? It would be a disgrace to have gotten dressed up only to be found in some awkward emplacement. Would she twitch, or would it be like falling asleep ?

Another breath.

The room was getting dim. Her warmness was pounding in her capitulum. She felt a small-scale trickle of liquid run down the interior of her thigh. Reflexively she squeezed her legs together. No, please God, nothing messy. This was her best dress. She got ready for this just so she 's be pretty. Please God, no pee.

Her breathing place rattled. The pain was gone.

Who would line up here, here in her outdo dress ? Who would find her ? mamma ?

Wheeze.

Momma ? Is that you ? I 'm so cold.

Her thorax fell and darkness engulfed her.

mamma ?

#

It was sort of the same floaty feeling she 'd felt after she took the pills, but it was sort of different. She actually felt like she was flying.

She opened her heart. There she was, not five feet away lying in bed. She chewed her lip when she saw the dampish blot on her beautiful wearing apparel. It took her a few moments to realize that she was n't actually lying on the bed, but looking at herself lying on the bed. She seemed to be floating above the bed a petty bit, and off to the right. She was flying, and the annoyance was gone.

She was dead.

And she 'd peed herself.

There were former people in the room. In the quoin her mother was sobbing into her Fatherhood 's bureau. The town doctor was saying something she could n't hear to two other boys. She could n't get a line anything that they were saying actually. Things were very quiet-like she was deaf.

The son nodded, and while the doctor hustled her parents out of the bedroom, they unrolled a big charge card sheet of paper beside her on the bed.

One boy stood up on the bed, hang low and grasped her dead body underneath her arm. The other boy grasped her mortise joint. She could barely feel their touch, but it was there-as if she felt them go her from a distance.

A little thrill ran through her. No boy had ever touched her before. papa would n't let his sixteen-year-old girl see any of the topical anaesthetic son, not especially with her so sick. She 'd always enquire what it would feel like when a boy touched her leg.

It was kind of like when she snuck a kiss from greyback Reese. It was a funny, warm feeling.

The next minuscule while seemed like a blur to her. They wrapped her up in the plastic sheet and put her in the back of the ambulance. They did n't plough on the Delilah, or force back real fasting, but they did heard directly for the hospital. She knew the mob well.

It was former when they got there. The infirmary corridors were pretty empty as they rolled her dead body, covered in a Edward D. White plane now down to the mortuary. She cringed a piffling bit when they took off her skid and tossed them into a little embrown bag. They were mammy 's shoes, and veridical expensive too. Then they took out a pair of scissors and cut her pantyhose at her correct ankle. It tickled a slight bit as they tied a little tag to her big toe.

She giggled a lilliputian bit. Being dead was way more than fun than being sick.

The male child rolled the gurney she was on into the ice chest and turned off the light.

#

When she woke up it was some fourth dimension later and the light source was real bright. She was n't in the hospital anymore she did n't retrieve. Mr. Ferguson was the funeral conductor of the local funeral dwelling house, and he and his son were moving around some equipment in a small room that looked more like a clean garage than the dead room where she 'd been live night.

Her heart began to race as Mr. Ferguson reached for the buttons on her blouse. This was n't honest. Mr. Ferguson would see her bosom. She looked for a way to run away, but found she could n't look to get more than five or ten feet from her body.

By this clock time the sure-enough man had unbuttoned her white blouse, and pulled it apart, showing her bra below. He sat her up, and slowly stripped off the cotton plant blouse, and deftly pulled off her bra. Her knocker jiggled a little bit as he laid her back down again. She started crying as he reached for her skirt.

Mr. Ferguson rolled her over on her English to unzip the dress from the dorsum, and through her rent she saw a dark-brown stain right below her bum, one that matched the sensationalistic one on the front.

Oh she had messed her fairly set real bad !

He unzipped her skirt, and let her lay back on her back, setting her titties to jiggling again. Then gently lifting up her legs, he pulled off her tarnish skirt, and set it aside. With his son Tom 's help he then slid his finger's breadth under both her pantyhose and her stained panties and with one swift pull slid both down her whiteness legs.

She was naked as a jaybird now, and both men could see her cunny and titty. She sniffled a minuscule bit-embarrassed. Not even Mamma had seen her like this since before she started her stop. The two men seemed to ignore her nakedness though while they busied themselves with their equipment.

Mr. Ferguson looked up and away as if hearing something. He then turned to his son, pointed towards her nude body and said a few dead sentences. Leaving Tom behind with her, Mr. Ferguson left the little room.

Tom took a couple of cotton testis and packed them into his nose. He then placed both his men on her tummy, just above her belly button. She giggled a little in between sniffles, because it kind of tickled. In a counter-clockwise way Tom pushed down and around with his handwriting. She felt that funny tingling look again, but something else. She felt like she was on the toilette, and when she looked back at Tom 's hands she saw that piffling current of pee were trickling out of her, and a small bit of poop seemed to drive out of her every time Tom pushed. She looked away quickly, but soon enough the feeling passed, and she felt the cool shill of water system race over her.

Tom was using a pocket-size hose and a poriferan with some soap on it to wash her off. He started with her expression and cervix, pausing when his hand reached her boob. Very gently he massaged them with the poriferan, and her warm tingly feeling got stronger. The poriferan moved across her belly, caressing it in a way she 'd never felt before. A small moan escaped her lips.

The water washed across her thigh, and Tom paused to cancel her little George Herbert Walker Bush of haircloth. She gasped. His hand and the hose slipped under her bum as he washed the shite away, but she felt a wonderful tickling as his thumb rubbed up against the lips of her cunny.

His touch was gentle and exciting as he washed down her ramification and dried her off with a towel. She closed her eyes and imagined him kidding her. She imagined his hired man touching her, not with a poriferan but as a husband might touch on his wife.

When she opened her eye the shiny lights were off and the room was lit only by a small light high operating expense. Tom was returning from the door where he 'd thrown the bolt of lightning, and somewhat clumsily undressed himself.

He moved towards her, and she could n't help but peek at his humanness. It was big and hard, and that thrilled her too.

He caressed her farsighted brown hairsbreadth, and ran his fingerbreadth over her lips, parting them slightly. She felt him press his lips against hers and the gentle probing of his natural language into her mouth. She wished she could move her tongue to tinge him.

She moaned again, louder this prison term, as he gently sucked on her ripe breast. His handwriting drew her ramification apart, and she felt his thumb run against her womanhood. She seemed on fire now. Gently he kissed her, one after another each getting closer and closer to her cunny.

His spit probed the mouth of cunt and she groaned with pleasure. He sucked on it, letting his tongue dart in and out. Each touch seemed to stoke her fire. She was trembling now.

He moved around and crawled up onto the table, spreading her peg even wide and hefting them onto his shoulder. He pushed his penis up against the lip of her cunt and began to apply force per unit area. She gasped in shock and painfulness as he broke her cherry-though no blood was evident.

Then he was inside her. It was the most wonderful touch she 'd ever felt. In the hospital, after the radiation, she 'd often dreamed of a man in her like this, a big, hard, handsome man like Tom Ferguson. Oh how he filled her. The pleasure was overwhelming.

He started off slow, almost teasingly, one hired hand cupping her bosom and the former squeezing her bum. Then he got faster, pushed harder and she felt him penetrate her deeper and deeper. She felt like she was about to explode.

And then he did. It was like a affectionate wave rushing all through her insides. He lay there on top of her for some metre, his bridge player gently caressing her face and breasts. After a while he kissed her on the brim and slowly pulled out of her. She was still glowing with pleasure as he washed his cum off her second joint and covered her once again in a sheet.

She 'd never felt so wonderful.

#

The funeral was beautiful. The consort sang her favorite hymns, and the pastor read some beautiful passages about faith and passion. She smiled with tears in her optic. Everything was so beautiful. Mamma had given Mr. Ferguson her wedding ceremony dress, and they had dressed her up just like a Bridget. She 'd always wanted to wear mommy 's apparel, but had n't expected to be buried in it.

And while she was sad that she 'd never get to see any of these folks again-or at to the lowest degree not for a long time-she still had a lovesome glow about her.

For you see, Tom Ferguson had finished getting her ready, and he never cleaned up the inside of her before he put the piddling pencil eraser wad into her cunny and bum. She could still experience the ill-chosen little affair stuck in there, all glued and sew together up, with their little tubes poking up against her panty. But she could also feel the warmth of Tom Ferguson inside her.

They buried her in a minuscule plot not far from her parent 's farm, and she knew now she 'd never be able to go out. She was a suicide, and the Lord punished Sin like that. She 'd spent all of eternity alone here beside her tomb. Waiting for judgement day.

Alone, but not quite alone. There was a little bit of Tom Ferguson in her, and that kept her warm .