The room seemed almost surrealistic to her now. As she lay on her bed, drifting in the narcotic haze of the pills, she could almost finger the air around her, a liquidity like water-thick and unyielding. The room was growing darker, and she was finding it more and more unmanageable to breathe. The pain in the ass was LE now ; she could barely sense anything anymore.

A trench breath. Her death ?

A thought struck her. Who would get hold her, laid out here like this ? What would they think ? It would be a shame to induce gotten dressed up only to be found in some inept position. Would she twitch, or would it be like falling asleep ?

Another breath.

The room was getting dim. Her heart was pounding in her auricle. She felt a little trickle of liquidness run down the interior of her thigh. Reflexively she squeezed her legs together. No, delight God, nothing messy. This was her unspoilt garb. She got set up for this just so she 's be pretty. Please God, no pee.

Her breathing spell rattled. The bother was gone.

Who would find oneself here, here in her best dress ? Who would notice her ? mom ?

Wheeze.

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

Her chest fell and duskiness engulfed her.

Momma ?

#

It was form of the Saame floaty smell she 'd felt after she took the anovulant, but it was kind of different. She actually felt like she was flying.

She opened her eyes. There she was, not five feet away lying in bed. She chewed her lip when she saw the dull smirch on her beautiful dress. It took her a few moments to agnize 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 little bit, and off to the rightfulness. She was flying, and the pain sensation was gone.

She was dead.

And she 'd peed herself.

There were early hoi polloi in the room. In the corner her mother was sobbing into her father 's thorax. The town Dr. was saying something she could n't hear to two other boy. She could n't hear anything that they were saying actually. Things were very quiet-like she was deaf.

The boy nodded, and while the Doctor of the Church hustled her parents out of the bedroom, they unrolled a big plastic sheet beside her on the bed.

One boy stood up on the bed, bent low and grasped her body underneath her weaponry. The other boy grasped her ankles. She could barely feel their spot, but it was there-as if she felt them move her from a distance.

A small shiver ran through her. No boy had ever touched her before. Daddy would n't let his sixteen-year-old fille see any of the topical anaesthetic boy, not especially with her so chuck. She 'd always wondered what it would feel like when a boy touched her leg.

It was variety of like when she snuck a kiss from Johnny Reese. It was a funny remark, lovesome feeling.

The succeeding little while seemed like a blur to her. They wrapped her up in the formative sheet and put her in the back of the ambulance. They did n't wrench on the siren, or drive really fasting, but they did try directly for the hospital. She knew the mob well.

It was late when they got there. The infirmary corridors were pretty void as they rolled her body, covered in a blanched canvas now down to the mortuary. She cringed a petty bit when they took off her place and tossed them into a trivial brownness bag. They were Momma 's shoes, and real expensive too. Then they took out a dyad of scissor grip and cut her pantyhose at her right field mortise joint. It tickled a niggling bit as they tied a little tag to her big toe.

She giggled a little bit. Being bushed was way more fun than being sick.

The boys rolled the gurney she was on into the cooler and turned off the light.

#

When she woke up it was some time later and the light was real bright. She was n't in the hospital anymore she did n't think. Mr. Ferguson was the funeral director of the local funeral home, and he and his son were moving around some equipment in a small way that looked more like a strip service department than the dead room where she 'd been lastly night.

Her heart began to race as Mr. Ferguson reached for the clit on her blouse. This was n't safe. Mr. Ferguson would see her breast. She looked for a way to take to the woods, but found she could n't look to get more than five or ten metrical foot from her body.

By this sentence the Old man had unbuttoned her white-hot 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 titty 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 side of meat to unzip the dress from the rear, and through her binge she saw a brown stain right below her bum, one that matched the yellow one on the front.

Oh she had messed her pretty dress real bad !

He unzipped her wench, and let her lay back on her back, setting her boob to jiggling again. Then gently lifting up her branch, he pulled off her varnished annulus, and set it aside. With his son Tom 's assistant he then slid his finger under both her pantyhose and her stained panties and with one Swift pull slid both down her Edward D. White legs.

She was naked as a Cyanocitta cristata now, and both men could see her cunny and knocker. She sniffled a little bit-embarrassed. Not even Mamma had seen her like this since before she started her period. 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 raw eubstance and said a few suddenly condemnation. Leaving Tom behind with her, Mr. Ferguson left the little room.

Tom took a brace of cotton fiber clump and packed them into his nose. He then placed both his hands on her potbelly, just above her belly release. She giggled a picayune in between sniffles, because it variety of tickled. In a counter-clockwise fashion Tom pushed down and around with his workforce. She felt that funny tingling belief again, but something else. She felt like she was on the toilette, and when she looked back at Tom 's hands she saw that little stream of pee were trickling out of her, and a small bit of nincompoop seemed to labour out of her every time Tom pushed. She looked away quickly, but soon enough the feeling passed, and she felt the cool shill of urine wash over her.

Tom was using a small hose and a sponge with some goop on it to wash her off. He started with her grimace and neck opening, pausing when his hand reached her titties. Very gently he massaged them with the sponge, and her warm tingly feeling got stronger. The sponge moved across her belly, caressing it in a way she 'd never felt before. A low moan escaped her lips.

The piss washed across her thighs, and Tom paused to scour her little George Walker Bush of hair. She gasped. His hired hand and the hose slipped under her bum as he washed the the skinny away, but she felt a wonderful tickling as his thumb rubbed up against the lips of her cunny.

His skin senses was gentle and excite as he washed down her legs and dried her off with a towel. She closed her eye and imagined him kidding her. She imagined his hands touching her, not with a poriferan but as a husband might touch his wife.

When she opened her eyes the bright luminance were off and the elbow room was lit only by a small lighter high overhead. Tom was returning from the room access where he 'd flip the bolt, and somewhat clumsily undressed himself.

He moved towards her, and she could n't help but glance at his humanity. It was big and intemperately, and that thrilled her too.

He caressed her long dark-brown hair, and ran his finger's breadth over her lips, parting them slightly. She felt him agitate his lips against hers and the gentle probing of his glossa into her mouth. She wished she could make a motion her tongue to concern him.

She moaned again, louder this time, as he gently sucked on her right breast. His hand drew her stage apart, and she felt his thumb run against her womanhood. She seemed on ardour now. Gently he kissed her, one after another each getting closer and closer to her cunny.

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

He moved around and crawled up onto the tabular array, spreading her legs even full and hefting them onto his shoulder. He pushed his penis up against the mouth of her cunt and began to practice pressure. She gasped in shock and pain as he broke her cherry-though no pedigree was evident.

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

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

And then he did. It was like a warm wave rushing all through her insides. He lay there on top of her for some fourth dimension, his hands gently caressing her face and knocker. After a patch he kissed her on the lip 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 choir sang her darling hymns, and the curate read some beautiful passages about faith and dearest. She smiled with weeping in her eyes. Everything was so beautiful. mommy had given Mr. Ferguson her wedding party garb, and they had dressed her up just like a bride. She 'd always wanted to bust mum 's wearing 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 phratry again-or at least not for a recollective time-she still had a strong gleam 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 fiddling rubber plugs into her cunny and bum. She could still feel the sticky little things stuck in there, all glued and tailor-make up, with their little subway poking up against her panty. But she could also experience the warmth of Tom Ferguson inside her.

They buried her in a little plot not far from her parent 's farm, and she knew now she 'd never be able to bequeath. She was a self-destruction, and the Divine punished sins like that. She 'd spent all of eternity alone here beside her grave. Waiting for sound judgement day.

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