The room seemed almost phantasmagorical 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 liquidity 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 experience anything anymore.

A deep breath. Her last ?

A thought struck her. Who would chance her, laid out here like this ? What would they think ? It would be a ignominy to give gotten dressed up only to be found in some ill at ease position. Would she jerk, or would it be like falling asleep ?

Another breath.

The room was getting dim. Her heart was pounding in her capitulum. She felt a small drip of liquid run down the inside of her thigh. Reflexively she squeezed her legs together. No, delight God, cypher messy. This was her dependable dress. She got fix for this just so she 's be pretty. Please God, no pee.

Her breath rattled. The hurting was gone.

Who would line up here, here in her topper wearing apparel ? Who would find her ? Momma ?

Wheeze.

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

Her chest fell and darkness engulfed her.

Momma ?

#

It was kind of the Lapp floaty feeling she 'd palpate after she took the pills, but it was kind of unlike. She actually felt like she was flying.

She opened her heart. There she was, not five invertebrate foot away lying in bed. She chewed her lip when she saw the damp stain on her beautiful dress. 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 little bit, and off to the rightfulness. She was flying, and the botheration was gone.

She was dead.

And she 'd peed herself.

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

The boy nodded, and while the doctor hustled her parents out of the sleeping accommodation, they unrolled a big plastic canvass beside her on the bed.

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

A minuscule bang ran through her. No boy had ever touched her before. Daddy would n't let his sixteen-year-old girl see any of the local son, not especially with her so pale. She 'd always wondered what it would feel like when a boy touched her leg.

It was kind of like when she snuck a candy kiss from Johnny Reese. It was a funny, strong feeling.

The side by side little while seemed like a blur to her. They wrapped her up in the plastic tack and put her in the back of the ambulance. They did n't change by reversal on the siren, or ram rattling fast, but they did get a line directly for the hospital. She knew the rout well.

It was tardily when they got there. The hospital corridors were pretty empty as they rolled her body, covered in a whiten sheet now down to the morgue. She cringed a picayune bit when they took off her shoes and tossed them into a lilliputian chocolate-brown bag. They were mommy 's horseshoe, and real expensive too. Then they took out a pair of scissors and cut her pantyhose at her the right way ankle. It tickled a niggling bit as they tied a little tag to her big toe.

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

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

#

When she woke up it was some clock time later and the spark was tangible bright. She was n't in the hospital anymore she did n't think. Mr. Ferguson was the funeral director of the topical anaesthetic funeral home, and he and his son were moving around some equipment in a small room that looked more like a clean garage than the morgue where she 'd been last night.

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

By this time the older man had unbuttoned her white blouse, and pulled it apart, showing her bra below. He sat her up, and slowly stripped off the cotton blouse, and deftly pulled off her bra. Her titties 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 to unzip the dress from the rear, and through her tears she saw a John Brown stain right below her bum, one that matched the lily-livered one on the front.

Oh she had messed her pretty decorate very bad !

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

She was naked as a jaybird now, and both men could see her cunny and boob. She sniffled a trivial 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 defenseless body and said a few unawares judgment of conviction. Leaving Tom behind with her, Mr. Ferguson left the little room.

Tom took a couple of cotton wool Ball and packed them into his olfactory organ. He then placed both his hands on her tummy, just above her belly button. She giggled a little in between sniffles, because it kind of tickled. In a counter-clockwise mode Tom pushed down and around with his mitt. She felt that rum tingling tactual sensation 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 streams of pee were trickling out of her, and a belittled bit of poop seemed to push 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 supply washables over her.

Tom was using a small hosepipe and a sponge with some soap on it to dampen her off. He started with her fount and neck, pausing when his hand reached her titties. Very gently he massaged them with the sponge, and her warm tingly feeling got stiff. The sponge moved across her belly, caressing it in a way she 'd never felt before. A small groan escaped her lips.

The water system washed across her thighs, and Tom paused to scratch her little Bush of haircloth. She gasped. His paw and the hose slipped under her bum as he washed the poop away, but she felt a fantastic tickle as his thumb rubbed up against the lips of her cunny.

His touch was aristocratic and exciting as he washed down her wooden leg and dried her off with a towel. She closed her eyes and imagined him kidding her. She imagined his workforce touching her, not with a sponger but as a husband might touch his wife.

When she opened her eye the smart lights were off and the room was lit only by a small light high school budget items. Tom was returning from the door where he 'd thrown the bolt, and somewhat clumsily undressed himself.

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

He caressed her farsighted chocolate-brown hair, and ran his finger over her lip, parting them slightly. She felt him press his back talk against hers and the gentle probing of his tongue into her mouthpiece. She wished she could go her glossa to bear upon him.

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

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

He moved around and crawled up onto the mesa, spreading her legs even wide and hefting them onto his shoulder. He pushed his member up against the back talk of her snatch and began to apply force per unit area. She gasped in shock and pain as he broke her cherry-though no blood was evident.

Then he was inside her. It was the most terrific feeling she 'd ever felt. In the hospital, after the radiation, she 'd often dreamed of a man in her like this, a big, potent, 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 white meat and the other squeezing her bum. Then he got faster, pushed harder and she felt him get across her deeper and deeper. She felt like she was about to explode.

And then he did. It was like a warm wafture rushing all through her insides. He lay there on top of her for some time, his hands gently caressing her face and breasts. After a spell he kissed her on the lip and slowly pulled out of her. She was still glowing with delight 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 favored hymns, and the pastor read some beautiful passages about faith and love. She smiled with bust in her heart. Everything was so beautiful. momma had given Mr. Ferguson her wedding ceremony dress, and they had dressed her up just like a bride. She 'd always wanted to assume Momma 's dress, 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 least not for a long time-she still had a warm 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 little rubber plugs into her cunny and bum. She could still palpate the uneasy footling things stuck in there, all glued and sew up, with their piffling tube poking up against her panties. But she could also experience the warmth of Tom Ferguson inside her.

They buried her in a little plot of land 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 sins like that. She 'd spent all of infinity alone here beside her grave. Waiting for judgement day.

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