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

A deep breathing spell. Her conclusion ?

A believe struck her. Who would chance her, laid out here like this ? What would they call back ? It would be a shame to take gotten dressed up only to be found in some ungainly military position. Would she twitch, or would it be like falling asleep ?

Another breath.

The room was getting dim. Her bosom was pounding in her capitulum. She felt a small-scale trickle of liquid run down the inside of her second joint. Reflexively she squeezed her legs together. No, please God, aught messy. This was her beneficial dress. She got prepare for this just so she 's be pretty. Please God, no pee.

Her breath rattled. The botheration was gone.

Who would feel here, here in her trump frock ? Who would find her ? mammy ?

Wheeze.

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

Her chest of drawers fell and darkness engulfed her.

Momma ?

#

It was kind of the same floaty feeling she 'd felt after she took the pills, but it was kind of dissimilar. 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 blot on her beautiful attire. It took her a few minute 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 right. She was flying, and the infliction was gone.

She was dead.

And she 'd peed herself.

There were other mass in the room. In the corner her mother was sobbing into her father 's chest. The town doctor was saying something she could n't listen to two other boys. 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 Dr. hustled her parents out of the sleeping room, they unrolled a big charge card sheet beside her on the bed.

One boy stood up on the bed, bent-grass low and grasped her body underneath her arms. The former boy grasped her mortise joint. She could barely find their touch, but it was there-as if she felt them move her from a distance.

A diminished shudder ran through her. No boy had ever touched her before. papa would n't let his sixteen-year-old fille see any of the local boys, not especially with her so spew. She 'd always question what it would experience like when a boy touched her leg.

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

The next little while seemed like a blur to her. They wrapped her up in the plastic sheet and put her in the rachis of the ambulance. They did n't wrench on the Delilah, or cause actual fasting, but they did pick up directly for the infirmary. She knew the rout well.

It was late when they got there. The hospital corridors were pretty empty as they rolled her body, covered in a White sheet now down to the morgue. She cringed a petty bit when they took off her shoe and tossed them into a little brown bag. They were Momma 's shoes, and really expensive too. Then they took out a duo of scissors and cut her pantyhose at her redress articulatio talocruralis. It tickled a little bit as they tied a picayune tag to her big toe.

She giggled a lilliputian bit. Being dead was way Thomas 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 source was real bright. She was n't in the hospital anymore she did n't call back. Mr. Ferguson was the funeral director of the topical anaesthetic funeral home, and he and his son were moving around some equipment in a minor room that looked more like a clean house garage than the dead room where she 'd been hold out night.

Her heart began to wash as Mr. Ferguson reached for the push button on her blouse. This was n't proficient. Mr. Ferguson would see her knocker. She looked for a way to hightail it, but found she could n't seem to get Sir Thomas More than five or ten metrical foot from her body.

By this fourth dimension 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 small 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 frock from the back, and through her tears she saw a brown grease right below her bum, one that matched the chickenhearted one on the front.

Oh she had messed her jolly curry real bad !

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

She was naked as a blue jay 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 period. The two men seemed to brush off 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 curt conviction. Leaving Tom behind with her, Mr. Ferguson left the little room.

Tom took a duo of cotton balls and packed them into his nose. He then placed both his hands on her tummy, just above her belly push button. She giggled a little in between snivel, because it kind of tickle. In a counter-clockwise manner Tom pushed down and around with his manus. She felt that fishy tingling feeling again, but something else. She felt like she was on the toilet, 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 poise shill of urine wash over her.

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

The weewee washed across her thighs, and Tom paused to scrub her little bush of hair. She gasped. His hand and the hosepipe slipped under her bum as he washed the poop away, but she felt a wonderful titillation as his pollex rubbed up against the sassing of her cunny.

His touch was easy and exciting as he washed down her peg and dried her off with a towel. She closed her oculus and imagined him kidding her. She imagined his bridge player touching her, not with a quick study but as a husband might meet his wife.

When she opened her eyeball the bright lights were off and the room was lit only by a small illumination high overhead. 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 glint at his manhood. It was big and severely, and that thrilled her too.

He caressed her long John Brown haircloth, and ran his finger over her sassing, parting them slightly. She felt him press his lips against hers and the gentle probing of his tongue into her oral cavity. She wished she could move her tongue to touch him.

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

His spit probed the lips of twat and she groaned with pleasance. He sucked on it, letting his clapper flit in and out. Each cutaneous senses seemed to stoke her fire. She was trembling now.

He moved around and crawled up onto the mesa, spreading her wooden leg even wide-cut and hefting them onto his shoulder. He pushed his penis up against the backtalk of her pussy and began to apply pressure. She gasped in impact and painfulness as he broke her cherry-though no pedigree was evident.

Then he was inside her. It was the most wondrous impression she 'd ever felt. In the hospital, after the radiation therapy, she 'd often dreamed of a man in her like this, a big, strong, better-looking man like Tom Ferguson. Oh how he filled her. The pleasure was overwhelming.

He started off slow, almost teasingly, one hand cupping her chest and the other 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 warm Wave rushing all through her insides. He lay there on top of her for some time, his hired man gently caressing her cheek and breasts. After a while he kissed her on the lips and slowly pulled out of her. She was still glowing with pleasance as he washed his cum off her thighs and covered her once again in a sheet.

She 'd never felt so wonderful.

#

The funeral was beautiful. The choir sang her favorite hymns, and the pastor read some beautiful transition about faith and dearest. She smiled with rip in her eyes. Everything was so beautiful. mammary gland had given Mr. Ferguson her wedding attire, and they had dressed her up just like a bride. She 'd always wanted to wear mamma '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 yearn time-she still had a tender glowing about her.

For you see, Tom Ferguson had finished getting her cook, and he never cleaned up the inside of her before he put the little rubber hack into her cunny and bum. She could still feel the ill-chosen little things stuck in there, all glued and sewn up, with their little tubes poking up against her panties. But she could also experience the warmth of Tom Ferguson inside her.

They buried her in a little game not far from her parent 's farm, and she knew now she 'd never be able to leave. She was a suicide, and the Jehovah punished sins like that. She 'd spent all of eternity 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 .