The way seemed almost surreal to her now. As she lay on her bed, drifting in the narcotizing daze of the tablet, she could almost experience the air around her, a liquid like water-thick and dour. The room was growing darker, and she was finding it more and more difficult to take a breath. The hurting was less now ; she could barely feel anything anymore.

A deep breath. Her last ?

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

Another breath.

The elbow room was getting dim. Her nub was pounding in her pinna. She felt a small trickle of liquid run down the inside of her thigh. Reflexively she squeezed her legs together. No, delight God, nothing messy. This was her best frock. She got fix for this just so she 's be pretty. Please God, no pee.

Her breath rattled. The pain was gone.

Who would find here, here in her better dress ? Who would find her ? Momma ?

Wheeze.

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

Her bureau fell and swarthiness engulfed her.

Momma ?

#

It was kind of the Sami floaty feeling she 'd felt after she took the tab, but it was kind of different. She actually felt like she was flying.

She opened her eye. There she was, not five ft 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 earn 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 lilliputian bit, and off to the right field. She was flying, and the hurting was gone.

She was dead.

And she 'd peed herself.

There were other people in the way. In the recession her mother was sobbing into her father 's chest. The town doctor was saying something she could n't hear to two other boys. She could n't discover anything that they were saying actually. affair were very quiet-like she was deaf.

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

One boy stood up on the bed, bent low and grasped her body underneath her limb. The former boy grasped her ankle. She could barely palpate their touch, but it was there-as if she felt them displace her from a distance.

A small quiver ran through her. No boy had ever touched her before. Daddy would n't let his sixteen-year-old little girl see any of the local boy, not especially with her so upchuck. She 'd always enquire what it would sense like when a boy touched her leg.

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

The next short while seemed like a blur to her. They wrapped her up in the plastic sheet of paper and put her in the backrest of the ambulance. They did n't turn on the siren, or force real fast, but they did take heed directly for the hospital. She knew the rout well.

It was late when they got there. The hospital corridors were pretty empty as they rolled her eubstance, covered in a white sheet now down to the mortuary. She cringed a footling bit when they took off her shoes and tossed them into a little dark-brown bag. They were mum 's shoes, and material expensive too. Then they took out a yoke of scissors and cut her pantyhose at her right mortise joint. It tickled a petty bit as they tied a piffling tag to her big toe.

She giggled a little bit. Being absolutely was way Sir Thomas More fun than being sick.

The son rolled the gurney she was on into the tank 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 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 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 clitoris on her blouse. This was n't good. Mr. Ferguson would see her titty. She looked for a way to escape, but found she could n't seem to get more than five or ten base from her body.

By this meter the older man had unbuttoned her livid 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 boob jiggled a lilliputian 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 garb from the spine, and through her tears she saw a brownness blot right below her bum, one that matched the yellow one on the front.

Oh she had messed her pretty full-dress really bad !

He unzipped her skirt, and let her lay back on her back, setting her knocker to jiggling again. Then gently lifting up her legs, he pulled off her stain annulus, and set it aside. With his son Tom 's help he then slid his fingers under both her pantyhose and her stained panties and with one Swift pull slid both down her white legs.

She was naked as a Cyanocitta cristata now, and both men could see her cunny and breast. 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 snub 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 naked torso and said a few short sentences. Leaving Tom behind with her, Mr. Ferguson left the little room.

Tom took a couple of cotton balls and packed them into his olfactory organ. He then placed both his hands on her bay window, just above her belly push. She giggled a little in between sniffle, because it variety of tickled. In a counter-clockwise manner Tom pushed down and around with his hands. She felt that peculiar tingling feeling again, but something else. She felt like she was on the toilette, and when she looked back at Tom 's workforce she saw that piddling streams of pee were trickling out of her, and a low 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 sang-froid shill of piss backwash over her.

Tom was using a low hosiery and a sponge with some max on it to wash her off. He started with her face and neck, pausing when his manus reached her titties. Very gently he massaged them with the leech, and her lovesome tingly feeling got stronger. The sponge moved across her belly, caressing it in a way she 'd never felt before. A diminished moan escaped her lips.

The water washed across her thighs, and Tom paused to scratch her niggling George Herbert Walker Bush of hairsbreadth. She gasped. His hand and the hosepipe slipped under her bum as he washed the crap away, but she felt a wonderful tickle as his quarter round rubbed up against the rim of her cunny.

His touch sensation was aristocratical and charge up as he washed down her legs and dried her off with a towel. She closed her eyes and imagined him kidding her. She imagined his hands touching her, not with a sponge but as a husband might touch his wife.

When she opened her eyes the bright lights were off and the room was lit only by a small-scale light high overhead. Tom was returning from the room access where he 'd cast the bolt, and somewhat clumsily undressed himself.

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

He caressed her long brown pilus, and ran his finger over her lips, parting them slightly. She felt him press his lips against hers and the soft probing of his spit into her mouth. She wished she could move her lingua to touch 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 quarter round run against her muliebrity. She seemed on attack 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 delight. He sucked on it, letting his tongue dart in and out. Each touch seemed to stoke her fervency. She was trembling now.

He moved around and crawled up onto the mesa, spreading her legs even extensive and hefting them onto his berm. He pushed his penis up against the sass of her twat and began to employ press. She gasped in stupor and pain as he broke her cherry-though no blood was evident.

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

He started off slow, almost teasingly, one manus cupping her boob and the early 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 strong waving rushing all through her insides. He lay there on top of her for some time, his hands gently caressing her cheek and knocker. After a piece he kissed her on the lips 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 favorite hymns, and the pastor read some beautiful passages about faith and making love. She smiled with crying in her centre. Everything was so beautiful. Mamma had given Mr. Ferguson her wedding attire, and they had dressed her up just like a Saint Bridget. She 'd always wanted to outwear mommy '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 folks again-or at to the lowest degree not for a long time-she still had a warm glow about her.

For you see, Tom Ferguson had finished getting her set up, and he never cleaned up the inside of her before he put the little prophylactic plugs into her cunny and bum. She could still find the awkward little things stuck in there, all glued and run up up, with their piddling vacuum tube poking up against her panty. But she could also feel the lovingness of Tom Ferguson inside her.

They buried her in a trivial plot not far from her parent 's farm, and she knew now she 'd never be able to leave. She was a felo-de-se, and the Lord punished sins like that. She 'd spent all of timelessness alone here beside her tomb. Waiting for assessment day.

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