The room seemed almost surreal to her now. As she lay on her bed, drifting in the narcotic haze of the pills, she could almost feel the air around her, a liquidity like water-thick and persistent. The room was growing darker, and she was finding it more and more hard to breathe. The painfulness 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 disgrace to have gotten dressed up only to be found in some awkward position. Would she twitch, or would it be like falling asleep ?

Another breath.

The room was getting dim. Her fondness was pounding in her ears. She felt a small dribble of liquidity run down the inside of her second joint. Reflexively she squeezed her legs together. No, delight God, nothing messy. This was her dependable attire. She got set up for this just so she 's be pretty. Please God, no pee.

Her breathing space rattled. The pain was gone.

Who would find oneself here, here in her dependable dress ? Who would find her ? mammy ?

Wheeze.

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

Her dresser fell and darkness engulfed her.

Momma ?

#

It was kind of the same floaty feeling she 'd matte up after she took the pills, but it was sort 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 dampen filth 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 pain sensation was gone.

She was dead.

And she 'd peed herself.

There were other masses in the room. In the corner her female parent was sobbing into her beginner 's chest. The town doctor was saying something she could n't try to two other son. She could n't hear anything that they were saying actually. matter were very quiet-like she was deaf.

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

One boy stood up on the bed, bent low and grasped her physical structure underneath her arms. The other boy grasped her ankle joint. She could barely feel their touch, but it was there-as if she felt them go her from a distance.

A small thrill 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 boys, not especially with her so sick. She 'd always marvel 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 following little while seemed like a blur to her. They wrapped her up in the formative rag and put her in the vertebral column of the ambulance. They did n't turn on the Delilah, or campaign really fasting, but they did find out directly for the hospital. She knew the rout well.

It was late when they got there. The infirmary corridors were pretty empty as they rolled her trunk, covered in a white sheet now down to the morgue. She cringed a little bit when they took off her shoes and tossed them into a minuscule brown bag. They were Momma 's shoes, and really expensive too. Then they took out a pair of scissors and cut her pantyhose at her right ankle. It tickled a little bit as they tied a little tag to her big toe.

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

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

#

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

Her sum began to backwash as Mr. Ferguson reached for the release on her blouse. This was n't proficient. 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 infantry from her body.

By this prison term 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 slight 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 backrest, and through her bout she saw a embrown stain right below her bum, one that matched the yellow one on the front.

Oh she had messed her pretty dress veridical bad !

He unzipped her skirt, and let her lay back on her back, setting her knocker to jiggling again. Then gently lifting up her branch, he pulled off her maculate skirt, and set it aside. With his son Tom 's supporter he then slid his fingers under both her pantyhose and her sully panties and with one swift pull slid both down her clean legs.

She was naked as a jaybird now, and both men could see her cunny and bosom. She sniffled a niggling bit-embarrassed. Not even Mamma had seen her like this since before she started her period. The two men seemed to disregard her bareness 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 short prison term. Leaving Tom behind with her, Mr. Ferguson left the short room.

Tom took a couple of cotton balls and packed them into his nose. He then placed both his hands on her tummy, just above her belly button. She giggled a minuscule in between sniffles, because it kind of tickled. In a counter-clockwise way Tom pushed down and around with his hired man. She felt that funny remark tingling tactual sensation again, but something else. She felt like she was on the toilet, and when she looked back at Tom 's manpower she saw that little watercourse of pee were trickling out of her, and a small bit of poop seemed to push out of her every meter Tom pushed. She looked away quickly, but soon enough the feeling passed, and she felt the cool shill of weewee slipstream over her.

Tom was using a pocket-sized hose and a sponge with some soap on it to wash her off. He started with her face and neck opening, pausing when his hand reached her tit. Very gently he massaged them with the sponge, and her strong tingly feeling got stronger. The sponge 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 thighs, and Tom paused to scrub her little bush of hairsbreadth. She gasped. His mitt and the hose slipped under her bum as he washed the poop away, but she felt a wondrous tickle as his thumb rubbed up against the lips of her cunny.

His touch was gentle and exciting as he washed down her legs and dried her off with a towel. She closed her centre and imagined him kidding her. She imagined his manus touching her, not with a sponge but as a husband might relate his wife.

When she opened her eyeball the bright lightness were off and the elbow room was lit only by a small visible light in high spirits overhead. Tom was returning from the door where he 'd thrown the thunderbolt, 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 hard, and that thrilled her too.

He caressed her long Robert Brown whisker, and ran his finger over her backtalk, parting them slightly. She felt him compress his lips against hers and the gentle probing of his tongue into her mouth. She wished she could move her glossa to extend to him.

She moaned again, louder this metre, as he gently sucked on her rectify chest. His script 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 close-fitting and closer to her cunny.

His tongue probed the sassing of puss and she groaned with pleasance. He sucked on it, letting his knife dart in and out. Each touch seemed to stoke her fervidness. She was trembling now.

He moved around and crawled up onto the tabular array, spreading her stage even across-the-board and hefting them onto his articulatio humeri. He pushed his penis up against the lips of her twat and began to apply air pressure. She gasped in impact and pain sensation as he broke her cherry-though no blood was evident.

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

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

And then he did. It was like a tender wave rushing all through her inside. He lay there on top of her for some meter, his hands gently caressing her fount and breast. After a while 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 thigh 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 honey. She smiled with snag in her middle. Everything was so beautiful. momma had given Mr. Ferguson her wedding dress, and they had dressed her up just like a bride. She 'd always wanted to tire out mum '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 tenacious time-she still had a warm gleaming about her.

For you see, Tom Ferguson had finished getting her ready, and he never cleaned up the interior of her before he put the short rubber eraser plugs into her cunny and bum. She could still feel the awkward little things stuck in there, all glued and run up up, with their small metro poking up against her panties. But she could also feel the warmness of Tom Ferguson inside her.

They buried her in a piffling plot not far from her parent 's farm, and she knew now she 'd never be capable to leave. She was a suicide, and the Creator punished sins like that. She 'd spent all of eternity alone here beside her grave. Waiting for judicial decision day.

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