The way seemed almost surreal to her now. As she lay on her bed, drifting in the narcotic haze of the oral contraceptive, 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 unmanageable to breathe. The pain was less now ; she could barely experience anything anymore.

A thick breathing place. Her hold out ?

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

Another breath.

The room was getting dim. Her heart was pounding in her ears. She felt a lowly trickle of liquid run down the inside of her second joint. Reflexively she squeezed her legs together. No, please God, nothing messy. This was her beneficial dress. She got make for this just so she 's be pretty. Please God, no pee.

Her intimation rattled. The pain sensation was gone.

Who would retrieve here, here in her best dress ? Who would observe her ? Momma ?

Wheeze.

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

Her thorax fell and dark engulfed her.

mummy ?

#

It was kind of the Lapp floaty feeling she 'd finger after she took the tablet, but it was sort of different. She actually felt like she was flying.

She opened her eye. There she was, not five feet away lying in bed. She chewed her lip when she saw the dampness 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 piddling bit, and off to the right. She was flying, and the pain was gone.

She was dead.

And she 'd micturate herself.

There were early the great unwashed in the way. In the corner her mother was sobbing into her father 's bureau. The Town doctor was saying something she could n't hear to two other son. She could n't hear anything that they were saying actually. thing were very quiet-like she was deaf.

The boy nodded, and while the MD hustled her parents out of the sleeping room, they unrolled a big credit card sheet of paper beside her on the bed.

One boy stood up on the bed, bent-grass low and grasped her organic structure underneath her implements of war. The other boy grasped her ankle. She could barely palpate their jot, but it was there-as if she felt them make a motion her from a distance.

A diminished quiver ran through her. No boy had ever touched her before. Daddy would n't let his sixteen-year-old female child see any of the topical anesthetic son, not especially with her so sick. She 'd always enquire what it would find 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, warm feeling.

The next petty while seemed like a blur to her. They wrapped her up in the plastic sheet and put her in the book binding of the ambulance. They did n't turn on the Siren, or drive tangible fast, but they did heard directly for the hospital. She knew the mob well.

It was late when they got there. The hospital corridors were pretty hollow 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 shoes and tossed them into a little John Brown bag. They were mum 's shoes, and real expensive too. Then they took out a dyad of scissors hold and cut her pantyhose at her right ankle. It tickled a piddling bit as they tied a footling tag to her big toe.

She giggled a slight bit. Being dead 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 actual bright. She was n't in the hospital anymore she did n't think. Mr. Ferguson was the funeral conductor of the local 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 in conclusion night.

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

By this clip 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 wool blouse, and deftly pulled off her bra. Her knocker 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 wearing apparel from the back, and through her split she saw a brown discolouration right below her bum, one that matched the white-livered one on the front.

Oh she had messed her jolly dress real bad !

He unzipped her skirt, and let her lay back on her back, setting her tit to jiggling again. Then gently lifting up her pegleg, he pulled off her stained skirt, and set it aside. With his son Tom 's help he then slid his finger's breadth under both her pantyhose and her stained pantie and with one Dean Swift puff slid both down her white legs.

She was naked as a jaybird now, and both men could see her cunny and bosom. She sniffled a little bit-embarrassed. Not even Mamma had seen her like this since before she started her point. 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 naked body and said a few inadequate sentences. Leaving Tom behind with her, Mr. Ferguson left the little room.

Tom took a couple of cotton ball and packed them into his nose. He then placed both his mitt on her tummy, just above her belly release. She giggled a footling in between sniffles, because it kind of vellicate. In a counter-clockwise manner Tom pushed down and around with his bridge player. She felt that shady tingling feeling 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 humble bit of poop seemed to fight out of her every time Tom pushed. She looked away quickly, but soon enough the belief passed, and she felt the cool shill of water system slipstream over her.

Tom was using a modest hosepipe and a sponge with some grievous bodily harm on it to wash her off. He started with her facial expression and neck opening, pausing when his deal reached her boob. Very gently he massaged them with the quick study, and her warm tingly feeling got stronger. The leech moved across her belly, caressing it in a way she 'd never felt before. A diminished moan escaped her lips.

The water system washed across her thighs, and Tom paused to scour her piddling President George W. Bush of tomentum. She gasped. His script and the hosiery slipped under her bum as he washed the poop away, but she felt a marvelous tickling as his ovolo rubbed up against the brim of her cunny.

His spot was gentle 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 men touching her, not with a leech but as a hubby might touch his wife.

When she opened her eyes the hopeful lights were off and the way was lit only by a small light high overhead. Tom was returning from the door where he 'd fuddle the bolt, and somewhat clumsily unappareled himself.

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

He caressed her long brown pilus, and ran his finger over her lips, parting them slightly. She felt him adjure his lips against hers and the mollify probing of his tongue into her mouth. She wished she could act her tongue to relate him.

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

His knife 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 fire. She was trembling now.

He moved around and crawled up onto the table, spreading her legs even wide and hefting them onto his berm. He pushed his penis up against the backtalk of her cunt and began to practice atmospheric pressure. 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 marvelous feeling she 'd ever felt. In the hospital, after the radiation, she 'd often dreamed of a man in her like this, a big, firm, well-favoured 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 penetrate her deeper and deeper. She felt like she was about to explode.

And then he did. It was like a warm up wave rushing all through her insides. He lay there on top of her for some time, his helping hand gently caressing her face and knocker. After a while he kissed her on the rim and slowly pulled out of her. She was still glowing with pleasure 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 pet hymn, and the rector read some beautiful passages about faith and love. She smiled with tears in her eyes. Everything was so beautiful. ma had given Mr. Ferguson her marriage dress, and they had dressed her up just like a bride. She 'd always wanted to wear 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 sept again-or at least not for a long time-she still had a warm glow 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 safety plugs into her cunny and bum. She could still feel the awkward footling things stuck in there, all glued and sew up, with their little electron tube poking up against her panties. But she could also find the lovingness 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-bodied to leave. She was a suicide, and the Lord punished wickedness like that. She 'd spent all of eternity alone here beside her grave accent. Waiting for discernment day.

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