The room seemed almost surrealistic to her now. As she lay on her bed, drifting in the narcotic daze of the birth control pill, she could almost feel 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 breathe. The pain was LE now ; she could barely find anything anymore.

A deep breathing space. Her last ?

A believe struck her. Who would see her, laid out here like this ? What would they think ? It would be a shame to have gotten dressed up only to be found in some clumsy position. Would she twitch, or would it be like falling asleep ?

Another breath.

The elbow room was getting dim. Her heart was pounding in her ears. She felt a pocket-size dribble of liquid run down the inside of her thigh. Reflexively she squeezed her legs together. No, please God, nothing messy. This was her best frock. She got gear up for this just so she 's be pretty. Please God, no pee.

Her breather rattled. The botheration was gone.

Who would obtain here, here in her beneficial dress ? Who would notice her ? mamma ?

Wheeze.

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

Her chest fell and darkness engulfed her.

mum ?

#

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

She opened her eyes. There she was, not five groundwork away lying in bed. She chewed her lip when she saw the damp stain on her beautiful dress. It took her a few consequence 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 painfulness was gone.

She was dead.

And she 'd relieve oneself herself.

There were early people in the way. In the quoin her female parent was sobbing into her father 's breast. The town doctor was saying something she could n't hear to two other boys. She could n't get a line anything that they were saying actually. Things were very quiet-like she was deaf.

The boys nodded, and while the doctor hustled her parents out of the bedroom, they unrolled a big credit card tabloid beside her on the bed.

One boy stood up on the bed, bent low and grasped her body underneath her sleeve. The former boy grasped her mortise joint. She could barely feel their pinch, but it was there-as if she felt them move 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 question what it would sense like when a boy touched her leg.

It was form of like when she snuck a kiss from Rebel Reese. It was a good story, warm feeling.

The next little while seemed like a blur to her. They wrapped her up in the pliant piece of paper and put her in the vertebral column of the ambulance. They did n't become on the siren, or drive material fasting, but they did heard directly for the infirmary. She knew the rout well.

It was late when they got there. The hospital corridors were pretty vacuous as they rolled her body, covered in a T. H. White tack now down to the morgue. She cringed a trivial bit when they took off her shoes and tossed them into a little brown bag. They were mammy 's shoes, and veridical expensive too. Then they took out a pair of scissors hold and cut her pantyhose at her correctly ankle. It tickled a piddling bit as they tied a little tag to her big toe.

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

The son 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 illumination was existent bright. She was n't in the hospital anymore she did n't think. Mr. Ferguson was the funeral director 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 last night.

Her core began to wash 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 scarper, but found she could n't seem to get more than five or ten feet from her body.

By this meter the sure-enough 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 minuscule 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 clothes from the back, and through her bust she saw a chocolate-brown stain right below her bum, one that matched the white-livered one on the front.

Oh she had messed her fairly dress real 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 chick, and set it aside. With his son Tom 's help he then slid his fingerbreadth under both her pantyhose and her defile panty and with one swift pull slid both down her egg white legs.

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

Tom took a pair of cotton wool orchis and packed them into his nose. He then placed both his hands on her pot, just above her belly clit. She giggled a piffling in between sniffles, because it kind of vellicate. In a counter-clockwise manner Tom pushed down and around with his hired hand. She felt that funny story tingling impression 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 watercourse of pee were trickling out of her, and a small bit of the skinny seemed to campaign 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 piddle wash over her.

Tom was using a minor hose and a sponge with some max on it to rinse her off. He started with her boldness and neck, pausing when his hired hand reached her titties. Very gently he massaged them with the poriferan, and her warm up tingly feeling got solid. The sponge moved across her belly, caressing it in a way she 'd never felt before. A small moan escaped her lips.

The water supply washed across her thighs, and Tom paused to scratch her fiddling bush of hair. She gasped. His mitt and the hose slipped under her bum as he washed the dirt away, but she felt a wonderful tickle as his thumb rubbed up against the sass of her cunny.

His touch was mollify and agitate 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 eye the shiny lights were off and the room was lit only by a modest sparkle 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 glance at his manhood. It was big and severely, and that thrilled her too.

He caressed her retentive Robert Brown hair, and ran his finger over her lips, parting them slightly. She felt him press his lips against hers and the aristocratic probing of his tongue into her sassing. She wished she could travel her tongue to tinct him.

She moaned again, louder this sentence, as he gently sucked on her ripe breast. His bridge player 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 secretive and closer to her cunny.

His natural language probed the lip of cunt and she groaned with pleasure. He sucked on it, letting his natural language dart in and out. Each touch seemed to stoke her fire. She was trembling now.

He moved around and crawled up onto the tabular array, spreading her stage even spacious and hefting them onto his shoulder. He pushed his penis up against the lips of her twat and began to utilize pressure. She gasped in jar and pain as he broke her cherry-though no blood was evident.

Then he was inside her. It was the most marvelous spirit she 'd ever felt. In the hospital, after the radiation syndrome, she 'd often dreamed of a man in her like this, a big, strong, good-looking 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 early squeezing her bum. Then he got faster, pushed harder and she felt him permeate her deeper and deeper. She felt like she was about to explode.

And then he did. It was like a ardent wave rushing all through her insides. He lay there on top of her for some time, his hands gently caressing her face and chest. After a spell he kissed her on the mouth 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 consort sang her favorite hymn, and the pastor read some beautiful transition about religion and love. She smiled with tears in her eyes. Everything was so beautiful. Mamma had given Mr. Ferguson her marriage ceremony dress, and they had dressed her up just like a Saint Bride. She 'd always wanted to tire out Momma 's frock, 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 folk music 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 make, and he never cleaned up the inside of her before he put the piffling rubber chew into her cunny and bum. She could still feel the uneasy little things stuck in there, all glued and sewn up, with their little subway poking up against her panties. But she could also feel the fondness of Tom Ferguson inside her.

They buried her in a little secret plan 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 sinfulness like that. She 'd spent all of timeless existence alone here beside her grave. Waiting for legal opinion day.

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