The elbow room seemed almost phantasmagorical to her now. As she lay on her bed, drifting in the narcotising daze of the anovulant, she could almost feel the air around her, a liquid like water-thick and unyielding. The elbow room was growing darker, and she was finding it more and more difficult to breathe. The pain was lupus erythematosus now ; she could barely feel anything anymore.

A bass breather. Her last ?

A intend struck her. Who would come up her, laid out here like this ? What would they reckon ? It would be a shame to bear gotten dressed up only to be found in some ungainly positioning. Would she jerk, or would it be like falling asleep ?

Another breath.

The way was getting dim. Her heart was pounding in her capitulum. She felt a small trickle of liquidity run down the interior of her thigh. Reflexively she squeezed her legs together. No, please God, goose egg messy. This was her best garb. She got ready for this just so she 's be pretty. Please God, no pee.

Her breather rattled. The pain was gone.

Who would come up here, here in her best dress ? Who would ascertain her ? momma ?

Wheeze.

Momma ? 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 felt after she took the tablet, but it was kind of different. She actually felt like she was flying.

She opened her center. There she was, not five feet away lying in bed. She chewed her lip when she saw the damp grease on her beautiful dress. It took her a few mo 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 field. She was flying, and the pain was gone.

She was dead.

And she 'd peed herself.

There were early masses in the room. In the corner her female parent was sobbing into her begetter 's chest. The town doctor was saying something she could n't hear to two former boys. She could n't take heed 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 sleeping room, they unrolled a big plastic tack beside her on the bed.

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

A small chill ran through her. No boy had ever touched her before. pa would n't let his sixteen-year-old girl see any of the local anaesthetic boys, not especially with her so sick. She 'd always question what it would experience like when a boy touched her leg.

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

The following little while seemed like a fuzz to her. They wrapped her up in the charge plate sheet and put her in the back of the ambulance. They did n't turn on the Delilah, or drive real fast, but they did learn directly for the hospital. She knew the rabble well.

It was late when they got there. The infirmary corridors were pretty abandon as they rolled her body, covered in a whitened piece of paper now down to the morgue. She cringed a small bit when they took off her horseshoe and tossed them into a little brown bag. They were mamma 's shoes, and material expensive too. Then they took out a duet of scissor grip and cut her pantyhose at her right ankle. It tickled a little bit as they tied a fiddling tag to her big toe.

She giggled a little 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 lighter was actual bright. She was n't in the hospital anymore she did n't think. Mr. Ferguson was the funeral managing 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 houseclean garage than the mortuary where she 'd been stopping point night.

Her substance began to wash as Mr. Ferguson reached for the push on her blouse. This was n't good. Mr. Ferguson would see her titties. She looked for a way to head for the hills, but found she could n't seem to get more than five or ten understructure from her body.

By this time the senior 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 tit jiggled a little 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 dress from the back, and through her crying she saw a John Brown grime right below her bum, one that matched the yellow one on the front.

Oh she had messed her pretty clothe material bad !

He unzipped her skirt, and let her lay back on her back, setting her titties to jiggling again. Then gently lifting up her leg, he pulled off her stained skirt, and set it aside. With his son Tom 's helper he then slid his finger under both her pantyhose and her stained panties and with one Dean Swift pull slid both down her gabardine legs.

She was naked as a jaybird now, and both men could see her cunny and bosom. She sniffled a slight bit-embarrassed. Not even mammary gland had seen her like this since before she started her period. The two men seemed to brush aside her desolation 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 short conviction. Leaving Tom behind with her, Mr. Ferguson left the trivial room.

Tom took a dyad of cotton Ball and packed them into his nose. He then placed both his hired hand on her tummy, just above her belly button. She giggled a little in between sniffles, because it variety of tickled. In a counter-clockwise way Tom pushed down and around with his hands. She felt that suspect 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 short stream of pee were trickling out of her, and a small 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 cool shill of pee wash over her.

Tom was using a small hosepipe and a poriferan with some soap on it to launder her off. He started with her face and neck, pausing when his hand reached her titties. Very gently he massaged them with the leech, and her tender tingly feeling got stronger. The sponge moved across her belly, caressing it in a way she 'd never felt before. A humble moan escaped her lips.

The weewee washed across her thighs, and Tom paused to scrub her trivial scrub of fuzz. She gasped. His script and the hose slipped under her bum as he washed the poop away, but she felt a wonderful tickle as his thumb rubbed up against the lips of her cunny.

His soupcon was aristocratic and exciting as he washed down her branch and dried her off with a towel. She closed her centre and imagined him kidding her. She imagined his manpower touching her, not with a poriferan but as a married man might touch his wife.

When she opened her eye the lustrous spark were off and the room was lit only by a low light high up overhead. Tom was returning from the doorway where he 'd thrown the bolt, and somewhat clumsily ungarmented himself.

He moved towards her, and she could n't assist but glance at his humanity. It was big and hard, and that thrilled her too.

He caressed her yearn brown hair, and ran his finger over her lips, parting them slightly. She felt him entreat his lips against hers and the gentle probing of his knife into her sassing. She wished she could move her knife to touch him.

She moaned again, louder this sentence, 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 fire now. Gently he kissed her, one after another each getting closer and closer to her cunny.

His natural language probed the lips of twat and she groaned with pleasure. He sucked on it, letting his tongue dart in and out. Each tactile sensation 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 shoulder. He pushed his member up against the sass of her puss and began to apply pressure. She gasped in shock and pain as he broke her cherry-though no stock was evident.

Then he was inside her. It was the most wondrous 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 pleasure 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 undulation rushing all through her inside. He lay there on top of her for some fourth dimension, his hands gently caressing her face and boob. After a patch 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 thighs and covered her once again in a sheet.

She 'd never felt so wonderful.

#

The funeral was beautiful. The choir sang her favored hymn, and the pastor read some beautiful passage about organized religion and making love. She smiled with snag in her centre. Everything was so beautiful. Mamma had given Mr. Ferguson her wedding wearing apparel, and they had dressed her up just like a bride. She 'd always wanted to wear down mammy '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 long time-she still had a warmly gleam 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 synthetic rubber stopper into her cunny and bum. She could still feel the awkward little things stuck in there, all glued and sewn up, with their small electron tube poking up against her panties. But she could also finger the warmth of Tom Ferguson inside her.

They buried her in a footling plot not far from her parent 's farm, and she knew now she 'd never be able-bodied to leave. She was a self-destruction, and the overlord punished sine like that. She 'd spent all of timeless existence alone here beside her tomb. Waiting for judging day.

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