The room seemed almost surreal to her now. As she lay on her bed, drifting in the narcotic daze of the oral contraceptive, she could almost feel the air around her, a liquid state like water-thick and dour. The way was growing darker, and she was finding it more and more difficult to breathe. The pain was less now ; she could barely feel anything anymore.

A bass breath. Her last ?

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

Another breath.

The room was getting dim. Her heart was pounding in her capitulum. She felt a diminished trickle of liquid run down the inside of her thigh. Reflexively she squeezed her legs together. No, please God, null messy. This was her best frock. She got ready for this just so she 's be pretty. Please God, no pee.

Her hint rattled. The painfulness was gone.

Who would find here, here in her best dress ? Who would find her ? mammy ?

Wheeze.

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

Her chest fell and duskiness engulfed her.

Momma ?

#

It was variety of the same floaty feeling she 'd find after she took the oral contraceptive, but it was kind of different. 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 tone down stain on her beautiful dress. It took her a few moments to make 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. She was flying, and the annoyance was gone.

She was dead.

And she 'd micturate herself.

There were other the great unwashed in the room. In the quoin her female parent was sobbing into her father 's chest. The townspeople Dr. was saying something she could n't hear to two other son. She could n't get word anything that they were saying actually. thing were very quiet-like she was deaf.

The son nodded, and while the doctor hustled her parents out of the bedroom, they unrolled a big plastic canvas beside her on the bed.

One boy stood up on the bed, bent low and grasped her eubstance underneath her arms. The other boy grasped her ankle joint. She could barely experience their touch sensation, 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 fille see any of the local boys, not especially with her so sick. She 'd always wondered what it would feel like when a boy touched her leg.

It was variety of like when she snuck a kiss from Johnny Reese. It was a funny, affectionate feeling.

The next little while seemed like a blur to her. They wrapped her up in the formative plane and put her in the back of the ambulance. They did n't turn on the siren, or driving real fast, but they did listen directly for the hospital. She knew the mob well.

It was late when they got there. The infirmary corridors were pretty empty as they rolled her body, 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 little Brown University bag. They were mammy 's shoes, and rattling expensive too. Then they took out a pair of scissors hold and cut her pantyhose at her right wing ankle. It tickled a little bit as they tied a little tag to her big toe.

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

The boys 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 guess. Mr. Ferguson was the funeral manager of the local funeral habitation, 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 button on her blouse. This was n't just. Mr. Ferguson would see her bosom. She looked for a way to scarper, but found she could n't seem to get more than five or ten base from her body.

By this sentence the honest-to-goodness man had unbuttoned her white blouse, and pulled it apart, showing her bra below. He sat her up, and slowly stripped off the cotton fiber blouse, and deftly pulled off her bra. Her titties 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 face to unzip the dress from the spine, and through her tears she saw a brown stain right below her bum, one that matched the yellowness one on the front.

Oh she had messed her pretty prune real bad !

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

She was naked as a jaybird now, and both men could see her cunny and knocker. She sniffled a little bit-embarrassed. Not even mama had seen her like this since before she started her period. The two men seemed to neglect her nudeness 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 judgment of conviction. Leaving Tom behind with her, Mr. Ferguson left the lilliputian room.

Tom took a couple of cotton orb and packed them into his nose. He then placed both his deal on her bay window, just above her belly button. She giggled a little in between snuffle, because it kind of tickled. In a counter-clockwise manner Tom pushed down and around with his manpower. She felt that funny tingling look again, but something else. She felt like she was on the toilette, and when she looked back at Tom 's manpower she saw that footling streams of pee were trickling out of her, and a minor bit of shite 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 water airstream over her.

Tom was using a humble hose and a sponger with some soap on it to lave her off. He started with her face and cervix, pausing when his mitt reached her bosom. Very gently he massaged them with the sponge, and her warm tingly feeling got stronger. The sponge moved across her belly, caressing it in a way she 'd never felt before. A low moan escaped her lips.

The water washed across her thighs, and Tom paused to scrub her niggling chaparral of hair. She gasped. His paw 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 backtalk of her cunny.

His touch modality 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 hands touching her, not with a sponger 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 diminished sparkle high overhead. Tom was returning from the threshold where he 'd fuddle the bolt, and somewhat clumsily undressed himself.

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

He caressed her long brown hair, and ran his finger over her brim, parting them slightly. She felt him press his lip against hers and the gentle probing of his tongue into her sass. She wished she could move her clapper to impact him.

She moaned again, louder this prison term, as he gently sucked on her right breast. His manus drew her ramification apart, and she felt his pollex run against her fair sex. She seemed on firing now. Gently he kissed her, one after another each getting airless and closer to her cunny.

His tongue probed the lips of cunt and she groaned with pleasure. He sucked on it, letting his glossa dart in and out. Each spot 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 lips of her snatch and began to apply pressure. She gasped in jolt and pain as he broke her cherry-though no blood was evident.

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

He started off slow, almost teasingly, one hand cupping her chest 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 wave rushing all through her insides. He lay there on top of her for some time, his paw gently caressing her face and knocker. After a while he kissed her on the back talk and slowly pulled out of her. She was still glowing with delight 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 hymn, and the pastor read some beautiful passageway about religious belief and love. She smiled with rent in her eyes. Everything was so beautiful. mum had given Mr. Ferguson her marriage dress, and they had dressed her up just like a Saint Bride. She 'd always wanted to wear mummy '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 folk again-or at to the lowest degree not for a tenacious time-she still had a strong glow about her.

For you see, Tom Ferguson had finished getting her prepare, and he never cleaned up the inside of her before he put the little India rubber plugs into her cunny and bum. She could still finger the awkward little things stuck in there, all glued and sewn up, with their trivial tubes poking up against her panty. But she could also find the warmth 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 to leave behind. She was a suicide, and the Lord punished wickedness like that. She 'd spent all of eternity alone here beside her grave. Waiting for sound judgement day.

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