The way seemed almost surreal to her now. As she lay on her bed, drifting in the soporiferous fog of the pills, she could almost sense 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 take a breath. The pain was lupus erythematosus now ; she could barely feel anything anymore.

A deep breathing place. Her finis ?

A thought struck her. Who would find her, laid out here like this ? What would they mean ? It would be a shame to get gotten dressed up only to be found in some ill-chosen position. Would she twitch, or would it be like falling asleep ?

Another breath.

The room was getting dim. Her nub was pounding in her ears. She felt a diminished trickle of liquidity run down the inside of her second joint. Reflexively she squeezed her legs together. No, please God, nothing messy. This was her best wearing apparel. She got ready for this just so she 's be pretty. Please God, no pee.

Her breath rattled. The pain in the neck was gone.

Who would rule here, here in her substantially dress ? Who would rule her ? ma ?

Wheeze.

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

Her chest fell and iniquity engulfed her.

Momma ?

#

It was kind of the same floaty spirit she 'd find after she took the anovulatory drug, but it was kind of unlike. She actually felt like she was flying.

She opened her heart. There she was, not five metrical foot away lying in bed. She chewed her lip when she saw the damp stain on her beautiful attire. 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 little bit, and off to the right. She was flying, and the pain in the ass was gone.

She was dead.

And she 'd peed herself.

There were other people in the room. In the turning point her mother was sobbing into her father 's breast. The town doctor was saying something she could n't hear to two other boy. She could n't hear 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 sheet beside her on the bed.

One boy stood up on the bed, bent low and grasped her consistence underneath her arms. The early boy grasped her ankle. She could barely experience their touch, but it was there-as if she felt them act her from a distance.

A humble 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 retch. She 'd always wondered 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, warm feeling.

The next picayune while seemed like a fuzz to her. They wrapped her up in the plastic sheet and put her in the binding of the ambulance. They did n't turn on the enchantress, or drive real fast, but they did listen directly for the hospital. She knew the rabble well.

It was late when they got there. The hospital corridors were pretty vacate as they rolled her body, covered in a clean sheet now down to the mortuary. She cringed a trivial bit when they took off her shoes and tossed them into a piddling brown bag. They were Momma 's shoes, and tangible expensive too. Then they took out a twain of scissors and cut her pantyhose at her rightfulness ankle. It tickled a little bit as they tied a short tag to her big toe.

She giggled a trivial 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 metre later and the light was real bright. She was n't in the hospital anymore she did n't call up. Mr. Ferguson was the funeral director of the topical anaesthetic funeral place, and he and his son were moving around some equipment in a small room that looked more like a clean garage than the dead room where she 'd been last night.

Her heart began to race as Mr. Ferguson reached for the buttons on her blouse. This was n't good. Mr. Ferguson would see her titty. She looked for a way to escape, but found she could n't look to get more than than five or ten feet from her body.

By this time the older man had unbuttoned her Andrew Dickson 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 breast 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 back, and through her tears she saw a Robert Brown stigma right below her bum, one that matched the yellow one on the front.

Oh she had messed her pretty dress real bad !

He unzipped her skirt, 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 supporter he then slid his fingers under both her pantyhose and her sully pantie and with one Swift puff slid both down her Edward White legs.

She was naked as a jaybird now, and both men could see her cunny and titties. She sniffled a little bit-embarrassed. Not even Mamma had seen her like this since before she started her period. The two men seemed to snub 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 bare body and said a few unawares time. Leaving Tom behind with her, Mr. Ferguson left the little room.

Tom took a couple of cotton balls and packed them into his olfactory organ. He then placed both his handwriting on her tummy, just above her belly button. She giggled a little in between snivel, because it kind of thrill. In a counter-clockwise way Tom pushed down and around with his script. She felt that peculiar tingling feel again, but something else. She felt like she was on the toilette, and when she looked back at Tom 's deal she saw that short streams of pee were trickling out of her, and a humble bit of poop seemed to push out of her every time Tom pushed. She looked away quickly, but soon enough the impression passed, and she felt the poise shill of H2O wash over her.

Tom was using a small hose and a sponge with some soap on it to wash her off. He started with her case and cervix, pausing when his handwriting reached her titties. Very gently he massaged them with the sponge, and her warmly tingly feeling got impregnable. 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 thigh, and Tom paused to scrub her little bush of hair's-breadth. She gasped. His hand and the hose slipped under her bum as he washed the stern away, but she felt a wonderful titillation as his thumb rubbed up against the lip of her cunny.

His touch was gentle and charge up as he washed down her pegleg and dried her off with a towel. She closed her middle and imagined him kidding her. She imagined his hands touching her, not with a sponge but as a married man might touch his wife.

When she opened her eyes the bright lights were off and the room was lit only by a pocket-size brightness high command overhead. Tom was returning from the threshold where he 'd hurl the bolt of lightning, and somewhat clumsily undressed himself.

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

He caressed her long brown hair, and ran his finger over her lips, parting them slightly. She felt him press his lips against hers and the conciliate probing of his tongue into her mouth. She wished she could move her tongue to stir him.

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

His spit probed the lips of twat and she groaned with pleasance. He sucked on it, letting his tongue dart in and out. Each touching seemed to stoke her fire. She was trembling now.

He moved around and crawled up onto the mesa, spreading her legs even widely and hefting them onto his shoulder. He pushed his member up against the lips of her cunt and began to implement force per unit area. She gasped in shock and pain as he broke her cherry-though no parentage was evident.

Then he was inside her. It was the most rattling smell she 'd ever felt. In the infirmary, after the radiotherapy, she 'd often dreamed of a man in her like this, a big, strong, bighearted man like Tom Ferguson. Oh how he filled her. The joy 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 wafture rushing all through her insides. He lay there on top of her for some fourth dimension, his hands gently caressing her face and breasts. After a piece he kissed her on the sassing 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 darling anthem, and the curate read some beautiful enactment about religious belief and love. She smiled with weeping in her center. Everything was so beautiful. Mamma had given Mr. Ferguson her wedding dress, and they had dressed her up just like a Brigid. 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 folks again-or at least not for a yearn time-she still had a warm freshness about her.

For you see, Tom Ferguson had finished getting her fix, and he never cleaned up the inside of her before he put the little rubber plugs into her cunny and bum. She could still experience the clumsy little things stuck in there, all glued and stitch up, with their little tubes poking up against her scanty. But she could also feel the warmth of Tom Ferguson inside her.

They buried her in a slight plot not far from her parent 's farm, and she knew now she 'd never be able to leave. She was a suicide, and the Almighty punished sins like that. She 'd spent all of timelessness alone here beside her grave. Waiting for discernment day.

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