The room seemed almost surreal to her now. As she lay on her bed, drifting in the soporiferous haze of the pills, she could almost find the air around her, a liquid like water-thick and unyielding. The room was growing darker, and she was finding it more and more unmanageable to rest. The pain was less now ; she could barely feel anything anymore.

A cryptic breathing time. Her finish ?

A thought struck her. Who would feel her, laid out here like this ? What would they consider ? It would be a shame to have gotten dressed up only to be found in some unenviable position. Would she jerk, or would it be like falling asleep ?

Another breath.

The way was getting dim. Her heart was pounding in her ear. She felt a small trickle of liquid run down the inside of her thigh. Reflexively she squeezed her legs together. No, delight God, nothing messy. This was her ripe dress. She got ready for this just so she 's be pretty. Please God, no pee.

Her hint rattled. The pain was gone.

Who would recover here, here in her best dress ? Who would find her ? Momma ?

Wheeze.

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

Her chest fell and duskiness engulfed her.

Momma ?

#

It was kind of the same floaty feeling she 'd felt after she took the pill, but it was kind of dissimilar. 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 damp stain on her beautiful wearing apparel. It took her a few minute 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 picayune bit, and off to the right. She was flying, and the nuisance was gone.

She was dead.

And she 'd peed herself.

There were other masses in the way. In the corner her mother was sobbing into her father 's chest. The townsfolk MD was saying something she could n't discover to two other boy. She could n't hear anything that they were saying actually. Things were very quiet-like she was deaf.

The male child nodded, and while the physician hustled her parents out of the bedroom, they unrolled a big plastic piece of paper beside her on the bed.

One boy stood up on the bed, bent low and grasped her trunk underneath her blazonry. The early boy grasped her ankles. She could barely feel their touching, but it was there-as if she felt them move her from a distance.

A diminished thrill ran through her. No boy had ever touched her before. pappa would n't let his sixteen-year-old girl see any of the local son, not especially with her so sick. She 'd always question what it would find like when a boy touched her leg.

It was sort of like when she snuck a buss from Johnny Reese. It was a good story, warm up feeling.

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

It was lately when they got there. The hospital corridors were pretty empty as they rolled her body, covered in a Patrick White shroud now down to the morgue. She cringed a little bit when they took off her brake shoe and tossed them into a piddling brownish bag. They were momma 's horseshoe, and genuine expensive too. Then they took out a pair of scissors and cut her pantyhose at her right ankle. It tickled a little bit as they tied a footling tag to her big toe.

She giggled a small bit. Being beat was way more fun than being sick.

The boy 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 real number bright. She was n't in the hospital anymore she did n't believe. Mr. Ferguson was the funeral director of the local funeral plate, and he and his son were moving around some equipment in a modest room that looked more like a clean garage than the morgue where she 'd been lastly night.

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

By this time the older man had unbuttoned her blanched 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 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 Brown stain right below her bum, one that matched the yellow one on the front.

Oh she had messed her pretty dress actual bad !

He unzipped her wench, and let her lay back on her back, setting her bosom to jiggling again. Then gently lifting up her leg, he pulled off her stained skirt, and set it aside. With his son Tom 's help he then slid his digit under both her pantyhose and her stained step-in and with one blue-belly twist slid both down her white legs.

She was naked as a Cyanocitta cristata now, and both men could see her cunny and titty. She sniffled a niggling bit-embarrassed. Not even mommy had seen her like this since before she started her period. 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 myopic conviction. Leaving Tom behind with her, Mr. Ferguson left the minuscule room.

Tom took a twain of cotton Ball and packed them into his nose. He then placed both his hands on her corporation, just above her belly push. She giggled a little in between sniffles, because it kind of tickled. In a counter-clockwise manner Tom pushed down and around with his hands. She felt that funny tingling tactual sensation 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 poop seemed to agitate out of her every metre Tom pushed. She looked away quickly, but soon enough the feeling passed, and she felt the sang-froid shill of H2O backwash over her.

Tom was using a minor hosiery and a sponge with some soap on it to wash her off. He started with her cheek and neck, pausing when his manus reached her titties. Very gently he massaged them with the leech, and her warmly tingly feeling got stronger. The sponge moved across her belly, caressing it in a way she 'd never felt before. A belittled moan escaped her lips.

The water washed across her thighs, and Tom paused to scrub up her petty bush of hair. She gasped. His hand and the hose slipped under her bum as he washed the quarter away, but she felt a terrific tickle as his thumb rubbed up against the lips of her cunny.

His soupcon was entitle and agitate as he washed down her legs and dried her off with a towel. She closed her optic and imagined him kidding her. She imagined his hands touching her, not with a parazoan but as a husband might touch his wife.

When she opened her eyes the bright luminance were off and the room was lit only by a small sparkle high operating expense. Tom was returning from the door where he 'd drop the bolt, and somewhat clumsily strip himself.

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

He caressed her yearn dark-brown hair, and ran his finger over her lips, parting them slightly. She felt him press his lips against hers and the pacify probing of his tongue into her oral fissure. She wished she could move her tongue to pertain him.

She moaned again, louder this clock time, as he gently sucked on her decently breast. His hand drew her legs apart, and she felt his pollex run against her womanhood. She seemed on fire now. Gently he kissed her, one after another each getting nigh and closer to her cunny.

His tongue probed the lips of cunt and she groaned with pleasure. He sucked on it, letting his tongue dart in and out. Each pinch seemed to stoke her flack. She was trembling now.

He moved around and crawled up onto the table, spreading her legs even wide and hefting them onto his shoulder joint. He pushed his penis up against the lips of her cunt and began to enforce atmospheric pressure. She gasped in daze and hurting as he broke her cherry-though no profligate was evident.

Then he was inside her. It was the most wonderful feeling she 'd ever felt. In the hospital, after the radiation, she 'd often dreamed of a man in her like this, a big, potent, better-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 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 script gently caressing her face and tit. After a piece he kissed her on the sass 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 favorite hymn, and the pastor read some beautiful passages about organized religion and love. She smiled with tears in her optic. Everything was so beautiful. Mamma had given Mr. Ferguson her wedding dress, and they had dressed her up just like a bride. She 'd always wanted to hold out mommy '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 to the lowest degree not for a long time-she still had a tender luminescence about her.

For you see, Tom Ferguson had finished getting her set up, and he never cleaned up the inside of her before he put the small rubber plugs into her cunny and bum. She could still feel the clumsy petty affair stuck in there, all glued and sewn up, with their little tubes poking up against her panties. But she could also feel the heat of Tom Ferguson inside her.

They buried her in a piffling 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 eternity alone here beside her grave. Waiting for judicial decision day.

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