Karajan is not satisfied. He stands, paces—addressing the room, as if it were filled with spectators, as if it were an amphitheatre, a courtroom. “What are you sorry for?" He asked, in control again. "Be specific.” And he turns to me, is still. Glaring. Smirking.He pulls out his knife. Karajan wants specifics.The thought of his hands and shoulders and his knife brings me closer.... “Karajan, I mean it. I love you! I don’t know what you’re talking about!”Karajan grabs my throat with. "That's it. I love it!" she moaned. “I’m Gary’s slut!” she yelled.Then the tip of my tongue was at the bottom of her pussy opening. It was that area that guys call the "Taint." It's called the "Taint" because it's not a pussy and it's ain't a butthole.I lightly ran the tip of my tongue back and forth on the Taint. I wanted to see how she would react. Would she stop me? Or would she just moan? She moaned, so I figured I had an excellent chance to take a risky step. I decided to go for it.I. I had gotten demoted to the laundry from the cushy job in the library that the head screw Rosie had wrangled for me for taking care of her needs so good whenever we had some "us" time. They told me it was for "Inappropriate Behavior" which was a real laugh inside this house of horrors. All I did was cold-cock a nasty bitch that was getting ready to slide a toothbrush shiv in my room-mate Rita when she wasn't looking. She got away scot free and they put me in solitary for ten days and dumped me. Why should I think like my mother on that matter? I know she is right since I have lived in both places. I was raised in a small town on the East Coast, and most of my life - up until I reached sixteen - was spent in the same small town situated in the middle of the Adirondack Mountains.Well to understand why I agree with my mother, you have to know more about my family and me. My name is Pierre and I am seventeen as I write this. I have a sister who is fifteen, she was fourteen at the time.
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