Franziska's Memoirs

 

Chapter Warnings:

Solo, Toys, M/F,  Oral, HJ, BDSM, Dom, Rape

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That night, she lit some candles and used her whip to pleasure herself, ogling the picture she had snapped of that mysterious buxom woman in detention. She arched her back, making a sort of triangle shape atop her hotel bed as she plunged the handle of her whip into her behind and four of her fingers into her slit. It was not long before she climaxed and licked her fingers clean.

Of course, the next day, her world fell to pieces around her. Somehow, that foolishly foolish fool had foolishly won the foolish trial. She couldn't begin to understand how. It turned out Ini was the murderer and Morgan was a co-conspirator, having framed her own niece for murder. Under any other circumstances, Franziska would have relished in the knowledge that her two latest conquests were vile, conniving murderers. But now it was the last thing on her mind.



Her perfect record. The perfect von Karma bloodline. Shattered by some foolish fool with foolishly spiky hair.



It didn't count.



The trial was fixed. It was all an elaborate hoax to make her look the fool. It simply didn't count!



She was ready to explode. If she didn't take her frustrations out on somebody soon, and in a big way, she was likely to be arrested for murder. She whipped Phoenix Wright into unconsciousness and stormed out of the courtroom.



She knew just who to go after. That foolish fool of a detective. He was the one who had cost her her perfect record.



Franziska von Karma entered the precinct like a tornado enters a small Kansas town. She waltzed over to the detective's desk, her heels clacking on the tile floor with each step. The scruffy thing was shaking like a scared puppy. She exhaled a satisfied breath through her nose. She was going to enjoy this.



She took hold of the detective's ear, dragging him through the precinct as he howled and wailed and struggled to keep up. The laughter of his peers made Franziska moist. When they were out of sight, she threw him into a janitor's closet and set to work.



First, she yanked his filthy trenchcoat off and let it fall to the floor. He stared at her, bewildered, and began to whimper as she used her whip to tightly fasten his hands to the coat rack above their heads. She ripped his dress shirt open, popping the buttons off of it. He was slightly overweight, bearing the beginnings of a gut, but he was still fairly well-built. His chest was the hairiest she had ever seen, in person or in her porn collection. It was strangely arousing. She grinned in approval.



She yanked his pants and underwear off to find a twitching, half-erect penis. That wouldn't do at all. She wrapped her gloved fingers around it, beating it angrily. The detective let out a few pained objections, but she didn't let up. Slowly but surely, his member stood at attention. She knelt down, giving it a few licks up the shaft to help it along, and when it was finally at full mast, her lips curled into a smirk in spite of herself. He was certainly worthy of the name "Dick."



She wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist, so that he was supporting her entire weight. He struggled to keep himself balanced without tearing the coatrack off the walls. She pulled her panties to one side, not even bothering to remove them, and slid his slick manhood into her sopping slit. He was in a constant battle to stand as she bounced up and down onto him, unable to support her weight with his hands in any way. He had to make a sort of "S" shape with his body, leaning forward while bending over backwards. It looked remarkably uncomfortable.



Still, he voiced no complaints beyond scared whimpers, enjoying the tight embrace of Franziska's vagina. She would never pay him this compliment, but she was quite enjoying herself as well. His penis was just long enough and just thick enough that it didn't quite fit inside, which was exactly how she preferred it. He whined like a puppy as her fingernails drew long gashes into his shoulder blades and her six-inch heels dug into the back of his thighs.



When she saw his face turning red, something about the scruffy thing's whimpering melted her - just a tiny bit - and she decided to throw the dog a bone. As she slid off of his length and stood on her own feet, the detective exhaled a sigh of relief, finally able to relax his muscles a bit. Franziska turned around, pressing her breasts and elbows into the door. Her nipples were so erect they could feel the wood grain in the door - even through the fabric of her suit. She bent over and pulled her panties down so they hung between her knees. Scruffy seemed hesitant to continue, so she took it upon herself to sheath his member back inside her. She ground against him, going at it with machine-like precision so that little Gumshoe filled her to capacity exactly twice per second. The feel of her clothed breasts sliding against the closet door quickly got her red in the face; she turned her head and pressed her cheek to the wood grain. In spite of her best efforts, a small moan slipped out of her mouth. She actually found herself having to hold back to outlast him; she'd be damned if she let Mr. Scruffy Detective get the best of her.



Then Scruffy did something she hadn't expected.



He asked her where he should unleash his orgasm.



She had to laugh at such a ridiculous question. Did the proud prosecutor look like someone willing to dirty her clothes? She barked the order to come inside.



He mumbled the first half of a second question before she cut him off with a threat; if he ruined this for her by so much as speaking the word "pregnant," she would whip him into a thin paste. She repeated her orders, this time punctuating them with a few choice insults.



He went silent for a moment until a shrill whimper left him. She bit her lip as his thick, warm seed poured into her. With another moan, she threw her head back and clenched tightly around his length, greatly prolonging his orgasm as well as her own.



She pulled up her panties and collected her things, wheezing all throughout; how had this foolish fool been so competent?



She shot him a dirty look that slowly became a smile, but it quickly returned to contempt. She pressed her breasts against his jungle of a chest as she leaned forward to untie her whip from the coat rack, scowling all throughout. She relished the look of aroused confusion (or was it confused arousal?) on the detective's face like a high-class dessert.



He fell to the floor with a whimper and a thud. She took one last look at him, shirt ripped open and pants around his ankles, and left, slamming the closet door behind her.