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Franziska's Memoirs	By : DonCorneo Category: +M through R > Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney Views: 10077 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to the Ace Attorney universe or characters, and I make no money from this or any other story.

Chapter List
- 9
- 10
Chapter Warnings:
M/F, BDSM, Rape, Solo, Toys

The next morning, Franziska von Karma was well-rested and well-prepared to annihilate one Phoenix Wright. It would be the court case of the century. She knew every facet of this story, every inch of the crime scene, every detail in every report, and she had the most important witness curled tightly around her finger. Her heels clacked with confidence as she made her way up the steps to the courthouse. All was right with the world.
Then, in the distance, she heard a gunshot.
Her eyes flew open, swelling to the size of golf balls. That was the only reaction her body had time to produce before she felt a horrible, burning pain in her shoulder.
She had been shot!
Shock overcame her. She lost her footing and fell to the marble steps with a grunt. Gravity pulled her limp body down some of the stairs she had just climbed. She clutched her shoulder with her hand, balling the fabric of her sleeve within her fist. Her lungs were uninjured, but she couldn't seem to breathe. Her perfect, white suit... marred with thick, red blood...
A mob of people appeared beside her. Bailiffs. Passersby. A cacophony of speech rang out, but she couldn't hear most of it. This couldn't be happening. This was a dream.
She batted away the hands reaching for her and tried to stand up, but her strength had left her. It was a struggle just to move. Her limbs quaking, her heart racing, her breath a shallow wheeze, she pushed herself onto one knee.
A man tried to take her arm. For one brief moment, her breath returned and she snapped at him. With wild swings of her arms, she pushed everybody away. Screaming through gritted teeth, she stood up. She could feel her knees knocking. Her legs went limp. She was falling again!
Somebody caught her. Who were these fools?! She took a swing at the man, but he was completely unfazed. At the moment, she had the upper arm strength of a noodle. Now two men supported her weight. Even knowing they were all that kept her from tumbling to the marble steps again, she continued trying to bat them away, ordering them to release her. If she could just make it to the top of those steps...!
The vision in the corners of her eyes went blurry. She swallowed mouthfuls of air, exhaling heavy, rasping breaths. The pain burning throughout her shoulder was unlike any she had ever endured.
She heard a siren approaching. No! She had to make it to court. Her case!
Summoning strength from no place she knew of, she broke free of the two men, only to fall to her hands and knees. She would crawl if she had to... to defeat Phoenix Wright, to see him bow to her... she would crawl into the courthouse if she had to...!
The two men picked her up. Tears were pouring from her eyes now. No! Her voice cracked as she ordered them to put her down. Her legs flailed about, kicking for freedom. She passed from these men into the hands of two other men. What madness was this? Why wouldn't they release her?
She realized with horror that she was being loaded into an ambulance. She didn't have time for any ambulance. Her case! Her case was beginning! The case of the century! She screamed, kicked, clawed, writhed, and wriggled, but the two men overpowered her, forcing her to the bed. No!
This couldn't be happening. The courthouse! The courthouse was right there!
And then it wasn't. She watched the courthouse disappear - the steps, the columns, the mob, the entrance - all of it vanished as the ambulance doors slammed shut with a clang. It was gone.
Her case.
Her victory.
It was a bad dream.
A shrill, quivering scream left her, echoing off the metal walls of the ambulance.

She didn't know what time it was. She guessed she had been staring at the hospital ceiling for close to an hour, but it could have been less - or more. She didn't care.
Her right half was wrapped in bandages. The bullet had been surgically removed.
As had all hope for her case.
The quiet of her hospital room was suffocating. She had seen her little brother standing there, stone-faced as she was wheeled into surgery. She watched him disappear past the double doors. And right then, she knew. She knew where he would end up. Now, as she stared at the ceiling, she knew where he was.
In court.
Battling Phoenix Wright.
Earning her victory.
She should have been there.
And she was here. Simmering in her own contempt in a silent hospital room.
She could just kill something.
A knock on the doorway. Without turning her head, her eyes glanced at the entrance to the room.
That disgusting man was here again. An older man, with thinning, pink hair that almost resembled a mohawk. He had a pronounced jaw, narrow eyes and missing teeth that slurred his speech. He wore a white labcoat and a nametag and claimed to be the hospital director. She suspected he held no such position.
He had been to "check on her" more times than she cared to count. Each time, she could feel his gaze burning into her gown. Her breasts.
She poured extra malice into her voice as she asked why he was here.
He picked up the stethoscope around his neck and sheepishly asked to check her heartbeat.
A switch was flipped deep within her brain. No matter what position he held at this cesspool of a hospital, this vile man had crossed her path one too many times today. And he had picked the worst possible time to make another appearance.
She turned to face him and smiled. Of course he could check her heartbeat.
The man shuffled over to the bed, wearing a grin that made her stomach turn. He lowered his quivering hand to her chest, slipping the end of the stethoscope beneath her gown. She felt the cold metal touch her bare skin and smiled.
Then she took the stethoscope in her fist and pulled, hard. The "doctor" yelped in pain as he she yanked him within an inch of her face. With a devilish grimace, she voiced her disbelief that he was a real doctor.
She gave the stethoscope another good tug as she leaped out of bed. Her strength had returned to her now. A great shove bent the disgusting man over the mattress, and one powerful flip of his legs got his whole body into her bed. With one deft pull, the privacy curtain raced around its horseshoe-shaped track until it was closed completely around them. She stared daggers down at the quivering shell of a man that lay in her bed. Her lips curled into a smile that would have made the Grinch proud.
He was paralyzed with fear. She clawed his pants off, using them to tie one of his ankles to the bed. More confused than ever, the man seemed to shake off his paralysis and began attempting to undo the knot.
Oh, no, that simply wouldn't do. Franziska slammed her hand down onto the small, wheeled table that she had been served lunch on. Her fingers curled around her whip.
Crack! The director froze once more, his hand glued to the red mark on his face. He opened his mouth to scream.
That wouldn't do either.
Before he could produce any sound, Franziska jammed one of her hospital booties into the man's mouth. She forced it deep into his throat. She felt him beginning to choke.
Tears welled in his eyes. She bared her teeth once more. The terrified whimper of a beaten dog escaped him. She licked her lips.
She ripped his labcoat off of him. The bed was narrow enough that she was able to tie both of his hands to opposite corners of the bed with it.
Now there was just the matter of his left leg. Deciding that she'd rather keep her whip available, she pulled her gown over her shoulders, revealing her pale form - fully nude save for the bandages on her right side. To her delight, something stirred within his boxers. She tied her gown around his left ankle, tightly securing it to the bed's guardrail.
Whip in hand, she climbed onto the bed and pulled down his shorts. The man's eyes spoke of immeasurable fear.
His twitching penis said otherwise.
That's a good boy.
She lowered herself onto his semi-erect penis and immediately began to grind against it, her spine slithering like a snake. She built up a slow rhythm, feeling his member stiffen. She could tell he was still not at full capacity, however. As she pulled her whip taught between her fists, preparing to threaten him, she instead had to stifle a laugh.
He had already poured his seed into her.
What a pitiful excuse for a man.
Her pace increased tenfold, and she began to lobby curse words at him through clenched teeth. She took the collar of his shirt in her fist, shaking him, whipping him, telling him in a growling whisper that if he was a real man he would finish her off.
It became apparent that he was not a "real" man when, still half-erect, he ejaculated a second time not two minutes later.
Franziska was livid, but now there was nothing that could hold back her laughter. This was surely the worst sex she had ever had. Scruffy had been a pathetic, whimpering shell of a man, but he was well-equipped and had something resembling stamina. This was... this was just laughable.
She climbed off of him and untied her gown from his ankle, laughing all the while. She slipped back into the gown and set to work untying the rest of his restraints. When he was freed, he sheepishly dressed himself and attempted to push past the privacy curtain and escape. She took the collar of his labcoat in her fist, stopping him in his tracks. She warned him to never show his face in this room again. She cracked her whip against the small of his back and released him. He slithered off to parts unknown. She laughed to herself as she imagined him scurrying down the hall, bumping into things.
An amused sigh left Franziska and she plopped down onto the bed, the springs in the mattress creaking as she bounced into a comfortable position. She let out another sigh, this one more frustrated than amused. She had so been looking forward to getting her mind off of the string of injustices that had formed her day. With a glance at the privacy curtain still closed around her bed, and a glance at the fingers still curled around her whip, she unleashed a third sigh and hiked up her hospital gown.
The whip's handle slid into her like a seasoned pro; it certainly did see more action than most men. She purred as it made its entrance, spreading her thighs as wide as she possibly could. The slimy after-effects of Pinky's two orgasms spilled out of her as the handle pushed in deeper, dribbling onto the bedsheets.
A parade of thoughts danced through her head; the feel of the wood grain on her breasts as Scruffy plowed her in the closet, the feel of the carpet on her elbows as she pressed her pussy against Mia Fey's, the feel of Miles Edgeworth's hot member filling her behind...
She withdrew the handle of the whip, flipping it over, folding part of the cord against it. When it re-entered her, she was reminded of Ms. Adrian Andrews and how the whip had filled her then. How her labia had felt as they scraped against Adrian's. How she had felt as the blonde woman's nimble tongue had tended to her every need.
The whip was thoroughly slick with her juices now, pounding her as quickly and as mechanically as any self-respecting piston.
But just then, on the verge of climax, a strange image entered her head. It flashed in her mind for but a second, but it was unmistakable.
She was riding cowgirl, a stiff penis filling her completely, her hands splayed across a man's chest. This was a familiar view, and not one that would be strange to recall now. The strange part was the identity of the man attached to this particular penis.
Phoenix Wright?
As quickly as this scene had arrived, it was gone. No such image existed a second later as she released a hot gasp and climaxed.
She melted into the bed, dumbfounded. Him? Why him? Would she ever do such a thing?
A slow wave of realization washed over her. Yes... she would. She would enjoy it. Dominating that foolish fool of a man, the man who had shamed her family, would certainly be rewarding... and arousing.
As she pondered this scenario, grinning all throughout, it dawned on her that her hand was still moving, the slippery whip handle still plunging in and out of her.
She stopped for a moment, staring at the ceiling.
In the end, she decided there was no sense in stopping now. Her mind slowly reconstructed the image; his bare chest, her palms pressed against it, the look of anguished delight on his face... as the scene took shape, Franziska began adding details that weren't present the first time. His arms were spread as if hanging from a cross, each wrist chained to a corner of the bed. Blood filled his cheeks as he whispered, "Mistress..."
She brought herself to a speedy second orgasm as thoughts of that fool continued to dance through her head. But it was a hollow victory.
Right now, that very fool was in court, probably worming his way to a victory that she could have prevented.
A tiny voice in the back of her head spoke up, filling her with a tiny bit of resolve. Show me, then, Miles Edgeworth. Show me what you "have" that I don't. Show me how certain your victory really is.
The only thing that could take the sting out of this day would be watching Miles Edgeworth fail where she would have succeeded.
This thought gave her some comfort, and she smiled.
- 9
- 10
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Franziska's Memoirs