Nope: Giving a Karen 18 years + 9-Months of 'Business of Her Own to Mind'

The Karen’s face hardened; the fleeting confusion instantly replaced by a renewed, even more potent wave of indignation. "Metaphorical? Do you think I was born yesterday?" she snarled, taking a step forward, her phone held up like a weapon. "That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. I'm calling mall security right now, and I'm also reporting you for public indecency, trespassing, and for that godawful lie. You people are a menace." Her thumb hovered over the screen, a triumphant sneer on her face.

'Let her,' Verdant Green's gravelly voice echoed in Emi's mind, a dispassionate, almost bored observation. 'Honestly, mistress, what's the worst that can happen? Mall security? They're probably balls-deep in a Cinnabon cashier right now. Besides, I told you, any mundane who gets bred today will have their memory of the whole magical affair... well, not wiped, exactly. More... gently sanded down and re-varnished. They'll remember a very strange, very confusing day, but none of the specifics. No Breeding Passes, no floating pink clouds, no goth sluts getting a magical dicking. They'll just wake up tomorrow with a vague sense of unease and, in her case, a very unexpected baby bump in a few months' time.”

Almost as an afterthought Verdant added ‘By the way she is absolutely the kind of woman who needs to spend the next 18 years plus nine months with her own business to mind. For the good of society.’

Emi let out a long, slow sigh, the sound of a woman making a difficult but necessary decision. The Karen was right; the excuse was flimsy. But her attitude, her unbridled, self-righteous desire to inflict misery over a minor inconvenience, was a blight on the world. She had brought this on herself. Emi looked at Brandon, her expression flat and final. "Brandon," she said, her voice devoid of any emotion. "Use your Pass."

The Karen's triumphant sneer faltered, replaced by a flicker of confusion. "Oh those perverted things? You don't think I believe they really work do you?" she started, but Brandon was already moving. He pulled the Breeding Pass from his pocket, the holographic display flaring to life with a bright, authoritative blue light. He didn't hesitate, thrusting it under her nose. The effect was instantaneous and absolute.

The Karen’s face underwent a catastrophic shift, the smug triumph on her features dissolving into pure, unadulterated horror. She stumbled back a step, her manicured hand flying to her throat as the magical imperative hit her like a physical ****. Her blue eyes, which had been narrowed with righteous fury, widened in disbelief, then in stark, abject terror. "No," she gasped, the sound a choked, pathetic whisper. "Oh, no, you don't. You can't." Her body, however, was no longer taking orders from her brain. Her legs, which had been planted in a stance of indignant confrontation, began to tremble and then, against her will, to move towards Brandon.

"This is... this is absolutely ridiculous!" she shrieked, her voice a high-pitched, frantic wail that was a horrifying parody of her earlier condescending tone. Her hands flew to her expensive athleisure top, her fingers fumbling with the hem as if trying to physically restrain them from pulling it up. "You can't do this! I'm a taxpayer! I have a husband! He's a lawyer! A very important one!" The words tumbled out of her, a ****, panicked stream of denials and threats, each one more pathetic than the last.

Brandon gave Emi a quick, almost jaunty salute, a look of pure, unadulterated focus on his face as he advanced on the now-sobbing Karen. "Just give me a jiffy, Emi," he said, his voice a calm, cheerful rumble that was utterly at odds with the woman's frantic protests. "I'll make this quick. Meet you at your car."

Emi didn't wait for the curtain to rise on that particular performance. The Karen's shrieks were already becoming a distorted, rhythmic chorus of "This is unacceptable!" and "I demand to speak to a manager!" a sound that would soon be replaced by something much more primal. "Come on," she snapped, grabbing Mara's hand, forcing the defeated **** Witch to stumble forward. With her other hand, she clutched "The Stiff Upper Libram" to her chest and moved with haste to the undergorund car park.

The magical imperative was a relentless, unsentimental ****, and it cared nothing for the Karen's social standing or her husband's legal practice. Her frantic protests devolved into a series of choked, horrified sobs as her own hands betrayed her, tearing at the expensive fabric of her athleisure wear. The sports bra, designed for high-impact support, was yanked over her head with a ****, clumsy motion, revealing pale, slightly freckled breasts that were, she noted with a fresh wave of horror, undeniably perky. Her leggings were shoved down to her knees, and then, with a final, defeated whimper, she sank to the polished floor of the mall concourse, her bare knees pressing against the cool, hard tiles as she assumed the position, her ass raised high in the air, her pussy a glistening, unprotected target for her fate.

Brandon, for his part, was a portrait of cheerful, professional efficiency. He knelt behind her, his movements unhurried and methodical. He ran a single, appreciative hand over the smooth, surprisingly soft skin of her upturned buttocks, before positioning himself. His cock, still semi-hard from his previous exertions, firmed up instantly at the sight of the glistening, pink folds of her cunt, presented so invitingly before him. He didn't bother with preamble or finesse; he simply aligned the head of his cock with her entrance and pushed himself in with one smooth, decisive thrust, the wet heat of her **** body engulfing him completely.

The Karen let out a raw, guttural scream of pure violation that was quickly strangled into a series of rhythmic, unwilling grunts as Brandon began to fuck her with a steady, powerful rhythm. There was no malice in his actions, only a task-oriented focus, a man diligently going about his work. "This is... an outrage..." she gasped between thrusts, her face a mask of humiliation and fury, her fists clenched on the floor. "I will... see you in court... you little... ah... AH... fucker!" Her protests, once a tirade of righteous indignation, were now becoming hopelessly entangled with the primal, undeniable sensations of being thoroughly, unceremoniously bred.

Brandon's rhythm was a steady, pistoning beat, a metronome of inexorable fate against the Karen's unwilling body. He grunted with each deep, satisfying thrust, a sound of pure physical effort. "You know," he grunted, his voice a casual, conversational counterpoint to her **** sobs and the rhythmic slap of flesh against flesh, "my only real regret here is that I won't be around to see it." He paused, delivering a particularly deep lunge that made her cry out. "See you in about nine months, all swollen up. You'd probably look great with a baby bump. All... full and glowing." The image he painted was so personal, so domestic, and so utterly horrifying that it broke something in her.

"Full and glowing?!" the Karen shrieked, her voice a high-pitched wail of pure, apoplectic rage that was a terrifying mix of suburban indignation and primal violation. "How dare you! You... you... breeding brute! I'll have you... I'll have you..." Her furious tirade was abruptly cut short, her body convulsing beneath him with a **** that had nothing to do with protest. A deep, shuddering, utterly undeniable orgasm tore through her, a wave of intense, humiliating pleasure that betrayed her on the most fundamental level, her cunt clamping down on Brandon's cock in a series of greedy, helpless spasms that milked him for all he was worth.

The sensation of her frantic, unwilling climax was the final straw for Brandon. With a final, triumphant roar, he slammed into her one last time, burying himself to the hilt. His body went rigid, a powerful shudder running through him as he began to unload. The torrent of hot, potent seed flooding her previously barren, meticulously planned womb was a violation so absolute it was almost a religious experience. He pumped rope after thick, rope of his victory into her, the sheer volume of it a testament to the magical imperative that had driven him. The Karen collapsed onto the floor, a spent, sobbing, thoroughly impregnated mess, her future no longer her own.