The Price of Protection (Grace's Story)

Grace Davis clutched the cheap plastic purse strap across her chest, feeling a knot of anxiety tighten in her stomach. She had heard the whispered rumors about "Breeding Day" and the "Breeding Passes" floating around the Sunny Day Mall. She tried to avoid the heavily trafficked areas, but here, near the shoe department, she was cornered.

A man with the playboy good looks and golden blond hair stepped into her path. He smirked and flipped out a laminated card.

"Hello, sweet thing," the stranger said, pushing the card into her hand. "I believe this is what you've been waiting for."

Grace instantly recognized the card: Breeding Pass. Even before her eyes fully registered the print, she felt the effect. A sudden warmth spread through her body, and her critical judgment began to crumble. She knew she should scream, throw the card, and run, but a voice in her head whispered that submission was inevitable. The Pass modified the receiver's ability to make sound situational judgments.

"I want your baby, right here in the storeroom," the stranger commanded.

Grace fought the compulsion surging through her. She couldn't refuse the demand for a sexual act of intercourse, but she found the strength for one last, **** act of avoidance.

With a cry, she shoved past the man, scrambling toward the nearest public sanctuary—the women’s restroom. The man laughed, confident in the Pass's power.

Grace burst through the restroom door, located a stall, and slammed the flimsy metal shut, twisting the lock with trembling fingers. She pressed her back against the cool wall, panting, feeling momentarily safe from the physical intrusion.

She fumbled for her phone and speed-dialed the one person she knew would help.

"Dad! You have to come to the mall! I'm in the women's restroom by the shoe store. Please, hurry!" Grace whispered, her voice tight with terror.

Less than ten minutes later, a concerned Mr. Davis found the stranger casually leaning against the wall outside the women's room.

"You the bastard harassing my daughter?" Mr. Davis demanded.

The stranger decided the potential consequences weren't worth the trouble and scurried off toward the main concourse.

Mr. Davis rushed inside the restroom. "Grace? Honey, are you okay? That creep is gone now."

Grace, tears streaming down her face, unlocked the door and threw herself into her father’s arms. "Oh, Dad, thank you! I was so scared! That awful man tried to... he used one of those cards, a Breeding Pass!"

"Breeding Pass? What the devil is that?" Mr. Davis frowned, holding his daughter tight. "You're safe now, Grace. You're safe."

He stepped back, relief washing over him. "I tell you; this mall is full of weirdos today. As I was coming in through the South Entrance, some guy in a dark hoodie handed me a card, didn't even say what it was, just shoved it right into my hand."

Mr. Davis reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a laminated card. "Must be some kind of mall promotion, right? Some sort of coupon. Here, look." He handed the card to Grace.

Grace took the card. Her mind, already exhausted from resisting the stranger's demand, registered the familiar feel of the plastic, the multi-colored hologram, and the words printed across the front: Breeding Pass.

Her world stopped.

She stared down at the fine print: "this card heartily authorizes the holder to demand one sexual act of intercourse from any member of the opposite sex", and crucially, "with the stated intent to impregnate or be impregnated by said partner". She scanned the text, realizing there was nothing in the fine print that prevented a father from impregnating his daughter, nor any other familial relation. The card demanded the act and made the receiver unable to refuse.

She had successfully resisted a fucking pervert outside the mall, only to be trapped inside the very sanctuary of her father's protection, now destined to break the most fundamental taboo with the man who saved her.

"Dad..." Grace whispered, her eyes wide with mounting horror. "Do I really have to do this?"