The wish did exactly what it was supposed to do. The sheer joy that Micah felt in throwing away his bras and his binders, clearly no longer needed, couldn't possibly be overstated. He found himself eyeing up his own reflection, smoothing his t-shirts down over his now flattened chest and grinning in pure gender euphoria. On occasion, just in idle moments, Micah would rise up to the balls of his feet only to drop down again, in awe of the complete lack of any bounce or jiggle.

As if losing his formerly F-cup tits wasn't amazing enough, the way he filled out a pair of pants (shorts, jeans, and especially sweatpants) was pure bliss. For the first time in a very, very long time, maybe even ever, Micah felt comfortable and confident in his body. It wasn't the biggest, a decent five inches, but it didn't have to be. It was his and it was perfect. The first time he looked down at himself, no longer having to crane his neck over his chest, and actually watched his tdick grow, feeling and seeing it swell with each thundering heartbeat... Fuck, he nearly came on this spot. When he wrapped his hand around it, it just took a single stroke to send an orgasm ripping through his body, bucking his hips and thrusting his tdick into his own hand. Micah fell asleep, his chest heaving with nothing at all weighing it down, and a smile of pure gender euphoria on his lips.

The next morning, Micah smirked as he looked at himself in the mirror, his bulge now slightly more prominent than it had been the day before. He chalked it up to the lingering bliss from the night before, but he did notice, going about his day, that his boxers did seem to rub a bit more on his sensitive tdick. His mind kept wandering, remembering the night before and now good it felt in so many ways, his hips squirming as his tdick stiffened and throbbed.

A day of teasing sensitivity had left Micah's mind frazzled, barely able to concentrate by the time he made it home. Slipping down his pants, he looked down at his tdick and swallowed. It was definitely bigger. The measurements had to be done carefully to keep from setting himself off, but the end result was confirmation that he had grown more than an inch from the night before. It throbbed. It pulsed. It begged for attention, bigger and thicker than ever before and Micah was helpless to oblige, moaning as he stroked himself, giving into the demands of his body.

Within a week, his tdick had more than doubled in size. He made wry jokes to himself about not needing to pack anymore, but those were just thin distractions from the fact that his tdick was getting to be impossible to ignore. Just getting through the day required him to slip off to the bathroom and rub one out, now having to wrap both hands around the thick, needy tdick that stood out from his crotch. A thought flashed in his mind, that he had better find someone to use his new tdick on before it grew too big for anyone to take, and it immediately pushed him over the edge. The thought that he could possibly be too big, too masculine, for someone to handle was overwhelming.

"Sleep well?" Tom asked his girlfriend of three months, Natalie.

"I'm so fucking excited right now....." Natalie said with a smile. "I barely slept a wink...... I hope I didn't keep you up too late.... I kept masturbating after we finished....."

"No trouble, I'm so happy you're this eager."

"I've heard of body modification conventions and kink conventions but one all about destroying girls' breasts? Like how could I not be excited?"

Blame

Warning for an obsessive, perverted protagonist and medical reductions as a kink…

I’m Allen, a pervert like any of the rest of you. In particular, here are my perversions, and how I started down the path of bringing them into reality.

I’d been developing a strange fetish, which stemmed out of other fetishes of mine. First, it was an obsession with beautiful, large-breasted women, which was fairly standard, and will always stay. But then I looked online and saw that women could get bigger past puberty, more commonly in fantasy, but sometimes in reality! There were even women who prided themselves on natural, real-life ways to grow their breasts as big as possible! There were busty women who were just proud of being busty in general, and I absolutely loved them.

But outside of the fantasy, the fetishists, there was the reality of large breasts for some. You’d also get the complaints from many girls I’d have thought blessed who felt cursed. “My back hurts!” “It’s hard to breathe!” “Guys stare too much!” “I can’t wear anything cute!” Some complaints seemed more logical than others to me. Who cares if your bras are cute, for instance? Your tits are fucking massive! Nevertheless…“Sometimes I wish I was smaller, or even didn’t have them outright!” Women should be careful what they wish for.

In exploring the expansion fetish, I started finding I also had an attribute theft fetish. Girls stealing breasts and curves from other girls. One girl gets the curves they’ve dreamed of, the ones they've been jealous of for a while, while the other girl is absolutely devastated. They wouldn’t want to admit it, but their curves, their tits…they made her more worthwhile, at least by a bit. Her curviness signaled fertility, womanhood, desirability…was she lesser now without her curves? Without her big, bouncy, beautiful breasts especially? Losing any part of yourself like that can have an effect. Even if she did have complaints, losing a physical part of your body suddenly and completely, right before your very eyes, was a strange, sad feeling. And yet, this fantasy feeling intrigued me more and more…

I was still very into attribute theft in the abstract, but knew it was not applicable in reality, unless experimental surgeries could happen. I kept having the idea on my mind, even towards busty girls I really liked, of their breasts being stolen or shrunk. Then I started remembering that reductions were a reality. Some girls online even encouraged them in each other, trending on social media in some circles, even. Some once absolutely perfect-looking women…were now just a bit less to my liking. I guess that’s selfish to think, and it’s their life after all.

I felt sad about reductions at first, but then something about them started to thrill me. Taking away something so many found insanely attractive and beautiful, including myself. It was bittersweet. But I craved it somehow, especially the total permanent kind. The palpable sense of loss.

I myself had a complicated relationship with my sexuality, shame attached to any attraction due to my warped reflection of what societal standards might have said, how women felt about male sexuality. Shame and degradation went back and forth, fed into my own fetishes…if I was a pervert, then so be it, at least in private…initially. It also made me feel harshly towards the objects of my affection, unfortunately. And perhaps “objects” is another term that stems from wrongful thinking…

I had heard of an insanely sexy, beautiful, busty model who had been coerced by her boyfriend, mad that she was profiting off of her massive, perfect breasts, into basically getting a full mastectomy. Winning smile, soft, naturally tanned skin, brown hair, and a tight frame to go along with it all. She went from hentai dream tits that rocketed past H-cup sizes, the tits of my dreams, to a full flat chest. She was completely average, thanks to her boyfriend’s jealousy over her success in flaunting it. It was degrading, really. Humiliating. Extremely sad that her boyfriend could do that to her when she and her fans were just enjoying themselves.

It also started to make me cum hard to hear about this. Fuck…she was completely devastated. No more career like this for such a beautiful, sexy woman. It was all put to an abrupt stop, simply out of a boyfriend’s insecurity. Tits could just be taken away at a whim, almost, as long as it could be paid for.

It felt greedy to think most women’s complaints about big breasts could be easily solved, but it felt even greedier to think that even if they didn’t have any problems before, you could easily convince them they did and get the most prized, eroticized bits of them taken away completely. I started eroticizing the loss of eroticism itself. Seeing a girl get a reduction was sad, but also made me hard. I was and am real fucked in the head.

Then I got an awful idea. One developed from this cloud of horny bullshit swirling in my head. What if I romance and date a lot of extremely hot, sexy, busty women, ones that many would lust over throughout the world? But not only that, what if I convinced so many of them to completely get rid of their large, perfect, natural racks? Not just reduce J cups down to F cups, or F cups down to C cups, but leave these poor women with nothing but nipples. Scarred up, unappealing chests that would barely fill a training bra. Goddamnit, why was I so turned on? I hated it and loved it at the same time. That about sums up my relationship to sexuality in general. I didn’t ever think I would make this a reality, nor did I think actually practicing it would be a good idea…at least at first…

After my sexual discoveries, I entered medical school, after many years of training, I became a successful plastic surgeon. Much happened in that career field, but there’s one surgical procedure that I did that is very pertinent to this story.

The day came where I actually worked with a young woman, 21 years old, and she was absolutely beautiful. Let’s call her Raven. Raven was a goth girl, of the kind I and many of my generation held a deep-seated, passionate love and lust towards. She was short, about 5’2”, had big, expressive eyes with winged liner, long black hair with soft bangs, full lips made up with black lipstick, pale, almost ghostly skin, a cinched, tight, yet soft waist, with a slightly tattered black shirt that showed it off her, black Daisy Dukes on some wide hips and long, creamy legs, and sneakers that were, you guessed it, black…with some white. But her breasts. Good fucking lord, her breasts.

These were colossal, soft, perfectly shaped, round but with slight sag, tipped with pink nipples once I had to reveal them. These things were K-cups, to give you a clearer idea and they looked like a fucking miracle on such a pretty, short, skinny girl. She was basically a walking wet dream. Any guy, girl, NB, whoever, they’d be lucky to have her, as she seemed like a very sweet, kind young woman, as well.

But Raven wanted to be rid of her breasts. She talked to me about how they made her back ache. How they made it hard to breathe, hard to sleep, difficult to exercise, how bras were digging into her body, and even the custom ones she had to order were both expensive and not solving all of her issues. She made content online, none of it lewd, but the comments also followed her. Along with the health issues, leering objectification kept creeping up, and Internet followings exacerbated it even further. She had to do it, for her physical AND mental health, and her medical covered it entirely.

Raven seemed excited to get rid of them, and it was drastic, with her wanting to go down to just a C-cup. She was extremely grateful towards me, hugging me, even, and pressing those massive breasts up against me. I’d be pretty much the last person to feel that. She stripped, and we put her into a medical gown, and I laid the girl out on the table, God bless her, and I started with the traditional marker drawing on her breasts, indicating where and how much would be cut away, as well as how the nipples would be moved. This seemed like a decision a long time in the making for her, as if she was taking a big, but necessary, and relieving step in her life. We put her under, and sedated her for the procedure.

Cutting into Raven’s left breast, the first incision sent a chill within me, but I remained professional, outwardly calm, not doing anything wrong. It was all up to snuff, cutting away tissue and fat, draining one breast, stitching it up, then moving to the next one. Evening her out, reducing her right breast after we had done her left. She was asleep, she wouldn’t remember the feeling of this except maybe subconsciously. Even in this state, I had such affection for her. But part of her beauty, albeit one that felt like an affliction for her, was going to be tossed away, turned into medical waste, burnt up and never recovered.

We bandaged her up, and the difference was stark. I told her standard recovery procedures, be careful with movement, your stitches and everything. She was extremely grateful. With some slight distance as necessary, she hugged me again. I could swear, she almost kissed me. She seemed really, really happy. Literal weight off her chest, weight off her shoulders. Those breasts she came in with were gone from her body. She even took footage and pictures of herself right before and after to post online.

I went home and I masturbated furiously. I thought actually living through it would be a preventative towards the fetish, but it made it worse. Raven was so happy! So lively, beautiful, a joy de vivre in her step…so fucking hot. If I had my way, I would have titfucked her right before carving her up, then fucked her gorgeous, adorable, stupid, slutty, tit-removing face right after. How dare she. This boner was her fucking fault. I had enough willpower to not do anything stupid towards her, I’m not THAT deranged. But she was the hottest fucking thing ever. How fucking dare she make me chop her fucking tits to pieces! She thinks those are burdens? Don’t the needs of everyone else to have a perfect sexual being exist in this world outweigh her selfish concerns? And yet, ruining her felt good. She even liked it! Her smiling face meant the world to me, it could melt the heart of the cruelest of bastards, and I wanted to cover it in sperm.

This was all some horny bullshit, and I knew it. The world didn’t exist for my dick. But it felt good to say this stuff to myself, in private. Raven had even given me one of her accounts before and I followed her, and I found her posting a video of it online, with that stupid audio all these sexed-up jiggledolls used when they paid a ton of money to make themselves less sexy and jiggly. “She ain’t like her titties, fuck it, give her new boobs. She went to Miami, just to meet Dr. Miami”, and so on. She showed off her breasts in a tight top at home beforehand, even fucking bouncing those perfect things, then showed herself in a medical gown in the hospital room, then her bandaged up after her surgery, then her at home in a smaller top, giving peace signs, smiling so adorably. I might have found her even hotter now, somehow. “Fucking bitch, I love you!” I stroked furiously and I came harder than I had ever cum before.

“Hey guys, I know you’ve all been following me for a while, I saw the comments, believe me. Everybody has been wondering, since my friend got not just a reduction, but a full mastectomy, when will my big ol’ bouncy boobs be going away? Well, you can consider this an announcement!”

The flirty witch had heard two of the most gorgeous redhead babes in Hollywood, Christina Hendricks and Bryce Dallas Howard, would both be attending this event, and got an idea to place a swapping spell on both. Suddenly, Christina felt a lot lighter in her chest, while Bryce was now insanely stacked and straining her dress, much like Christina was before.

Christina felt lightheaded as a result of the changes, and it took her a bit to realize what had happened. Meanwhile, Bryce noticed immediately and reveled in it, showing her beautiful, massively racked self off. “Guess they match my ass now!” She giggled. Meanwhile, Christina eventually started feeling self-conscious.

The full domino effect of the switch would soon be felt. Bryce got even more parts as the most beautiful, busty A-lister in Hollywood, while flat Christina was more and more demoted to a glorified extra. Even in their love life, Bryce very soon was having triplets and feeding them well, while Christina was unfortunately staring towards another divorce, and still not bearing any children. The witch observed this from afar, finding the contrast of these two sexy women exchanging not only racks, but status, as well. She wondered if this kind of switch would do well with other women…

Jinx didn't enjoy dwelling on it, but sometimes, she felt inadequate compared to other superheroines. Not in terms of power or anything, but in physique. While her and her friends were college-age at this point, attending a Halloween party dressed as other superheroines, Jinx felt she was coming up a bit short. But she suddenly got an idea, given who her outfit was based off of. If she could manipulate her luck a bit, and turn the fortunes in favor of her, rather than who typically wore this outfit, she might be getting somewhere.

Elsewhere, Power Girl was at home, simply trying to relax, undress, and unwind, when suddenly, she noticed an odd feeling in her chest. An increasing tightness and tautness to her breasts started occuring and they were…drawing inward?!? Yes, her famous pair was diminishing now by the second, and her bras became looser and looser, eventually flying off as the breasts flailed in the shrinking process. A Kryptonian is powerful, but magic effects them the same as any other mortal being. Perhaps Power Girl would become more known for her ass now, as within a matter of minutes, she was already down to a DD cup. Big for most, but only a fraction of what were once at least almost triple that size. Eventually, she went down to a C-cup. This process was painful and embarassing, which says a lot, given she was Kryptonian, but look at the bright side: it'd soon be over? Not a lot of solace for the confident, sensual woman who took pride in her figure, merely only able to look down in shock and grasp at already diminishing B-cup breasts. It took less then 40 seconds for her to finally become flat as a board. Perhaps Jinx was asking for too much…

But Jinx didn't care. The sensation of growing, and groping at her own increasingly massive tits was amazing. Surges and surges of heavy, soft, yet firm breast flesh filled up and pillowed in her hands. It was like going from a school carton of milk to two full gallon jugs in a very brief amount of time, which is what she needed when going to the party. Feel herself surge upwards from mere B-cups to F-cups, G-cups, even up to H-cups, the fat, jiggling mounds on her chest filling her hands up made her feel fuller and more alive, in many senses. Her outfit was now incredibly tight, but it didn't matter. She went into the party, and her friends were shocked, thinking that the newly massive Jinx, who was by far now the bustiest girl at this party, was wearing fake breasts. Jinx soon revealed privately to a possibly jealous Raven and Starfire that they were indeed very real, and they could feel if they liked.