Serial Reducer - Chapter One
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.
I decided after this that it was now my life’s mission to make my terrible fantasies a reality. More beautiful, big-breasted women were going to get their tits chipped away. After all, look at how happy it made Raven. Don’t you want to make pretty girls happy? They’ll be happy, eventually, they’ll cry at first, but they’ll be happy when they see it my way. Raven’s way. Yes, it’s for her. Thank you very much, Raven, you’re the most sexually arousing woman I’ve ever met. Now I have to clean myself off.
