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It was Christmas Eve and Chuck Dixon was tossing and turning in his bed. Alone. It was his own damn fault. Up until a week ago, he and his girlfriend, Susan, had made plans to spend the holidays together.
     A luxurious hotel suite, room service, fireplace, and each other. That was their plan. And Chuck blew it the way he always did: He opened his mouth.
     But he couldn't help it. Susan asked him to tell her the truth. And he did. It wasn't his fault he didn't like big breasts.
     Blame the Universe. Blame God. Blame something besides Chuck Dixon. It wasn't his fault that he didn't like large-breasted women. And, it wasn't his fault that every woman attracted to him had big tits! It was one of those opposites-attract things. It had to be.
     All Chuck could do was take some pro-active steps. Try to change things to his liking. Lose the tits, in other words. That's what you did in this world, right? You don't like something, you change it!
     Chuck didn't like the women around him carrying all that excessive flesh on their bodies and he told them. He pointed out what they could do to better themselves. Surgery, exercise, diet. Pro-active steps. What was wrong with that? It's not like the size of a woman's breasts really mattered, right? Anything bigger than a handful was a waste. Everyone knew that.
     Everyone that is, except Susan.
     Chuck couldn't figure out that girl's - correction: woman's - problem. Susan had big tits - a H-cup! - and wasn't troubled by them in the least. In Chuck's mind, that was an impossibility. She was lying. She had to be. How could she not be troubled by the weight of those things, the underwire of her bras, the unwanted attention by the guys around her, and the many other problems that come with having an above-average bosom?
     Susan said she didn't have a problem. In fact, she was thinking about making them bigger!
     Madness, thought Chuck. The girl - woman - was mad! She had to be. Well, Chuck wasn't going to let her own irresponsibility and ignorance doom her life. No, sirree! If Susan couldn't see past her breasts, then Chuck would just have to do the seeing for her. It was his calling. A missionary-like Mission to take the well-endowed and convert them to the ways of the thin and flat-chested.
     Susan rejected the faith.
     That was a new one for Chuck. Failure. He'd never had a problem in the past with his Mission. No, sirree! Every woman with large breasts that entered his sphere of influence - be she family or acquaintance - accepted the doctrine according to Chuck.
     Oh, some took more work than others. That was the nature of the beast. But converting people - as any missionary would tell you - is a numbers game. And Chuck was batting a thousand. Never striking out.
     Until Susan.
     He remembered their last meeting. He tried to talk logic to the girl. Bringing out his "Folder of Facts", he showed her magazine article after magazine article in order to sway her. He showed her pictures and bar graphs. He kept his voice neutral, so he didn't enrage her. He used every communicating trick and "How to win friends and influence people" technique he knew.
     And none of it worked. Susan, a hot-tempered person by nature, just got madder and madder. She didn't care what Chuck said, what the experts said, what anyone said. She was happy with her body and no one was going to convince her otherwise.
     Chuck persisted, of course. It was a missionary thing. Persisting in your cause - your Mission - no matter how you may offend the other person. No matter how the other person may offend you.
     Susan offended Chuck. Swept away by her temper or something, she announced that their discussion was over. Chuck still wanted to talk. She announced she was leaving. Chuck still wanted to talk. She suddenly removed her top. And Chuck was offended.
     He should have seen that move coming. The desperation move. But he didn't. One moment he was trying to convince Susan to stay and finish up their discussion and the next he was standing face-to-tit with Susan's H-cuppers.
     "Susan, what are you doing?" he sputtered. "Put your clothes back on this minute!"
     "No," she replied calmly, thrusting out her chest for maximum viewing.
     "Susan, if you don't put your clothes back on, I'll-"
     "Do what, Chuck?" she interrupted.
     And Chuck thought about it. What could he do? Nothing, but beg. Which is what he did:
     "Susan, cover up, okay. Do it for me, okay? Please."
     "No, Chuck," she replied, a note of firmness in her voice. "I want you to see them."
     "I've seen them before," Chuck insisted.
     "Yeah, in the darkness. No lights. Me covered up from head-to-toe. That's how you've seen them, Chuck. But I want you to see them like this. Naturally, unadorned, and in plain view."
     "No, Susan. Put them away. Cover them up this instant," Chuck pleaded, becoming visibly nervous. Shaking even.
     "No," Susan said and with a speed that should have been impossible for someone built like her, she grabbed Chuck by the neck. She pulled the stunned Missionary of Flat-Chestedness into her cleavage and jiggled. Shaking her whoppers like a mad-woman.
     Which is what Chuck thought she was. Mad. Insane. Psychotic. A fucking menace. He was about to tell her so, when Susan had the last word. She always had the last word.
     She stood tall and proud. Topless, her hands clutching her shirt and bra, she gave Chuck a final look. She took a deep breath, which did some wonderful things to her chest. Things Chuck couldn't or wouldn't appreciate and said, regarding Chuck's time in her cleavage:
     "Let's see those flat-chested bitches you like so much do that!"
     And she was gone.
     Seven days later and the words still lingered in Chuck's mind.
     "Let's see those flat-chested bitches you like so much do that!"
     Do what? Smother a man with their mammary glands? Was that supposed to somehow be erotic? If so, Chuck couldn't make sense of it. And it bothered him. Made him re-think and re-examine his Mission. Do some soul-searching. In his bed. Alone.
     He went back to the earliest memory of his Mission. To the first person he converted. His mother. It was after his dad died and Chuck assumed the mantle of man of the house. He saw his mother struggling in the dating scene and offered his advice. Boldly. Somehow, he convinced her that today's men didn't like protruding breasts. He convinced her that thin was in. He convinced her to exercise and diet all that excess breast tissue away.
     One generation down, Chuck worked on the next. His sister. Once Karen started developing - early - Chuck gave her the same advice as their mother. And received the same results. Both females exemplified the waif look.
     Once he'd succeeded at home, Chuck had no choice but to take his Mission outside. Any female within earshot received his message. Lose the tits! And they did. Chuck had the charisma, skills of persuasion, and good looks to make his Mission a reality.
     But where did this Mission come from? Why was Chuck so anti-breast? Those were the questions Susan asked Chuck. But he had no answer, except saying he was wired that way. Telling Susan that if there was such a thing as true "breast-men" then it made sense that there was such a thing as true "anti-breast men".
     Susan didn't accept the "anti-breast man" theory and now she was gone. Chuck was trying to sleep - alone - and he couldn't. He missed Susan. Excepting her endowments, Chuck felt she was the perfect woman for him. Smart, beautiful, and sexy, Chuck had some good time with her. That was - pun not intended - when he could get past her breasts.
     "Her breasts!" Chuck said aloud, feeling stupid the moment the words made it to his ears. He was giving up his relationship with Susan because he didn't like the size of her breasts. It was unbelievable. Unbelievable, but true. It was a point that neither Susan or Chuck would compromise on. Susan wasn't going to lose an inch if she could help it and Chuck wasn't willing to endure life as the lover of an H-cupper!
     What a way to celebrate the holidays! Chuck thought, pulling the covers over his head. Merry-Fucking Christmas.
     Chuck finally fell asleep. He couldn't tell you the exact moment, but it finally happened. He fell asleep, only to be awaken by Susan.
     At least, he thought it was Susan.
     Opening his eyes, getting the sleep out, and pinching himself, Chuck noticed that if the person in front of him was Susan then it wasn't any Susan he knew.
     Sure, they shared the same face, but that was where any similarities ended. This Susan was jumbo-sized! Everything about her was bigger. Whereas Chuck's Susan stood a female-tall 5' 9", this Susan stood 7' 1". Whereas Chuck's Susan was toned, this Susan was muscular. And breasts! Chuck thought Susan's H-cuppers were big, this Susan had breasts three times as big. Add in the fact that this Susan was naked and glowing and Chuck wondered how he could ever confuse the two, let alone voice it aloud.
     But Chuck had asked Susan-Squared, as he mentally dubbed her, if she was in fact his Susan, and Susan-Squared had said:
     "No, I am not the Susan you know and, yet, I am."
     "Pardon, me," Chuck responded reflexively.
     "I am her righteous anger combined with the anger of those who you corrupted," said Susan-Squared solemnly.
     "Righteous anger?" Chuck asked, not liking the direction this conversation was taken. "Righteous anger for what? And who have I corrupted? Why I've never-"
     "Silence!" Susan-Squared said and instantly Chuck shut up. Afraid for his life. This wasn't an ordinary command to "shut up". This woman said the words with such authority that Chuck was temporarily unable to talk.
     "Now, as I was saying," Susan-Squared said in a softer, yet no less-authoritative voice," I am the righteous anger of those who you corrupted. Suppressed for awhile, but now fully manifested. I am the voice of every woman you encountered, who felt the way Susan did, but for one reason or another remained silent. I am big breasts. I am woman. Hear me roar!"
     Now ordinarily when a female quoted Helen Reddy, Chuck couldn't help but laugh. I am woman, hear me roar! Yeah, right. But Susan-Squared wasn't the woman to be laughed at. With her height and muscles, if she felt like roaring, Chuck Dixon wasn't about to stop her. Hell, with her height and muscles, Chuck Dixon couldn't stop her!
     Which bought up his next point. One he approached delicately.
     "Uh, Susan Squ - uh, I mean - ma'am, with you being righteous anger and all and with your standing naked in my bedroom, might I assume that part of your job - uh, description involves, uh, vengeance for those you said I - I corrupted."
     "Yes," Susan-Squared said with a smile, and Chuck felt his heart play expensive sports-car going instantly from rest to Mach 1 in nanoseconds.
     "But it's not fair, I don't stand a chance against you, what did I do, it's not fair, it's not fair, don't kill me, don't KILL me, DON'T KILL ME!!!" Chuck babbled until he was once again silenced by Susan-Squared, who started laughing at him.
     "Chuck Dixon," she said once she regained control of herself, "did you think I was sent here to kill you?"
     Chuck didn't say a word. His eyes looking at Susan-Squared's physique from top-to-bottom then bottom-to-top said all he needed to say.
     Susan-Squared caught Chuck's appraisal and understood. Chuck was mistaken, though, and she said:
     "Chuck Dixon, though, I am large by your world's standards, where I come from I'm considered quite small. Too small to be one of those voices of anger that destroy. No, Chuck Dixon, though I be a voice of righteous anger, I am for the most part a pacifist."
     Hearing Susan-Squared's words, Chuck instantly felt relieved. He was going to live. He was GOING to live. HE WAS GOING TO LIVE!!!
     "Ahem," Susan-Squared interrupted Chuck's joyful celebration. "Chuck Dixon, I'm not going to kill you. That's true. But you must know there's more to my visit than what I've so far demonstrated."
     And Chuck found himself back in the hot seat.
     "Wha - what are you going to do to me?" Chuck asked nervously.
     "This," Susan-Squared said, gesturing towards his bedroom door.
     Chuck watched as the wooden door underwent a transformation. Beams of energy bent and shook it like some Science Fiction tug-of-war. Making it look like it was going to disintegrate one moment, and explode the next.
     Eventually, the tug-of-war resulted in a tie and what was once an ordinary door became an extraordinary portal of light.
     Chuck Dixon feared what was going to enter his room through it. Maybe one of those "voices of anger that destroy" that Susan-Squared mentioned. Maybe something worse.
     What entered through the portal turned out to be the complete opposite of what Chuck feared. Instead of some massive voice of destructive anger, or demon from hell, what entered his room turned out to be:
     His mother.
     She was glowing like Susan-Squared, but in every other detail, Chuck was looking at his mother. Followed by his sister. Also glowing. Girlfriends, classmates, and any other female touched by Chuck's Mission followed. Filling his room to capacity with glowing females.
     Chuck was feeling somewhat claustrophobic when Susan-Squared spoke:
     "Chuck Dixon, these are all the females corrupted by your Mission. Your arrogant, selfish, holier-than-thou Mission. This is how they look. Presently. Look at them!"
     And Chuck did so. What he saw was a collection of thin, beautiful women made that way by his words and actions. They looked good. Damn good. And it was all thanks to him.
     "Oh, so you feel good about yourself, Chuck Dixon?" Susan-Squared asked, seeing the smug look of self-satisfaction on his face.
     "I do," Chuck said without hesitation. "Look at them."
     "No, Chuck Dixon, you look at them. Really look at them!"
     And Chuck suddenly saw sections of these women's lives. Small sections. The part he contributed to. Breast-reduction surgery, as advised by him, in all its grisly details. Meals being vomited up, since his Mission suggested a percentage of body-fat that was unhealthy for many of these women. His mother and sister working out to the point of exhaustion. He saw these sights and more, and started crying. He didn't know the harm he'd caused these women. He didn't know.
     "I'm sorry," he sobbed. "I didn't know - didn't know the problems my Mission was causing. I didn't know."
     "And you still don't," Susan-Squared said coldly.
     "I do. The horrors I caused. I realized the wrong I've done. Believe me, I know better now."
     "Not yet you don't, Chuck Dixon. But you soon will."
     And with those words, Susan-Squared kissed Chuck on the forehead. Nothing happened at first. But soon, Chuck felt pain. The pain of breast surgery. Followed by the pangs of hunger. Wherever he looked, he was feeling the pain of the woman in front of him. Increasing. Getting stronger.
     Chuck Dixon was learning the mistakes of his Mission down to the core of his being. Feeling it in the depths of his soul. He screamed out to Susan-Squared:
     "Make it stop! I've learned my lesson! Make it stop!"

"Why, Chuck Dixon? Is the pain too much for you?"
     "Yes!"
     "But, you're just feeling the pain of this moment. These women you corrupted feel this pain and more everyday," Susan-Squared said. "Like unhealable scars they're branded by what you did in the past."
     "But it's in the past!" Chuck screamed. "What can I do about it?"
     "Change it."
     "If I could I would," Chuck said, the pain pushing him towards unconsciousness.
     "Would you?" Susan-Squared asked. Her voice suddenly soft.
     "I - I would. Wi - with interest," Chuck said just before he passed out.
     "Done," said Susan-Squared, as she disappeared.

Chuck woke up with an awful headache, one that he blamed on that weird dream with the jumbo-sized Susan. He tried to get his eyes to focus and locked on his open bedroom door. Chuck Dixon never left his bedroom door open. He went to close it when he saw a sight he couldn't believe.
     His sister.
     Hearing her name come from her brother's mouth, she turned in his direction.
     "What you want, big brother?" she asked.
     "You - you grown," Chuck said stating the obvious. His sister, waif-like the last time he saw her, now had curves a big-bust model would envy.
     She was wearing an oversized pyjama top stretched to capacity. The buttons of which looked like they were about to shoot off into space at any moment. Chuck couldn't believe this was his little sister.
     "Yeah, your little sister is wearing a J-cup now!" she said enthusiastically. "Mom said I'll pass her O-cup in no time!"
     And with that his sister headed towards the downstairs Christmas tree and awaiting Christmas presents.
     J-cup? O-cup? What the hell was going on, Chuck thought. So much, that he didn't even notice the women's clothes on his floor. When he finally did, the owner of the clothes was returning.
     "Oh, so you finally woke up," she said. "Merry Christmas."
     Chuck turned towards the voice and was shocked. It was Susan - his Susan - looking like Susan-Squared. Maybe not as muscular, but the height and breasts were the same.
     "Su - Susan," he stuttered.
     "In the flesh, baby."
     And the next thing Chuck knew, he was sampling said flesh.
     He thought about his "dream" and the changes of the morning after. He wasn't stupid. He understood cause-and-effect. He understood that all the women that his Mission converted would now be endowed with massive breasts! He also understood that as a newly-converted breast-man, he had a lot of catching up to do.
     Starting with Susan and her three times H-cup breasts!