Yes. Being busty is nice and all but...

"Actually," you say. "Could you try to turn me back? These... are kinda heavy."

Tom nods and readies the pen, but hesitates. "Wait a minute... what you said about the ghost was a lie before, wasn't it?"

You fall silent, not quite sure how to respond. Eventually, you just flip to the first page of the notebook and point. "I saw this... but..."

He snatches up the notebook and reads. "These... are rules. You knew. You KNEW what this notebook could do and you used me. Worse, you couldn't even be bothered to trust me!"

"Well, you know..." You gesture to your tits. "...what if you just wrote something ridiculous?"

"I wrote that because you bumped my arm! I can't believe you," Tom says. "You think so little of me that you'd lie? That's... that's...."

"Called being pragmatic," you say. "Look. I'm sorry, but could you put me back to normal? Please?"

Tom sets his jaw in a hard line. "Fine."

He slams down the book and writes B next to your name. The L fades to black and the B turns red in its stead. He slams the pen down and storms out, scooping up his things without another word.

You're left with the odd sensation of deflating. Just like before your breasts shake and jiggle, but recede down in size in a slow deliberate manner. It's almost like someone just opened a valve and let the air out of big heavy balloons strapped to your chest.

Thankfully nothing comes out. That would just be... weird.

Your shirt re-sizes along with the bra underneath, and you feel normal again. Not like being busty was abnormal, but the odd sensation of change size fades. You pull off your shirt and bra with one tug and look down at your normal, perky B-cups.

It almost feels like it could have been a dream, but those glowing red letters on the notebook say otherwise.

To Be Continued