Standing stock still in the center of his room, Jon thought of what he could do. Well at least I know how to solve the problem now. But what do I want to use the magic on? Jon looked down again, suppressing the first wave of ideas which sprung to mind at the sight. Based on what he'd had before, he guessed he was about a G cup. A fucking G cup! Which, assuming each cup size was a charge of magic, gave him seven uses before he was back to normal. So what seven things did he want? His mind was suddenly blank. Typical human limitations, as long as there are restrictions, they think of things to push the boundaries, but with no restrictions ... couldn't think of a thing. Immediately Jon realized he was being stupid. He could use the magic, to figure out how to use the magic. He would be killing two boobs with one wish ... two birds with one stone. That was the phrase.
Jon focused on the annoyance at the huge weights on his chest. He focused on his anger at someone taking the stone, and leaving the bra. He focused on his desperation to shrink the breasts that tormented him every time he looked down. And most of all he focused on his craving to always have a plan, to always know what to do with the magic. There was the familiar sensation of the feelings swelling up within him, and then the rupture of a dam. But just as the feeling had been weaker when the breasts were smaller, in their enlarged state it was amplified.
A wave of pleasure exploded through him, both through his nipples in a stream of magic, and through his body with erotic sensations. Before he had likened the experience to masturbating; this was easily twice as enjoyable as jacking off. His body was awash with sexual energy, every neuron screaming in joy. He was vaguely aware of collapsing to the ground, of his breasts bouncing wildly, of the sudden dampening as inside his boxers were coated in seamen, but it was all just noise. He was a twig in a tsunami, and it took every ounce of his willpower to not be dashed apart.
Finally, the sensations subsided. Jon realized he was out of breath, that he was panting uncontrollably. His mind desperately tried to piece itself together, after what felt like an eternity of bliss. To ground himself, he concentrated on the little things. The carpet beneath his hands and knees. The sound of his own breath. The insistent, unignorable pull of gravity on his reduced but still sizable breasts. The sticky feeling in his underwear.
At that last thought, Jon pushed himself off the floor and sat on his bed. This of course started the increasingly familiar cascade of flesh, but he was able to push that aside. He was a man on a mission now. The magic seemed to have worked, because he immediately knew what to use the for. He would use one cup to clean up his mess. If that usage produced a new mess, more the better as it would provide another use of magic.
He used the disgust as his own slimy jizz sticking to his thigh to provide the next emotional kick. Dam burst, magic flow. It was still a tsunami of pleasure, albeit a slightly smaller one. Still made him cum though. Disgust, dam, magic, wave of pleasure. But his time the wave was small enough not to cause an orgasm. Left him panting on the bed, but that was manageable. In the afterglow of using so much magic in so little time he felt giddy. He couldn't felt himself; he laughed, a pure, joyous laugh. He supposed that was one upside of the bra over the stone: free orgasms and the aftereffects. The thought made him laugh again. He didn't even mind the resultant jiggling as much, although with what he estimated to be D cup breasts, the movement produced was significantly diminished. It was was enough to remind him was wasn't finished.
Bang, bang bang! "Jon, are you up yet?" The sound of his mother's voice cut through his mirth with a jolt of panic. He heard a noise like she was going to open the door.
Shit! "Don't come in, I'm getting dressed!" he cried out in terror. The sound at the door stopped.
"Okay, but you had better hurry or you're going to be late."
"Thanks Mom!" As he heard foots steps receding from the door, he glanced at the clock. 7 fucking 40! Somehow using the magic had burned through 25 minutes! In retrospect, it was probably the post use cool-down which had cost him the most time. With no time to think, he used the desperation of being late to fuel three more uses of magic. One to clean himself up and get dressed. One to back up his back pack and gather his phone and keys. And one more to teleport him to school.
