Chapter 7: Josh's growing tits press against thin fabric with every breath, his back arching 'unconsciously' while Mark's nostrils flare—neither mentioning the damp spot on Josh's shirt where his nipples leak.
The worn couch cushions sighed as Josh shifted, the rough fabric catching on the thin material of his tank top. He’d taken to wearing them around the apartment, the stretchy cotton clinging to a chest that was no longer flat. A soft, distinct swell pushed against the fabric, creating a shallow valley of cleavage that his eyes, and Mark’s, kept drifting towards.
“You gonna just keep adjusting yourself all night, or are we actually watching this?” Mark’s voice was a low grumble, his gaze fixed on the television where cars exploded soundlessly. He’d been tense for days, a coiled spring on the other end of the sofa.
Josh let his hands fall into his lap, a deliberate, graceful motion. “It’s just a little tight. I think I’m putting on weight.” The lie was smooth, practiced. He knew it wasn’t weight. It was fullness. A persistent, pleasant ache had taken root in his pectorals, a sensation that was becoming as familiar as his own heartbeat.
“Right. Weight.” Mark took a long pull from his beer, his eyes cutting sideways, scanning the curve of Josh’s chest before flicking back to the screen. “Looks like it’s all going to one place.”
“Maybe.” Josh let a smile play on his lips. He stretched then, a long, languid arch of his back, pushing his chest out with a soft, involuntary moan. The sensitive nubs of his nipples rubbed against the cotton, sending a jolt of electricity straight to his groin. He saw Mark’s knuckles whiten around the beer bottle.
The room was thick with silence, broken only by the muffled movie sounds. The air hummed with something unsaid, something raw and anticipatory. Josh’s mind drifted to the voice, to Serena’s hypnotic murmur. Your breasts will attract other friends to play the game with you.
He looked at Mark—his best friend, his roommate, his broad shoulders and stubborn jaw. A perfect friend for the game.
“My back’s been killing me,” Josh murmured, breaking the silence. He rubbed a hand over the small of his back, a calculated gesture of vulnerability. “Everything just feels… sore.”
Mark was quiet for a long moment. Then, he set the beer down on the coffee table with a definitive thud. “Where?” he asked, his voice rough.
“Between my shoulders. Just… tight.”
With a sigh that sounded like surrender, Mark shifted down the couch. His hands, large and warm, landed on Josh’s shoulders through the tank top. Josh flinched at the contact, then melted into it. Mark’s thumbs dug into the knotted muscles, his touch firm, almost professional at first.
But then Josh leaned back, just a little, pressing his body closer. He guided one of Mark’s hands lower, down his spine, until the heel of Mark’s palm was pressed against the place where his back met the swell of his new, soft flesh.
Mark’s breathing hitched. His hand stilled. For a heartbeat, Josh thought he’d pull away. But he didn’t. His fingers splayed, the tips brushing against the sensitive undersides of Josh’s developing breasts through the fabric.
“Fuck, Josh,” Mark whispered, his voice thick.
“They’re so sensitive,” Josh breathed, his own voice a husky thing he barely recognized. He reached back, his hand finding Mark’s wrist, and pressed it more firmly against his chest. “Please.”
That single word broke the last of Mark’s resistance. His hands turned greedy, abandoning the pretense of a massage. They slid around Josh’s sides, cupping the soft mounds, his thumbs finding the hardened nipples and rubbing slow, deliberate circles.
Josh cried out, his head falling back against Mark’s shoulder. It was a thousand times more intense than his own fumbling touches. A hot, slick pressure built between his legs, his cock straining against the lace of his panties.
“You like that?” Mark growled into his ear, his breath hot. “You like me feeling up your little tits?”
“Yes,” Josh gasped. “God, yes. Don’t stop.”
Mark’s hands were rough, possessive. He squeezed and kneaded the soft flesh, his fingers pinching and rolling Josh’s nipples until they were aching, throbbing beads. Josh was writhing now, shameless, pushing his tits back into Mark’s hands, his hips rocking against nothing.
“Turn around,” Mark commanded, his voice raw.
Josh obeyed, scrambling to face him. His eyes were wide, pupils blown. Mark’s gaze was locked on his chest, on the two distinct peaks tenting the thin cotton. He didn’t say another word. He grabbed the hem of Josh’s tank top and yanked it up and over his head, tossing it to the floor.
Josh sat there, exposed, in his plain black bra. The cups were fuller now, the soft flesh spilling slightly over the top.
“You’re actually wearing it,” Mark said, a strange mix of disgust and fascination in his tone.
“It helps with the soreness,” Josh whispered, the excuse sounding pathetic even to him.
Mark’s fingers fumbled with the front clasp. It came undone with a quiet click. The bra fell away, and Josh’s new breasts were fully revealed to the lamplight. They were larger than they had been just days ago, rounder, with puffy, dark pink areolas and nipples that stood rigid and desperate.
“Fuck,” Mark breathed. He stared, his own arousal a blatant bulge in his sweatpants. He leaned forward and, without warning, took one of the swollen nubs into his mouth.
Josh screamed. It was a wet, hot, sucking pressure that seemed to pull on a string connected directly to his cock and his soul. His hands flew to Mark’s head, not to push him away, but to hold him there, grinding his face into his chest. Mark suckled hungrily, his tongue lashing the sensitive tip, his teeth grazing it gently. He switched to the other, giving it the same brutal, worshipful attention.
“I need… Mark, I need…” Josh was babbling, his hips pistoning.
Mark pulled back, his lips wet and shining. He looked feral. He shoved Josh down flat on the couch, his body a heavy, welcome weight on top of him. He yanked at Josh’s sweatpants, pulling them and the lace panties down his thighs in one rough motion. Josh’s cock sprang free, leaking and hard.
Mark spat into his own hand, a crude, efficient gesture, and then his fist was wrapped around Josh’s length, stroking him in time with his rough kisses and bites on Josh’s neck and chest.
“You’re such a fucking slut,” Mark grunted into his skin, his hand working faster. “Growing these fucking tits for me. You wanted this, didn’t you?”
“Yes! I’m your slut,” Josh moaned, the words feeling true, feeling right. “Play with me, Mark. Play the game with me.”
Mark’s rhythm became punishing, his grip tight. The pleasure was a tidal wave, built from the ache in his breasts, the friction on his cock, the filthy words in his ear. He came with a broken shout, his back arching off the couch, his release streaking across his own stomach and chest.
He lay there, panting, spent. Mark pulled back, looking down at the mess he’d made, his own chest heaving. He didn’t look triumphant. He looked stunned, a little sick.
Josh, however, felt a profound, deep satisfaction. He reached up and smeared a finger through the cum on his chest, bringing it to his lips with a sleepy, contented smile.
“See?” Josh whispered, his voice drowsy and thick. “I told you they were getting bigger.”
Mark just stared, his eyes wide with a dawning horror, and something else, something that looked a lot like hunger.