I had this idea and felt the need to write it out. I hope you enjoy it!
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It makes sense that you wouldn't notice it right away. First and foremost, no one wakes up in the morning and thinks "Holy shit, are my boobs imperceptibly bigger?!" No, of course not; that's the whole thing with 'imperceptible.' All you notice is that, fuck, your bra seems really uncomfortable, adjusting it throughout the day far more than you usually do. And there are dozens of possible explanations that would make more sense, blaming the bra shrinking in the wash or just generally being a bit irritable and sensitive to discomfort. After all you were very nearly drunk on wine when you and your transmasc friend performed the ritual the night before. Your memories are hazy at best, but it's easier to remember getting very, very drunk when your head is pounding the next morning. So, you write it off as a bad hangover manifesting in a weird way and try to focus on other things. The whole point of the previous night's bacchanal was to be a send-off for your friend; leaving town for a month is a big deal when the last time you went more than a few days without seeing each other was when he went to sleepaway camp for two weeks.
The farewell at the airport is surprisingly heartfelt, though both of you do your best to mask it. Something does feel a little bit different when your arms are wrapped around him, pushing his face into your chest, but you're focused on other things and the thought passes as soon as the hug ends, waving to him as he heads through airport security. Your brow furrows as you watch him walk, something slightly off in his gait, but there's a good chance that he just sprained his ankle or something while drunk. He's always been a bit clumsy.
After a week or so, that "imperceptible" growth starts shifting into the "perceptible." Now, instead of just being a bit uncomfortable, your bra is downright inadequate. You catch sight of yourself in the mirror and, holy shit, there's more tit bulging out of the top of your bra than kept inside it! You poke and prod at the newly grown mounds, feeling the heat of arousal growing inside you. You have to be at least two cup sizes bigger, maybe even more! And they're sensitive in addition to swollen, stoking the warm embers of arousal in your core. You glance at your phone, wondering if you should tell your friend. The late nights you've lamented your bust to him, expressing jealousy towards his own impressive chest, means that such excitement would be understandable but… no. He's busy and you wouldn't want to bother him. Besides, it'd be a nice surprise when he gets back!
That surprise, along with your breasts, grows day by day. By the end of the second week, your breasts have more than doubled in size and show no signs of slowing down. A part of you wants to get them measured, but there really wouldn't be a point; you'd outgrow the measurement by the time you got home. All you could do is sit and watch as your tits bulged larger and larger on your chest. You can't keep your hands off of them, moaning as your fingers sink into the doughy, growing flesh. Your nipples are constantly stiff, poking through the increasingly tight shirts you stuff them into and rubbing against the fabric to keep you in a constant haze of arousal.
In the third week, there are nights that you spend all night edging and stroking and playing with your tits, fueled further by the knowledge that you'll be even bustier by the time the sun comes up. The growth is quickly getting out of hand, first literally then figuratively. You can feel their weight and heft pulling down on your shoulders. They stick out in front of you, wobbling and sloshing on your chest with every one of your little movements. Occasionally, when you sit, you can feel your gargantuan tits squishing against your thighs, the eroticism of that alone sending blood rushing to your cock. The last week is spent mindlessly humping your own tits, filling your own cleavage with cum, losing hours at a time as you lose yourself completely.
Before you know it, a month has passed, a text from your friend dragging you out of your lust-filled stupor. Shit. You climb out of your bed, the shifting weight from your tits nearly dragging you back down to the floor. You make a pit stop in the bathroom to try and wipe out all of the cum from your cleavage, burning through half a box of tissues before resorting to a towel and making a mental note to wash it when you get home. Your wardrobe is a challenge; most of your shirts would barely fit over one of your gargantuan breasts, let alone both plus the rest of you. Despite the awkward weather for it, you wind up barely able to stuff your tits into a winter coat and pull up the zipper. The drive to the airport is a new experience, every pothole and every bump in the road making your tits wobble like mad, even with the seatbelt squishing them down. Thoughts of your friend are the only things that keep your consciousness together, at least long enough to get to the airport.
For a moment, when you first see him, it's like the last month didn't happen. You're right back where you were when he left, the same Scar you always were. He's bundled up, too, his shoulders awkwardly hunched, but that seems secondary to rushing over and wrapping him up in a big hug. A warning siren goes off inside your head, reminding you in the few seconds before impact that a hug means that you'll be squishing your giant, sensitive tits against his chest. It comes too late, however, the momentum too great to overcome. You brace yourself, reading for the moan that'll inevitably-
"Mmmnnnggghhh…"
You blink. You look at your friend, who is also blinking and also looking at you, blush deep on his cheeks. In almost perfect synchrony: "Wait, did you just… Why did you…?" Without waiting a moment longer, arousal rising inside you, you take him by the hand and drag him into one of the few, standalone bathrooms for some privacy. You push him back, forcing him down onto the toilet seat. He winces, whimpering softly, his hips trembling. "Talk. What was that moan about?"
He opens his mouth, only to close it again, then open, then close. He just can't seem to figure out how to explain it. Slowly, a trembling hand reaches up to the zipper on the jacket and pulls it down. There's a strange bulge running down the length of his shirt, from his collarbone all the way down to the waistband of his jeans. Gingerly, he lifts up his shirt and reveals a long, throbbing shaft. It's a bit narrower than one would expect for a cock of that length, and perfectly smooth, no apparent veins. Most notably, though, the head is very small, just a slight bulge at the tip, and there's no slit in the end. It takes you a moment to put it together before your eyes go wide. "Holy shit… Marc… Is that your tdick?" He shrinks in on himself, inadvertently making his new appendage seem even bigger. He explains that it started to grow right at the start of the trip and that it's so big and sensitive and it's throbbing all the time, he feels like he's been in heat! He starts to return the question, to ask you why you moaned, too, and you respond in kind, showing him your gargantuan tits.
Before he has time to react properly, his brain still short-circuiting, you dive forward and wrap your tits around his tdick. Pleasure overwhelms him, his body contorting and his hands moving to his mouth to muffle his moans. You rip his hands away from his mouth, pinning them above his head. "Nuh uh. You don't get to hide those pretty sounds from me. I want you to sing praises for my new titties. And there's no better praise than moaning for your Mistress' tits." His eyes go wide, stunned, trembling, before they roll back in his head and he trumpets out a moan, pushing his hips forward into the underside of your tits, his underwear absolutely drenched. "That's it. That's a good boy."
Holy shit, thank you for putting Immaculate Smut into my inbox, this is incredible work.
I don't see t-dick growth very often, but shit, that's hot, and now I'm going to be thinking about titty-fucking a transmasc dude for the next little while. Again, thank you for that.
