You just keep growing, keep savoring, even as the side-effects kick in...

How long has it even been? Four minutes? Five? You know you've more than doubled in weight, and as your gut spills further into your lap you become confident that you might've tripled. Beneath you, the chair creaks and groans in an ever-growing resistance to your increase in mass. It's not your fault it feels so good, not your fault that there's still time left to go. The chair is to blame for being too weak to support you.

You try to lean forward to type, grunting as you find it hard to move much at all under your weight. Your belly and tights press into each other, the rolls becoming more pronounced in the confined space as your pudgy fingers barely brush the keyboard.

{ Chair won't break. }

The creaking of the chair slowly comes to an end, and you slump back into it with a heavy sigh. Even your breaths sound different now, a little deeper as fat piles up on your chest, face, and neck. You hoist up your love handles, fondling and squeezing them with a labored huff as you bask in the tingling that dances all across your body. To grow feels amazing, as the sparks of heat and expansion of flesh stimulate you in ways that you never before thought were even possible.

Your bra is making your arms numb as the straps dig in, and when you try to lean forward and type again, you find it's almost impossible. Your gut is in the way, pushing the drawer your keyboard sits on into the desk and denying you access. "Fuhhk.." You slur out, feeling your cheeks and chin jiggle a bit as you talk. You push the chair back, but you can't even see the drawer past your tits and gut.

You look at the clock, and it's been maybe eight minutes. Two more minutes is all that's left, but as you huff and puff, you wonder if that's wise. You didn't type anything into your entry about being able to handle being big better than a normal person, and as you pass what has to be 500 or even 600 pounds, you're really starting to feel it. You feel hot, almost feverishly so, and to breathe takes a concerted amount of effort that you've only ever felt before after time spent on the running track at school.

You look at your arms, enduring the laborious task of lifting one of your hands at the end of the growing limbs to squeeze and jiggle some of your fatty upper arm flesh.It's insane how much bigger the limb has gotten...

You find it hard to move at all even in the confines of the chair. Your ass, thighs, and gut spill over and under the armrests, the chair refusing to break and yet not growing with you. You can't stand, being far too heavy and anchored down by the chair, and as you lay back in your seat you realize it's beginning to be hard to even keep your fat head upright. You gracefully let it slump back against the headrest, wheezing to yourself as your fat fingers knead and squeeze your gut.

The tingling warmth of expansion slowly comes to an end, and you register in your daze that the twenty-minute timer has probably begun...