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All that Indigo could see was himself, and the television in front of him. The wall around that, the mess of the bed which he inhabited, and just the sheer amount of flab which kept him rooted in place lest help came to get him were not part of his vision, in spite of his eyes being perfectly capable of seeing them. The avian was focused on the television, so much so that he strained to see it in spite of being perfectly capable. Just how he had gotten to that point, that food and TV were all that he cared about, he didn’t dare think about when the television was on, as that would distract him from the show. Commercials were coming though, so he just reached somewhere within his limited reach and pulled at the stack of food off to his left side, getting a box of pizza for his lethargic efforts and placing it down in front of him. He rather placed it on himself instead of in front of him, the fat which made up his stomach and upper thighs making more than an ample table for him as he sat up, somewhat, in the makeshift bed which he inhabited nigh permanently.

As the avian opened the box, the myriad of scents of grease, cheese, meat, and above all calories racing to the nostrils on his beak, he had to ponder just what he was doing to himself. That didn’t stop him from shoving a whole handful of pizza into his beak, tearing it apart with a lazy chomp that splattered grease down onto his ample, bare bosom and the collar of chins which encircled where his once slender, long neck had been. Indigo needed something to keep his mind from going utterly blank while the top of the pizza box blocked his view of the TV, and that seemed to be all that he could think on. His next meal, and the fat which came as a result of his ceaseless gluttony. The phoenix couldn’t place just how he felt about all of it; the immobilizing, jiggling, quaking, musky, sweaty, rolling, gluttonous sea of blubber which he had become. Some part of him did feel remorse, as there was something about just not even being able to get up to shower, to feed himself without sweating and panting with effort, or to even get himself off, which was jarring. The feeling of all of that food, that fat, and everything which came with it though… It was enough to bring his buried cock to attention every single time.

He needed to eat first though, so Indigo began to shove the food down into his beak with some more gusto. His blue-scaled arms began to move at a more rapid pace, which set the fat in them aslosh even moreso than the bird was expecting. He had wings of flab now instead of wings as many of his species, his biceps as big around as he had once been and smeared with sweat and food so much that he no longer held the shade of blue which he once was. Only the front of his stomach held that honor, the royal color shining through brightly on the untouched feathers which comprised the front of his mammothly obese frame. Indigo thought that at least, as he hadn’t seen anything over his own horizon in more time than he could remember; he hadn’t moved anything other than his arms in about that long as well, and even that was beginning to become more arduous than the avian wanted. It was something that needed to be done for him to eat though, and he wasn’t about to give up eating; there was just too much tasty food for him to cram himself stuffed with.

The scales on his arms bunched, rolled, and shifted over themselves time and time again as the adipose beneath them forced the surface to roll in and out like a tide with each and every motion. Bringing an arm to his mouth made his arm look like a small, polluted sea; a wave of flab would wash over his elbow, creasing down heavily and forming a deep, thick roll which went nearly from his mid-forearm all the way to the start of his fattened bicep. Holding that position for more than a moment was far more than the atrophied muscles of the avian could manage though, and so he would often just snap his arm back into place once he had stuffed whatever morsel had found its way into his pudgy, heavy hand into his beak. His purple eyes, half-lidded as he dopily crammed the last of the first party-sized pizza of his lunch down his throat, looked longingly at the box as if to will more to be in it. More wasn’t going to be found though, so instead the box was simply shoved off with a sluggish wave of his entire left arm, a motion which sent ripples all the way down to his mattress-smothering thighs.

Those ripples also sent a shiver down the spine of the bird, as he flushed what little he could and begin to rasp lightly as he tried to fill his burdened lungs with more air. His musk was getting stronger, and his length was at full attention somewhere deep below the overhang of his sagging, prodigious stomach. That table muscle wasn’t fully worked out yet though, so he reached for another party pizza, as well as a three-liter soda from the other side of his beached position, and started his gluttony anew. His paws just a blue conveyor of efficient, albeit slow, gluttony, Indigo had to smile inwardly to himself as he ruined his figure all the more with each and every bite. Thoughts of what a pig he had become filled his mind as food raced down his greedy gullet and into the nearly bottomless pit which he called a stomach.

‘How can you just keep eating? You revolting pig!’

‘I can’t believe you are just going to keep stuffing yourself… And it’s turning you on too!’

‘Fucking disgusting’

He shut his eyes and just ate on auto-pilot, even more insults which had been lobbed at him by former ex’s filling his mind and making him flush redder still. He knew they were all right; there was no denying that he had become nothing more than a hog of a phoenix. He could barely keep himself fed, and the high of a full stomach had become the only way he could truly get himself off. It was something which most found revolting, and yet he relished for reasons that he couldn’t even begin to fathom. It wasn’t something he needed to understand though, as that would mean having a reason for his abnormal behavior. Instead of that, Indigo just wanted to keep at it, to keep eating, and to keep himself growing into more than just a bird.

His cock ached, and the avian knew there was no way he could attend to it. The second pizza’s remnants were beginning to dwindle, and a third was already being shoved onto the ample space which the bottom-heavy bird had on the rolling sprawl of a stomach before him. His purple eyes were barely open, and his beak hadn’t stopped moving for but a moment. He was truly in the zone, eating and cramming more and more food down into himself with every passing moment. Sweat was pouring down him at that point, pooling in the rolls along his sides and running down his gut as though he were a small waterfall. He was taking shallow, short breaths between bites which sent drool and grease down the curved slope of his sunken-in head. His face matched his hair nearly; rainbow-colored and matted down from a lack of care or preening, though Indigo hadn’t been capable of that in far longer than he cared to ponder.

The third pizza began its way into his bloating corpulence, and at that point Indigo could wait no more. While he continued to cram food down into himself, he used his left paw to grab onto one of the many rolls of blubber within its reach. Once he had a firm hold, or rather as much of one as he could get on the nearly foot-thick roll of fat which sat just above his sequoia-sized thighs, he gave it a rough shake. He nearly choked on pizza from the moan that came of that, as the motion sent his stomach sloshing, and in turn it shifted all of its weight down onto the large fatpad beneath it. Somewhere in that cellulite-ridden sac of flab, the phoenix’s cock twitched alive and began to pulse with need, a whole new sensation that made Indigo wheeze and struggle to breath between beak-packing bites. He did it again, though slower and with more deliberate motion, and another deep groan of orgasmic bliss rolled out of him at the speed of frozen molasses.

Indigo shook his fat a few more times before he stopped feeding himself, not stuffed but sufficiently full enough, and far more focused on getting himself off. His mind had gone blank somewhere around the start of the third pizza, and it was all that he had to not begin to buck his hips. He knew it would be an exercise of futility, as those limbs hadn’t moved under their own power since the avian had climbed into bed. It was all that he could do though, as he felt the warmth of his arousal just rise to a boiling heat between his overblown excuses for legs. The pad of fat between them was helping somewhat, as he could tense the feeble muscles which had once held him up, and press that pad to help tease his cock what little amounts he could, but there was nothing more that his lower half was capable of. He was desperate though, and Indigo had figured out just how to get himself off in those times.

He took both paws, and with a strength which looked to almost be completely obfuscated by the size and fat which adorned every single inch of his colossally obese frame, he hefted his stomach up. The grease which smeared his paws made the work almost too much for him, but there was going to be nothing that would stand between him and his cock at that point; the phoenix was desperate. Stomach lifted the few inches it would, its gravid mass sagging and rolling about as though it had a life of its own, it hung there for but a moment before coming crashing down as Indigo let it go. In the brief moment that it was held up, the stench of unwashed avian flooded out from under it, the smell of musk and cum and sweat from countless times of getting himself off in such a manner flooding out into the room. That didn’t matter to Indigo though, as he just felt his adipose-smothered frame crash down into itself, and then a twinge of a feeling deep between his thighs. He grunted hard front that, but that grunt of pain from feeling hundreds of pounds resettle themselves onto smothered legs and a mattress which had no cushion left in it quickly changed into a moan of utter ecstasy. The warm spurts of seed began to coat his underbelly, as that was all it took for him; something other than the pad of fat which had buried his pride touching it. It took that much effort, and he was panting and sweating as though he had run a marathon, but for just a simple moment he was ecstatic.

There was still pizza left for him too… Just two party pizzas was only a snack.


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