You’re so beautiful. So, so delicate.

God, I want to devour you.

For the past five minutes, Naima had been fixated on a lone black jellybean on the table in front of her, tuning out the chatter that filled the banquet hall. It had likely been flicked across the table earlier by some boorish noble, and was now tucked away between a massive tiramisu and a platter of caramels, occasionally obscured by the brown, club-like hands that kept reaching for bigger things.

But her world was just that jellybean. It looked so appetizing, so perfect, as pitch-black as the throat she so desperately wanted to shove it down.

She didn’t even like licorice.

“Princess!,” a deep voice boomed, and she looked up to find a six-foot cookie staring directly at her.

Ordinarily, this would be the climax of some sweet-toothed fever dream of hers, but Princess Naima was wide awake. With her elder sister now queen, the 23-year-old would be taking lead on all diplomatic missions, and the Candy Realm — populated by gingerbread men living in completely edible environs — sat at the top of the list.

“Oh, I— I’m good, thank you,” Naima replied, realizing the Gingerbread King had been trying to offer her a honey bun. She pushed the tray away with practiced grace.

“Come on, now. It isn’t often that a human steps foot into our kingdom.”

“Actually,” Naima said, straightening out the unbound 34-page document next to her plate, “I was hoping to discuss my memo on the illicit production of chocolate gold coins in your capital. They’re being confused for real coins in our own kingdom and risk destabilizing our currency, but if you incorporated a series of anti-counterfeiting regulations—“

“Regulations?,” the king bellowed with a jolly laugh. “There are no regulations in the Candy Realm!”

“In short, your majesty, those are our concerns exactly,” said Naima.

The king ignored her, pushing the plate of honey buns nearer to her. “I know a hungry face when I see one.”

She could feel the buns’ steam rise to her cheeks. These were fresh out of the oven. Her mouth watered.

Well, if the king insisted…

“Hector, you idiot!,” the Gingerbread Queen snapped. “Haven’t you noticed? She’s been stuffing herself all day. She doesn’t want more food.” The princess blushed, shrinking into her chair. She could feel the room’s 86 gumdrop eyes all on her.

Gumdrops... Her stomach quietly growled.

It was all because of that damned curse. Naima had been notoriously picky as a child, and some witch — upset with one of her late father’s tax policies — thought it clever to cast a spell that gave her infinite hunger. Suddenly, all the slop that was served within their castle walls seemed irresistible.

The genius of the curse, of course, was that a princess can’t be seen gorging on any occasion. Teaching herself to conceal her urges, Naima ate as little as before, save for the occasional extra dinner roll she could stuff inside her corset when no one was looking.

In her own kingdom, with its slimy stews and bruised produce, resisting the urge to eat everything around her was hard enough. On a seven-day visit to the Candy Realm? Just eight hours in, she was starting to lose her mind.

But now her father, the only other soul who knew about the curse, was gone. Her newly-crowned sister wouldn’t have possibly handed this mission to her if she had heard anything. Naima knew in her heart she should have recused herself — but how would it look for her to refuse her first assignment as diplomat? She’d appear lazy if she didn’t explain her reasoning, and she didn’t want to burden her sister with the knowledge of her plight.

No — she just had to get through the week.

The dinner party around her had become a bacchanal of carbohydrates. A gingerbread woman to Naima’s right stuffed apple turnovers down her piehole, frosting messily spattered around her lips (also made of frosting). Plates were picked clean, then licked clean — though servers were bringing in new platters faster than the old ones could be depleted.

Ordinarily, she’d be annoyed at the logical inconsistencies of a place like this. Where did all their food come from? If their bodies were gingerbread, why did they live in houses made of it? Why was it even called the Candy Realm when half the foods were obviously baked goods?

But logic was the last thing on Naima’s mind right now. She wanted to eat everything in sight, every– everyone in sight? Crap. She had just spent the past minute hungrily ogling a viscount in a sour worm scarf.

There was nowhere the princess could look. Even the room around her made her stomach growl in protest. Milk chocolate barrels lined the hall, storing juices even sweeter than their exteriors. 15-foot peppermint columns stood against pasty yellow walls, which Naima knew must have been painted with some sort of lemon frosting. A giant rock candy chandelier floated above her head like a delicious Sword of Dammacles. I could probably reach it if I stood on the table and jumped…

Stop thinking about food, she internally screamed, gripping a table leg.

A chocolate table leg.

This week was going to be fucking impossible.

~~~

Two giant dark chocolate armoire doors slammed shut. One torturous day down, six to go, Naima thought, buttoning up her silk pajamas. At least she could squeeze in a whole five hours of sleep until then.

Tired, she dragged her feet across the palace’s oversized Princess Suite — she wasn’t sure if it was really called that or if they had renamed it for her visit — headed straight for the bed at the center of it. The sheets were made of taffy, and the pillows appeared to be giant marshmallows. Naomi grumbled. Even here, she wouldn’t be able to escape temptation.

To top it all off, resting on the small decorative pillow at center was a note reading “WELCOME” with a single spearmint disc lying on top. Both were swatted away with a wrathful flick of the wrist. She was hungry, but this felt like an insult.

Spearmint shouldn’t even be part of this realm, Naima thought. It’s not candy, it’s something you take before a job interview.

With theatrical exhaustion, she went limp and collapsed onto the mattress. It was firmer than she’d expected, with just a bit of spring to it. Sponge cake. Of course.

She forced her eyes shut. Just pretend it’s not edible and go to sleep. Just sleep. Sweet dreams.

Sweet, sugary dreams. Sweet, sugary, delicious sugar. Sugar. Need. Sugar.

She wasn’t going to get any sleep at all, was she?

Might as well check out the view from up here, she thought. She poked her fingers through two Venetian blinds — vanilla wafers — and surveyed what she could make out of the sleepy candy metropolis below.

Gingerbread houses sat bunched in delicious neighborhoods, lit by the golden caramel lamps that dotted the city. The streets were each paved with different candies, and she liked to imagine that the flavors leant them their names — Lemon Drop Lane, Butterscotch Boulevard, Cinnamon Court. She wondered if the soil beneath it all was made of fudge.

It all looked so good from here, and she so desperately wished she could reach two giant arms out and shovel entire houses into her mouth, residents and all, cramming their metric tons of sugary contents down into her maw.

No — entire districts. She wanted to be able to clear dozens of houses of their contents with a scoop of the hand, all those tens of millions of calories meant for her and her only.

No — the entire kingdom. She wanted the entire fucking kingdom sitting at the bottom of her stomach.

Suddenly, that mint sounded really, really good.

But where was it? Naima hopped back onto the bed, hoping she hadn’t swatted the disc onto the floor. Thankfully, it had landed right by the edge of the mattress, and without hesitation she popped it into her mouth, sucking the life force out of it. After two seconds she grew impatient and crunched, and the sweet disc dissolved within seconds, leaving behind nothing but a bitter chill. She whimpered.

Just then, her eye caught the WELCOME note she had thrown aside earlier, now lying on its obverse side. In cute handwriting, it read:

“Don’t forget — everything is edible! Have a bite :)”

Everything is edible. Ugh. Don’t remind me.

Just then, Naima’s heart jumped. Of course! She was in her own room, far from the judgmental eyes of the cookie nobility. Here, she could eat as much as she wanted.

It all seemed too good to be true— and maybe it was. Would the service staff gossip if they noticed bite marks all along the top of the headboard? It may have been expected of most visitors, but not a princess with a reputation to uphold.

I’ll just have a nibble on one of my pillows, she thought. Yes, that'd look dainty enough.

Grabbing the decorative pillow on top, she eagerly sank her teeth into the sprinkle sequins and marshmallow fluff, surprised to feel a thick ooze touch her tongue. Holding the pillow up she found caramel dripping from its center onto a larger pillow below.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, she thought, sucking out the rest of the caramel to keep more from spilling. With its contents emptied, she compressed the foam with her grip and began taking giant bites out of it as quickly as possible, as if trying to hide evidence.

As for the other pillow… well, best to clean it off. It was heavier than she’d expected, but she eagerly lifted it up to her face and started licking. Her licking was almost lustful in intensity, and she began enjoying cleanup a little too much — so much so that she failed to notice when her saliva had swept up all the caramel and started seeping into the marshmallow surface below. Suddenly her mouth was filled with a different flavor — chocolate. She had unwittingly broken into another pillow.

Best to get rid of this one, too, she thought, sucking it dry. Once the filling was gone, she curled up its fluffy cover like a jelly roll and hungrily tore through it.

Chocolate, huh. Her stomach growled. I wonder if the other pillows all have different flavors.

She got to work testing her theory, biting into each of the other edible sacks like a sweet-toothed vampire and emptying their contents soon after. Cherry. Raspberry. Hazelnut. In the back of her mind, she wondered if the same flavors were in every suite or if there were hundreds of varieties throughout the palace. 

Then something else distracted her. Her pajamas suddenly felt… tight. Very tight. Enticing windows of flesh could be seen between exhausted buttons working overtime to keep her shirt together. Her silk shorts now lovingly hugged her ass like two longtime friends who had suddenly grown intimate.

That’s strange, she thought. I could have sworn my curse prevented me from gaining any weight. It had been the one perk of her father pissing that witch off: she’d never have to worry about calories for as long as she lived. But now? Naima felt like a bloated pig — well, her tight clothes made her feel like one, anyway. Which must mean…

“I’m hitting my limit!,” Naima excitedly concluded out loud. Her hunger wasn’t infinite, after all. Sure, she might show up to the banquet hall a few pounds pudgier the next morning, but it’d all be worth it to know that her curse had a stopping point.

Who knows? If she had her fill tonight, maybe she’d never be hungry again.

It was settled, then. She had to top herself off. 

Granted, Naima didn’t feel full yet – hungrier than ever, actually – but she had to have been getting close.

She scanned the suite for anything else she could devour without it being too obvious. The two pillows on her armchair were an obvious first candidate. She grabbed them at once and bit the tips off of both, squeezing them so hard that excess syrup (mango and lemon) dribbled out of her mouth and onto her pajamas.

Better get these off before I stain them. Naima sucked in as she attempted to unbutton her top with one hand, still stuffing her face with the other. She had gotten two buttons done until the third violently flew off like a champagne cork, leaving a slight dent in the wall. I packed another pair anyway, she thought, ripping off the rest of her top and tossing it aside.

Unwilling to let her undressing interrupt her eating, Naima unhooked her bra with her hands as she planted her face into the armchair’s creamy green cushion, making quick work of the fondant surface to get to the pistachio sponge cake underneath. Her freed breasts bounced along the edge of the seat in rhythm with her eating.

Hips in the air, she tried to shimmy out of her stretched silk shorts as she continued feasting on the cushion. Defeated by her curves, the shorts ripped in half, revealing a pair of white lace panties that grew more taut by the second, as if one were watching a spider build a web in reverse. Impatient, a sweaty, clumsy hand reached behind to tear off those as well.

Not that she noticed amidst her feast, but Naima wasn’t growing pudgier. Her belly was stretching, alright, but only on two axes — taller and longer, not flabbier.

At some point during the day, she had reached the limit of those calories she thought didn’t count for her — and now, every excess bite, every grain of sugar was being evenly distributed around her body.

Every part of her, from her cute naked toes up to her glowing cheeks down to her other cheeks, was quietly creeping outward, continuing to swell every second she kept eating.

And she kept eating.

With the armchair’s cushion gone, she grabbed its stumpy gumdrop legs, each the size of her first, and bit into them like peaches. Her hand gripped the armchair’s upholstery— also pistachio sponge cake — and within seconds was shoving that into her mouth as well.

Naima hugged the steadily shrinking couch close to her chest, straddling its arms with her legs. Her mouth began making quick work of its back support.

Naima’s left hand wandered and found a wafer lampshade, breaking off pieces and shoving them into her mouth alongside the cake.

Naima’s right hand wandered and found her pussy. She had held this fantasy of stuffing herself for so long that it had almost become a fetish.

She moaned through a cake-stuffed mouth, rubbing herself harder. She couldn’t remember the last time she felt this turned on. Eyes closed, she thought back to her dreams of eating the entire kingdom.

Yeah… I’m going to devour it all. Every street, every building, every single crumb.

Pounds of cake ran down her throat. A third finger entered her slit.

She was going to come. She knew she was close. She was so damn close —

And as she began another moan, she realized her mouth was empty. Naima opened her eyes to find nothing but a smattering of green crumbs on the floor below her.

Did she just eat an entire fucking armchair?

Her eyes turned to the empty nightstand next to her. She remembered grabbing the lampshade, but in her haze she must have eaten the lamp, too.

Maybe it was time to go to bed, after all.

Wait — the bed. She had eaten all of her pillows! No one would immediately notice a missing lamp and armchair, but her barren mattress would be a dead giveaway. She had royally screwed herself, with nothing to do except wait for daybreak and inevitable humiliation.

Unless… there had to be a closet where they kept extra pillows, right? Her own palace back home contained a similar room — it was her favorite hide-and-seek spot as a kid.

I’ll just tiptoe over there and borrow some, she thought, brushing some crumbs off her right nipple. Crap — she was still nude. And those extra few pounds had been very unkind to her pajamas, so she couldn’t risk sliding on her spare pair.

Remembering the complimentary robe that had been placed in her armoire, she raced over and grabbed it from its hanger. She grunted as she pulled its constricting cotton candy sleeves over her skin. The robe was impossibly tight — tighter than that first pair of pajamas that was now a shredded heap by the nightstand. Even when she tied the fluffy belt as tight as possible, the sides of the garment barely covered her nipples; her lower privates were thankfully blocked by the belt’s knot. The cuffs didn’t even reach halfway past her elbow, squeezing her forearm like a vice grip.

Of course they stocked the smallest possible size, she grumbled, failing to notice the ‘XXL’ label sewn into the collar.

~~~

The Princess Suite’s giant double doors slowly opened, spilling light onto the pitch-black hallway outside. Naima’s anxious face peeked through. The coast was clear.

She slithered her bare foot onto the wooden floorboard in front of her, surprised when it didn’t make a creaking noise. Of course — it wasn’t wood, it was textured chocolate. She had been so distracted by everything else in the palace that she had never noticed.

Her toes hungrily traced the faux lumber texture before she stopped herself. You are NOT uprooting the floor tonight. You’re just going to grab some pillows and go to sleep.

If it felt like a slight insult that her section of the palace had been left unguarded, Naima was nevertheless relieved. Feeling out the dark hallway with her hands, she briskly brushed her hands along the doors, making literal blind guesses as to which one would have what she needed.

The fifth door had a faint crack of light under it - surely someone’s bedroom. Yet along the side her palm felt seven letters: S-T-O-R-A-G-E. That was as good a sign as any.

Grabbing a hold of a butterscotch doorknob, she realized the top of the door was eye level with her. She frowned. Why was it so low? Was there some cookie caste system where all the shorter gingerbread men did all the service work? That’d make as much sense as anything else here, she thought as she ducked under the doorframe.

As Naima slipped into the torchlit room, her eyes widened. She wasn’t expecting much — a few pillows, some towels, maybe a broom or whatever its candy equivalent was.

Instead, there was… this.

It was the most glorious mess she had ever seen. Chocolate cabinets, tables, and chairs stacked everywhere. Couches on top of delicious couches. Piles of mouth-watering mattresses that reached the ceiling. Toffee chests that graciously spilled their goodies onto the tables below. Opaque sugar jars filled with jams, syrups and juices. And whatever scant floorspace was left doubled as a sugary minefield, cluttered with tray after tray of delectables.

It was the size of the banquet hall from earlier — and this banquet was all hers.

Naima snapped herself out of her trance, wiping a thick strand of drool from her mouth. She moved her way toward the back of the room, awkwardly worming her body between luscious brown cabinets taller than she was. She was far too hungry to care about the creative laziness of every wooden object being chocolate.

Just… find… the… pillows… she told herself through gritted teeth, her fingernails digging into the side of a white chocolate cabinet.

If there even were pillows buried under all this crap. As she ventured further and further, the clutter only got worse. Forgotten edible delicacies were piled dozens of layers high, collecting dust or whatever its edible equivalent was — powdered sugar? At least nothing seems to expire here, she thought.

And that’s when she saw it: a bowl of jellybeans resting tantalizingly upon a dresser. The dish must have contained over a thousand of them, some solid and some speckled, but her eyes landed on the single black jellybean sitting atop the summit. It couldn’t have possibly been the one from the banquet hall earlier, but Naima’s heart was telling her otherwise. This was kismet.

Well… no one will notice if I just take one, she thought, anxiously bringing it to her mouth. She chewed twice and swallowed.

Ew. Black licorice. What was she thinking? She didn’t want that taste in her mouth all night. Reaching for the pile, she grabbed another. And another.

Nobody would notice if I took this one… or this one… or this one, she thought, now picking several at a time.

Or this one, or this one, or —

Fuck it.

Nobody’s going to blame a princess for this.

Naima started grabbing jellybeans by the fistful, shoving them into her greedy mouth. Red, yellow, blue, green — their individual flavors became indiscernible, all lost in the now rapid flow of sugar to her body mass.

She took the bowl with one hand and tilted it to her lips, freeing her other hand to survey its options.

A bowl of gumdrops — perfect. She brought that up to her maw, too, creating a double stream of sugar. Her robe’s belt quietly popped open.

She finished both bowls simultaneously and slammed them down on the dresser, cracking its peanut brittle surface — and revealing a drawer stuffed with eclairs inside. Holy shit. There was more food inside these things?

Naima’s two strong hands ripped the drawer out from the dresser, and she stuffed her face with the baked goods within. Cream and chocolate dribbled across her face, which she wiped clean with the maple donuts in the drawer below. Then she started eating those, too.

Forfeiting to her growing form, a split formed down the back of Naima’s robe, offering up a delicious view of her asscrack. As the princess looked back to see what had happened, the entire garment shredded, leaving nothing but a few fluffy tatters sticking to her hot skin.

My sweat must have dissolved the cotton candy, Naima thought. Unconcerned, she resumed her feast, making up for those invaluable seconds she had just lost.

Polishing off the maple donuts, she snapped off chunks of the dresser itself, its tough peanut brittle composition no match for her restless jaws. Her greedy hands punched through backboard, and the princess noticed stacks of cheesecakes on a table behind it. She shoved what remained of the dresser aside, sending brittle chunks flying, and planted herself facefirst in the cakes, practically inhaling them. Creamy white goodness and graham cracker crust filled her field of vision.

And yet it wasn’t enough. She smashed a jar of jam on the table and slathered it on the cakes. Her left hand picked up a chest by its handle and heaved it onto the table, sending its gummy contests spilling. She leaned forward, pressing more and more of her growing mass onto her gigantic platter until the table cracked open, sending her and the cakes to the floor. She continued her feast undisturbed, now tearing off chunks of the table as well.

Gonna… eat… everything… she thought, her toes inching outwards and upwards as she sat in lustful, ignorant bliss.

She picked up a chair with one hand and smashed it on the floor below, breaking off a three-inch-thick candy stick leg. It was meant for her mouth, but somehow found its way to her equally hungry pussy lips. The thick stick disappeared as it slid in, as if having immediately melted, and she shoved in another. That one vanished, too.

Unsatisfied, her growing hand grabbed the side of a mattress and began shoving vanilla cake into her crotch. Her hungry pussy devoured fistful after fistful, converting each and every carb into more Naima.

Her rate of growth had effectively doubled.

That other hand wasn’t slowing down, either. Four dozen jelly donuts? More Naima.

A chest stuffed with cookie dough? More Naima.

A 50-pound caramel block? 50 more pounds of Naima — sending her total above 1,000.

If the ten-foot princess realized how big she was getting, she might have stopped. Maybe. But the torchlight barely reached her section of the room, and her growing hunger made everything a blur.

She didn’t have time to notice how each Bundt cake she shoved into her mouth was smaller than the last, or that she could shove entire Bundt cakes into her mouth at all. Gummy bears now felt like mini gummy bears to her tongue, and that was just fine.

And when Naima had stuffed an entire mattress up her cunt, she simply started on another.

Her brainpower was solely focused on feeding herself as much as possible. This was her own private banquet — no guest list — where she could finally stuff herself away from the prying eyes of the gingerbread nobility.

Or any nobility, for that matter. God, she had never been able to eat like this. And it all belonged to her.

Her pussy pounded at the thought of it. More, it told her, and she pivoted her ass to be able to feed it a never-ending stream of cake.

Her elbow poked a hole in the side of a sarsaparilla barrel, and she put her lips up to it, letting its dozens of sugary gallons pour into her. She began to suck it dry, and her massive arm hugged the barrel to her face, breaking open its chocolate husk. She ate that, too.

Still sitting, she kept viciously tearing through the room’s contents, as if upset that she had hardly been making a dent. Even as she wolfed down entire pieces of furniture, the room just kept going.

Once devoured, every cabinet, dresser and display case revealed a bigger, thicker one behind it, stuffed with even more densely-packed goodies. Anxious hands tore through them all to find what awaited her inside, as if she was a child giddily unwrapping presents before her birthday.

183 pounds of peanut butter fudge. 244 pounds of cookie dough. 301 pounds of caramel.

It all became a part of her.

Her hand ripped off the heavy door of the white chocolate cabinet from before, and the marshmallow pillows stacked inside came tumbling out.

Pillows! Naima snapped back to reality. She forgot she was even looking for them. She would just grab a few to take back to her room, wash herself off, and then…

Wait. Were these pillows always the size of her hand?

Naima looked down at herself, just now realizing how huge she had become. Even sitting, her head was close to the ceiling. Two feet the size of couch cushions splayed across the room, breaking apart furniture wherever her growing legs pushed them. Her massive breasts were each too big for any platter, and her ass could obliterate any sofa it sat on, cake-based or otherwise.

So the curse didn’t mean whatever she ate would disappear. It would just go to her… everything.

The room around her was a wreck. A stack of couches had tumbled over where her knee bumped them. Barrels lay scattered around the floor, their juices mixing with her sweat and cum. Tables, cabinets, and chairs had all started to melt as the temperature rose from her body heat.

And yet as Naima nervously surveyed this disaster of her own making, she kept eating. The 18-foot princess felt hungrier than ever, and her anxiety only fueled her binge.

Would she be this huge forever? What would her kingdom think? Would she have to set off in search of a giant to marry, or find some human man brave enough to try and pleasure her?

More urgently — how would the gingerbread king react when he found out she had feasted on thousands of pounds of his palace’s supplies? Did the Candy Realm practice capital punishment? Would they try to hang her using giant licorice rope?

Naima’s attention snapped back to the room. The floorboards were doing something they hadn’t done all night.

They were creaking.

In an instant, the floor burst open and all of the room’s contents, giant nude princess included, fell crashing down into the banquet hall below.

Mattresses, dressers, and chocolate wood planks were scattered everywhere, now piled onto the smashed tables and barrels below. Wiping some sugar crystals from her asscheeks, Naima realized her butt had crushed the chandelier.

She froze, trying to breathe as softly as her big lungs could. The candy furniture wasn’t as loud as its real counterpart, but surely someone must have heard the crash.

Maybe she could sneak out. Sure, it’d be hard to miss a shadowy two-story figure running through the streets at night, but nobody would assume it was that 5’3 princess who had just waltzed into town.

She looked at the banquet hall’s comparatively puny doors with reserve. It was time to make her escape.

Well… better clean up this mess first.

She rolled over, lying belly-down atop the five-foot layer of debris lining the banquet hall, and got to work. She didn’t even have to lift food up to her mouth this way, using her foot-long fingers like a giant rake for her mouth. Her other hand went into overdrive, pushing the hundreds of pounds of chocolate melting between her thighs into her pussy lips.

Eating so much — being so much — felt really fucking good. She shuddered in pleasure upon finding she could shove a small armchair in her mouth. It must have taken her hundreds of bites to eat that first one.

She grabbed a peppermint stick column, tearing it from its foundation, and guided its three-foot-thick spire to her hungry labia.

WAY too thick, she realized, grunting as she failed to slide the stick in past its tip. Need… to… grow… more. She crammed more cake into her full mouth, realizing she didn’t even need to swallow. It was all just a conveyor belt into her growing body.

Chairs were crushed by her swelling breasts. Her toes stretched further and further outwards, leaving a ten-pronged trail of destruction in their wake. Her hips were starting to rival the narrow room in width.

And the more Naima grew, the more she could grow. All the pillows from that cabinet fit into a single fistful. Mattresses disappeared within seconds.

And as her other hand kept pushing, she was finally able to slide that peppermint column into her pussy. “NNNMGH,” she moaned through a sofa-stuffed mouth. The mint felt good inside her scorching lips. She pushed it further and further in, melding its hundreds of pounds of mass into her own.

She broke off another column and fed it to her pulsing hole, this one sliding in more quickly than the first. She curled her sticky bun-sized toes, which now reached the back walls.

Her widening hips pressed against two more columns, snapping them in half. She treated her pussy to those, too, pushing in each sticky sex toy as quickly as possible so the next one could enter.

It was too much. Her fingers ripped up floorboards. She screamed with pleasure, sticking her head up into the storage room above. If the other residents hadn’t heard the floor collapse, they certainly heard that.

And then, the ultimate alarm clock: Naima’s thick hips split open the side walls, sending everything crashing around her. The walls of the storage room fell through. Hallways and bathrooms and bedrooms funneled down towards the giant princess that was now this palace’s center of gravity. Cauldrons and bathtubs, even her own armoire, fell into the pile of rubble atop her lap and were slowly pushed down into her pussy, as if disappearing into a sea of quicksand.

And as if her accidental destruction wasn’t enough, Naima tore her hungry hands through whatever gingerbread walls still stood, revealing the inhabitants behind them.

As a roaming hand brought chunk of gingerbread up to her mouth, Naima realized it was a guardsman — awake but oddly undisturbed. The princess stared at him with pangs of hunger and guilt.

“Hi,” she said awkwardly.

“Hey.” His torso was crumbling in her grip.

“Y– you guys don’t have souls, right?”

“Huh?”

“Like you’re all just non-sentient, magical cookie golems?”

“…I think so?”

“Good enough,” she said, and popped him in her mouth.

His coworkers followed suit, some dragged into her jaws, others to her crotch. Were they screaming? She honestly couldn’t tell over the sounds of her own moans.

One by one, the palace’s rooms fed into her own massive frame. Barrels from some unseen cellar rolled onto her lap, where their juices gushed down to her thirsty pussy. Her hands tore through foot-thick walls like paper, slathering their crumbly contents all over her face.

The palace was Naima now, something that became clear to her as her head poked through the roof. The outer walls had caved toward her form, making it look as though the giantess was wearing a corset made of gingerbread and icing. Her room-sized feet stuck out from under the destruction, and she felt the cool night sky against her toes. She was wearing a tower’s pointy waffle cone roof as a hat.

And she kept eating.

Those arms she wished could reach out and grab houses now could. Her palms would crush through floors before grabbing the compressed contents, residents and all, to her mouth. Her tongue felt the tiny impressions of cauldrons of butterscotch, toffee doors, a licorice grand piano.

Her fingers tore through the candy-paved streets, revealing sticky brown earth below. The soil IS fudge!, Naima excitedly thought, and started shoving tons of dense chocolate up her fuck tunnel.

As her cunt incessantly devoured the very ground beneath her, the princess’s sitting form stretched outward faster than ever before. Her legs tore through houses almost as fast as her hand could. Two beautiful asscheeks loomed over houses before flattening them under her now incalculable heft.

Realizing nothing was level with her mouth anymore, Naima slid onto her stomach, crushing a malt ball factory under her breasts, and made her way through the capital like a world-devouring snake. Even like this she could see over most houses now, and her arm greedily tore through entire districts in front of her before hugging them close to her jaws.

She dragged herself along the city’s main boulevard, chomping off entire roofs as she did so. Her hand dragged through the soil between her legs as she crawled, feeding it the street, ground, and whatever walls her mouth had forgotten to consume.

She kept expanding, her body squirming its way through a street it was growing far too thick for. Those caramel-lit streetlamps now looked like toothpicks to her. Her arm reached through side streets, grabbing a hold of some building in the back before pushing the entire neighborhood’s contents towards her.

Reaching a gigantic drawbridge, Naima foolishly dragged her colossal form onto it, getting about a quarter of the way before it buckled under her weight. She splashed into the caramel river below, sending syrup flying 50 feet into the air. Even lying at the bottom of the riverbed, the caramel only reached halfway up her mouth. This is way better, she thought as thousand upon thousands of sticky gallons flowed into her throat. She had found an automatic source of growth — in addition to the tens of tons of fudgy soil being packed into her pussy behind her.

Her free arm lazily bulldozed the few neighborhoods scattered on the other side of the river, scooping their delicious ruins upstream, where they’d enjoy a brief voyage before arriving at her lips.

She had found a nice routine, and she laid there for a while, her motions gradually growing slower even as her body grew larger still. The houses seemed to all be gone by now, and her roaming hands just found stray walls or, more and more frequently, the ground underneath.

And then, her hands stopped altogether.

The princess’s tired eyes watched as purples and reds bled across the horizon. God, is it almost dawn already? I had meant to…

Go to…

Sleep…

She closed her giant eyelids, a tiny stream of caramel bubbling through her lips.

~~~

Caramel?

Awaking with a start, Naima coughed up the sticky substance, lifting her head from the river. Her face had been halfway submerged in the stream, and the golden goo dropped from her hair down onto the fudgy, muddy riverbanks below.

The caramel river stretched out as far as her sleepy eyes could see. Her hand found a spearmint disc bigger than her thumbnail. Wait… shouldn’t I be… giant?

It was just a dream!, she excitedly realized, standing up in the chocolately mud.

Her smile fell in an instant as she turned to face the destroyed kingdom behind her. It wasn’t a dream, after all.

~~~

Naima’s rampage had left behind no streets to walk through, much less survivors. The entire landscape was a wasteland marked by ridges of upturned, fudgy soil.

Back to her usual 5’3, the princess climbed hill after sticky hill, searching for a vantage point high enough to find her way out. She passed by fingernail marks wider than she was tall.

God, she thought, I’ll never be able to explain this to my sister.

Or maybe she didn't need to explain anything. Her hunger had spared no gingerbread witnesses, and nobody besides herself knew about her curse. All she had to do was return home and say the Candy Realm was already in ruins when she arrived.

Oh, and find clothes. That was important, too. She scratched a fudgy stain on her butt.

Reaching the bottom of another trench, her toe stepped on something — a jellybean. She bent down and picked it up with her thumb, curious. Not much candy had found its way down to this layer of the soil.

It was orange, her favorite flavor. She expected an obligatory stomach growl, but nothing happened.

Actually… she didn’t feel hungry at all.

Last night’s binge had broken her curse.

Naima smiled, tossing the lone bean onto the ground. Maybe this trip was a success after all.

And she had solved that pesky counterfeiting problem.