Even as the bulge that was their comrades was still squirming its way down her throat, the FAVs reacted.

25mm auto cannon fire streaked out towards the young Orc, gently tickling her inner thigh. Rounds designed to penetrate the frontal armor of the latest Eurasian Block IFVs failed to penetrate even her outermost layer of skin. The FAVs began to retreat as they fired, partially out of fear and but also because their weapon couldn't elevate any further. 

Shel reacted with mild bemusement and simply stepped on them. The composite armor offered little resistance to the weight of her foot; the various vehicles being perceived as a delightful crunch. Several of them conformed so perfectly with her damp soles that they stuck to them, the liquefied remains of their crew aiding in the adhesion. With the Vanguard effortlessly defeated, Shel casually strolled further into the base, taking care to squish anything that moved.

B company, 5043rd Infantry battalion had managed to break into the armory and were still passing out ammo when Shel came upon them, they reflexively opened fire on the young orc. Bemused by their intransigence, Shel briefly hovered her foot over them, giving them a view of the smashed corpses of hundreds of their comrades that already decorated her soles. Then she had a better idea. Bending down, she displayed her prominent cleavage and pursed her lips before spitting onto the frantic soldiers. A lucky few were killed immediately on impact; most however began to slowly drown in the yellow tinted saliva.  Unable to break the surface tension of the slowly spreading spit glob, the warm thick liquid invaded their mouths, its sour taste shocking many into swallowing it. They soon drowned, like flies trapped in amber. Shel moved on, already forgetting her pathetic spit victims.

Circling her way around the base, she stamped out groups of resistance beneath her powerful feet, stopping occasionally to pick up anything curious for further inspection. Most of this she tossed away but anything that looked valuable went her coin purse and anything (or more accurately anyone) that looked edible went into her mouth. By the time she was done most of the structures had been flattened, all routes of escape had been damaged and any resistance was now either insignificant blood splotches on her increasingly dusty feet or slowly digesting in her stomach.

In the center of the base were the only buildings left standing, 20 massive barracks. Fort Dickerson was one of the Army's major regional recruit training centers. Formed in response to the increased manpower requirements of the new cold war, it processed more than 100,000 new recruits every ten weeks. It was only a few days in to a new cycle and was at full capacity.

Shel could smell them.

Young males just barely of breeding age. Her loins stirred, throbbing for attention. 

But she could also smell fear, pathetic groveling fear. It activated something primal, her mouth began to water and her stomach growled, yearning to be filled. 

The combination of scents was enthralling.

She bent down and ripped part of one building out of the ground, surprisingly it came up intact. She shook the structure out onto her palm and thousands of little men came tumbling out along with a cacophony of debris and furniture.

Staring down at them with a scowl, her stomach let out an eager grown.

This wouldn't do.

18-year-old recruit Mark Evers was scared, he had been hiding under his bunk with 4 other recruits since the attack started. He was a draftee; he had no desire to fight the Eurasians or anyone else for that matter. The barracks had gone into lockdown, nobody was getting in or out.

Suddenly his whole world shook and great G-forces pinned him to the floor, He could see blue sky where a printcrete wall was only moments before. Then suddenly the whole building shook violently again and he impacted a soft green surface at a speed which left him stunned. Debris and other recruits surrounded him. He barely had time to catch his bearings when all sense of gravity left and he found himself enveloped by a warm purple glow.

Remembering a simple spell she had learned long ago to clean slime, blood and other nastiness off loot she hummed it quickly to herself. To her delight the little men levitated above the debris, allowing her to discard the junk and guide their measly forms onto her waiting mouth. 

Several thousand men pooled on her tongue were hardly a morsal, the vaguely warm mass writhed in mortal panic, the closest sensation she could compare it to was the last pathetic spurt of a spent lover. Still, it danced with flavor: warm meatiness, salt, the palpable taste of their fear highlighted by perhaps...a hint of arousal?

"That couldn't be right" Shel thought briefly, but she realized that for many of them this was probably their first encounter with a women’s mouth and her breath, however rancid was that of a lover. "I'll show these little letches that a real women swallows" she thought with a grin.

Mark had no Idea what was going on, one moment he was floating in front of the grinning face of a giant alien woman, the next he was falling forward onto her wide pink tongue. His fatigues were completely soaked in her saliva and it was difficult to breath in the thick humid air. Her breath was fowl, closer to a dog that ate its own shit than anything human. From the bit of saliva that had invaded his mouth it was clear she was a smoker just like his ex. Despite his overwhelming fear of being eaten and disgust at the rancid environment he found himself in, this realization sparked an unwelcome arousal. Without warning the tongue suddenly undulated, pinning him to its slimy surface. Mark found himself being dragged with thousands of others down her throat. He had no way of knowing his ex would later laugh upon hearing of his fate and get a tattoo of Shel, to commemorate his demise.

Shel began to feast, Orcs had a tremendous appetite by nature and her lean body, toned by months in the jungle craved protein above all else. The herbs she had smoked, the drinking on an empty stomach further stoked her hunger to a near insatiable level. If this were an eating contest, Shel would be a champion contestant. Ravenously she began to tear buildings apart, levitating her squirming prey directly into her mouth to be swallowed whole and living like the grub worms of her youth. Thousands squirmed their way down her throat to be digested in her growling stomach, all the while the next group was being played with by her tongue.

She quickly discovered the most efficient way to her meal was to take her knife and peel the roof off intact, this technique enabled her to ravenously eat her way through 4 barracks before her pace could slow. 

She began to toy with her food, tossing group of hundreds in the air and catching them with her tongue, dozens of little splat marks graced her cleavage, a brutal testament to her inaccuracy. She tried chewing a group, though she enjoyed the irony taste of their blood it felt unnecessary, like chewing gruel.

She would levitate others in front of her and pluck up individuals, letting them stick to her tongue. Sometimes she would suck them in, swallowing as she went, an unbroken chain of scared men being slurped up almost like a noodle. 

She decided to tease one group, levitating them in front of her mouth to see their friends and comrades on her tongue before she sealed them off beyond her lips and swallowed them all alive, lowering her audience to watch the bulge that was their friends disappear down her throat. Then she would move them to her stomach, the vague screams and yells almost faintly audible. Leaving them floating there, Shel turned around and spread her cheeks, giving them a good long look at her tight puckered asshole. 

"You are nothing but food now, gaze upon the gateway to your afterlife fools" she yelled back at them.

As she turned back around to look over them, she could tell the group had understood as their fear turned to anger. She took a moment to laugh at them and bask in their helplessness, then swallowed them just like the rest and continued eating.

It was with a contented belch that she finished off the 7th barracks, resting her hands on her slightly bulged stomach, plump with the 35,657 recruits she had consumed. She enjoying the vague sensation of her still living meal writhing inside her, knowing all their struggles were for naught.

Shel yawned; it was about time for a nap but first she had to secure her little morsels. There were 13 of the strange little longhouses left and she didn't intent to let a single man escape. She dug a trench in soil, small to her but surely massive to these pathetic specks. Then tearing apart the remaining structures she levitated her food gently down into the trench, by the time she got to the last building the trench was full, so she decided to divided them equally between her boots. 

Orc feet were widely considered some of the most pungent around, their stink being somewhere between rotten cheese and fermented horse piss. After months in the jungle without a bath, Shel’s may have been the smelliest to have ever existed, and those boots had soaked up every last bit of their essence. Shel did not envy the boot boys but her inner bully was enjoying their fate. She gagged a few times herself at her potent stench and humidity coming off them, then she stuffed her tattered sweat-soaked old foot wrappings down on top of them to seal off their escape...and any fresh air.

To prevent those terrified thousands huddling in the trench from escaping, Shel draped her cloak over the top, itself a grimy old cloth that smelled of rancid body odor, years of grime and sweat had made it practically airtight. Just as she laid the last corner a rumble in her guts gave her a devious idea. Sitting down she scooted her butt over the lip of the trench, pulling her cloak to her back to form a seal.

"Your friends want to say hi" she mocked.

BRAAAPPPPPBBPHHH! The force of her fart knocked most of the men flat, throwing an unlucky several dozen closest to the epicenter up to bounce off her cloak back into the trench. Shel quickly scooted away and reformed the seal formed by her cloak over the trench. She could tell it was a potent one, its origin having to do more with the old cheese, sour ale and fermented cabbage the witch had fed her yesterday than any of their comrades. Those miserable worms would now have to stew in it, sealed up like a Dutch oven. 

Shel laughed at her own twisted joke, then wrested her head on some rubble and began to take a contented nap.