Podcasts about first thanksgiving

Paula helps Rebecca to get invited to Thanksgiving with Josh’s family and Valencia. Rebecca sucks up to his parents and is warmly welcomed into the family, causing tension between Josh and Valencia, who is disliked by the Chans. However, argument leads to Josh asking Valencia to move in with him. After the dinner, Rebecca really […]

First-Comer? Saint? Pilgrim? Old Planter? These were all names given to the original Mayflower passengers, only half survived the first winter and made it to the “First Thanksgiving.” Among them was a young bastard boy, taken from his mother and shipped across the Atlantic. His name was Richard Moore and he would eventually make his way to Salem. Join Sarah and Jeffrey, your favorite Salem tour guides, as they talk about the second-to-last Mayflower Pilgrim left standing and the only one with a headstone from the time of death. He was a ship captain, a father, a tavern owner, and a husband to three wives. This bastard was no saint, for he was quite the trouble-maker as well. https://visit.archives.gov/whats-on/explore-exhibits/thanksgiving-historical-perspectives#:~:text=A%20Harvest%20Celebration,back%20then%20used%20that%20term https://plimoth.org/for-students/homework-help/who-were-the-pilgrims#:~:text='Pilgrim'%20became%20 https://mayflower.americanancestors.org/richard-more-biography David Lindsay, Mayflower Bastard: A Stranger amongst the Pilgrims Daniel Fury, If These Stones Could Speak: The History and People of the Old Salem Burying Point   Interested in Salem The Podcast Merch!?  CLICK HERE! www.salemthepodcast.com NEW INSTAGRAM - @salemthepod Email - hello@salemthepodcast.com Book a tour with Jeffrey at Salem Uncovered Tours  www.salemuncoveredtours.com  Book a tour with Sarah at Bewitched Historical Tours   www.bewitchedtours.com

First-Comer? Saint? Pilgrim? Old Planter? These were all names given to the original Mayflower passengers, only half survived the first winter and made it to the “First Thanksgiving.” Among them was a young bastard boy, taken from his mother and shipped across the Atlantic. His name was Richard Moore and he would eventually make his way to Salem. Join Sarah and Jeffrey, your favorite Salem tour guides, as they talk about the second-to-last Mayflower Pilgrim left standing and the only one with a headstone from the time of death. He was a ship captain, a father, a tavern owner, and a husband to three wives. This bastard was no saint, for he was quite the trouble-maker as well. https://visit.archives.gov/whats-on/explore-exhibits/thanksgiving-historical-perspectives#:~:text=A%20Harvest%20Celebration,back%20then%20used%20that%20term https://plimoth.org/for-students/homework-help/who-were-the-pilgrims#:~:text='Pilgrim'%20became%20 https://mayflower.americanancestors.org/richard-more-biography David Lindsay, Mayflower Bastard: A Stranger amongst the Pilgrims Daniel Fury, If These Stones Could Speak: The History and People of the Old Salem Burying Point   Interested in Salem The Podcast Merch!?  CLICK HERE! www.salemthepodcast.com NEW INSTAGRAM - @salemthepod Email - hello@salemthepodcast.com Book a tour with Jeffrey at Salem Uncovered Tours  www.salemuncoveredtours.com  Book a tour with Sarah at Bewitched Historical Tours   www.bewitchedtours.com

A heroine goes back in time to a sticky-fingered situation.By Mark V Sharp, in 2 parts. Listen to the ► Podcast at Steamy Stories. "In her, shoot fast," Principal Chief Massasoit directed, using what words he knew so that he would not surprise or confuse his strange hosts, "I want in her, my first use to take.""First use?!" Miss Americana managed to whimper, in horror, in between the moans and yelps Squanto's big thrusting cock was forcing out of her. But she didn't have long to contemplate that."That is no problem at all, my lord!" Squanto replied. Relaxing himself he thrust his enormous hardened cock deep into Miss Americana and, with a groan of ecstasy, unleashed his potent Pawtuxet seed upon her defenseless womb."Oh, Great Justice!" Americana groaned, her eyes rolling up in her head, as she felt the pulsing of his great cock inside her, and knew it meant that his sperm was flooding into her.He pulled out and then stepped aside, his long cock dripping."I have lubricated her for you, my Sachem," he said, gesturing towards Americana's cunt, which, gaping slightly wider than before, was also already releasing a long tendril of his semen to dangle down between her thighs."Very good!" Massasoit said. He stepped forward and took up his own position behind her. Reaching out he stroked her toned bubble-ass, and shook his head. "This," he said, squeezing Americana's bulging silky cheeks, "is a very rich gift, indeed!"With that he pushed himself up against her leaking cunt, and also entered her."Oh, my God," Miss Americana whimpered, as she too discovered Squanto was not to be a unique case. Her entire body shivered, as the great chief's enormous copper-colored cock sank deep up inside her helplessly quivering cunt."That's a sin!" one of the Pilgrims sitting near her chided, and continued eagerly to watch.At the sight that their chief had accepted the gift and that peace had been restored, the waiting column of Wampanoag warriors let out a great whoop of glee. Then, hoisting their burdens, they marched into the Plymouth settlement. The Pilgrims greeted them warmly, food was handed out, the Pilgrims contributing their meager stocks of beer and bread to the natives' largesse. Soon the great feast was in progress, with Wampanoag and Pilgrim dining and chatting together, sampling the first dishes as the Pilgrim women and their daughters and servants worked to prepare the main courses.And through it all, bent over at one end of the great table at which the First Thanksgiving was being laid, Miss Americana continued to get nailed. Massasoit's great cock, in his eagerness, lasted only slightly longer than Squanto had. But there was plenty more where that had come from. He was followed by Samoset, the Sagamore of the Abanaki tribe, who kept closer tabs on the strange new colonists while the Sachem was busy with other matters. After Samoset, the Sachem's honor guard took their turns; and after they had finished, every warrior in the entire column came up one by one and also partook in Miss Americana's flesh.The Pilgrims, with their Godly morals, piously abstained, but this did not stop the Pilgrim men's faces from showing deep jealousy, that their native guests got to enjoy two great helpings of Thanks-giving bounty instead of just one.In between their own turns upon Miss Americana's body, Massasoit, Squanto, and Samoset took their own seats at the table of the Elders, and with it, a privileged view of the action up between Americana's muscular shivering thighs, as the pale-skinned beauty got nailed by one long uncut native cock after another after another. Between her spread thighs they could also see her enormous breasts hanging down low and swaying wildly over the table as she squealed and squirmed under her furious and unchecked invasions, as if her enormous milk-filled udders were blessing the heavily-laden table with their own generous bounty."Does this disturb you, Pilgrim?" one native who had also picked up some English asked. Sitting down after his own turn inside her he found an open seat before Americana's enormous swaying udders, smoking a post-coital pipe. "I thought your God does not approve of this sort of thing."The Pilgrim shook his head. "Nah," he said. "God makes everyone for a purpose. I think it's pretty clear what he made this one for."Then, leaning forward, the Pilgrim seized one of Americana's giant breasts and held his glass up under it. He squeezed, discharging a rich squirt of milk from the heroine's hanging fruits into his cup. He took the cup back, threw it back, and then licked some of the delicious white super-milk off his lips."Well, that and this!" he said, as he held the glass up.Seeing yet another way in which the mysterious woman could be used in a celebration of plenty, other Pilgrims soon came forward to also eagerly sample the fuck-quivering cow's produce. Americana, too busy squealing as she got nailed by one big native cock after another, could do nothing to resist as her big breasts were squeezed and squeezed until finally even those bottomless udders were drained dry.Eventually, the entire feast had been consumed and everyone was full and sated. Even Americana's belt-boosted strength eventually failed her, and after eighty or so consecutive fucks up against the table her knees finally buckled and she sank down, a quivering wreck. She had taken so much cum inside her that rivers seemed to flow down her thighs, and a huge puddle had formed, which her knees landed in with twin pearly splashes like comets entering an ocean of gooey white fluid.But though she was spent, she had not even begun to exhaust the collective vigor of the Wampanoag delegation. Flipping her over, the warriors positioned her on her back at the edge of the First Thanksgiving table, which, the feast having been largely consumed, was now otherwise covered in a great mass of empty used bowls, plates, and tableware. Then, having positioned her, they continued nailing her almost-limp body face-to-face upon the table, as, around them, the dessert course finally began to be served.The tight order of the early stages of the feast had by now broken down, and Elder and commoner, Indian and Pilgrim were now all mixing freely. Copious quantities of beer had also flowed along with the food, and everyone was now quite contentedly drunk, as while the Puritans were against many things, booze was not actually one of them."I say Reverend," the short Pilgrim commented to William Brewster, as they stood side by side near the entrance of a house and watched Americana's continuing show. "Everyone has eaten their full, except for the harem girl. It seems rather unsuited to a great Thanksgiving like this to leave one, even a harlot and serial adulteress such as she, unsated.""True," the Reverend said. "But the food has already been cleared. What is there for her to eat?""There is, one set of sausages that have not been touched," the tall Pilgrim said, finally dropping what they were angling for. "I know that putting them where the Indians are putting theirs is a sin, but what about her mouth. Does that, you know, count?""Hmm," the Reverend Brewster said. "Normally I would say yes. However, this is a special festive day, and she was clearly sent by Providence itself to perform exactly this, function, so perhaps, just once." As he saw the brightening expressions on the two Pilgrims' faces, he shook his head, and raised a chiding finger. "However, for the sake of the harmony of our settlement," he added, "it is not just God who must be consulted."As it happened, the Reverend's own wife was at that moment emerging from the house behind them, carrying two freshly-baked pies. The Reverend's sons, Truelove Brewster and Wrestling Brewster, trailed behind her, carrying another pie each."What say you, Mary?" the Reverend asked her, knowing full well her sharp ears would have overheard everything."Hmm," Mary Brewster said. She glanced at the other Pilgrim wives scattered about the festival, of which there were not many. Between the composition of the original complement of settlers and the terrible toll of deaths that had occurred over the previous winter, there were now a great deal more men than women in the colony. The few other wives looked at her, significantly, saying nothing but their expressions communicating much. Nodding with understanding, Mary turned back to her husband."I know that men build up a great deal of, pressure, if they are not given release," she said. "So, I would say it is fine if the unmarried or widowed men sate themselves while sating the whore. It might reduce, future problems. But the married men will be sated by their wives, or else!" She lifted up a finger and glared."Of course," Reverend Brewster said. He could not quite keep the disappointment out of his voice that he would not be among those allowed to partake.But before he could give general approval for the new plan, Mary caught one of the other wives widening her eyes to get her attention. The silent wife nodded a couple times, significantly, towards Americana's moaning lips, and then looked at Mary meaningfully. Mary nodded."There is one other condition," she added, hastily. "We good women of the colony have had to endure our husbands watching the whore get nailed, in silence. We have done so, for the future of our settlement. However, we must get compensated." She looked at her husband, her eyes boring into him. "So after the unmarried men have fed her their main course, we will feed her dessert, of the pies we have long had prepared between our legs, but rarely if ever had eaten. Is this clear?"The two junior Pilgrims' eyes widened, as if they had never imagined such a thing."Good heavens!" the tall one said, fingers going to his own lips."Is, is that permitted under Heaven's law, Reverend?" the short one asked."Uh," Reverend Brewster said. He wracked his memory of the Good Book, trying to think of a clear passage one way or the other. "To be honest," he said, "I'm not sure if the Good Lord considers that sex, or not,""Then there should be no problem, should there?" Mary asked testily."I guess not," he said, deciding to err on the side of marital harmony over strict doctrine for once. God's forgiveness, after all, was infinite. His wife's, on the other hand,Of course, before the natives 'peace offering' could be used in this manner, clearance first had to be gotten from Massasoit. But the Great Sachem, in a very relaxed state having thoroughly drained his own scrotum over the course of five separate sessions within Miss Americana, was in a magnanimous mood, and with a simple nod of his bronzed head and wave of his hand signaled his approval.So it was that as the pies got laid out, cut, and consumption began eagerly, one by one Pilgrim men began to ascend the table. As with the Indians, they went in strict order of rank, and, his own wife Rose being one of the casualties of the previous winter, this meant that Myles Standish was first in line."Open wide, and say your grace," he advised her, as having preemptively removed his pants, he came in for a landing on her moaning tongue.Miss Americana whimpered loudly as his cock entered her mouth. Pure instinct took over almost immediately. Wrapping her lips tight around his respectable but, compared to some of the monsters that had been in her cunt that day, modestly-sized cock, she began to suck it enthusiastically."Oh, yes!" Myles said. He lifted his eyes heavenward, as she slurped and slurped upon him. "T-truly, this wench was sent by the Lord!" he said, before erupting down her throat and giving her, her first load of cum to swallow.It would, of course, not be the last. As the lesser Pilgrims had pointed out, while everyone else had had their fill, at this First Thanksgiving Americana had had none. Now, they made up for that. One after another, unmarried Pilgrim men climbed up and, sometimes still eating pieces of pie as they did so, inserted their fresh sausages down between her lips. Americana moaned, and blushed, and sucked each one as vigorously and worshipfully as she could, as if they were truly her gifts from God. One warm protein shake after another poured down her throat, finally filling up her until-now-empty belly, and each and every one she gulped down with a vigor equal to the holiday. Then after each one finished she opened wide and, extending out her tongue, began putting preparatory licks upon the next incoming cock that inevitably replaced the last one in the never-ending cornucopia of cock she was being served.In the meantime, watching all this, and knowing that based on Mary Brewster's pronouncement they would not get their own full Thanksgiving repast any other way, one by one the married Pilgrim men snuck away from the party with their now equally enthused and eager wives, into the bushes or the backs of the more remote houses, to do what married couples do. Although, given the inspirations provided by Americana's marathon performance, they generally put a little more effort and creativity into it than they typically had. One by one, flush-faced and hand-in-hand they returned to the center of the festival, in a few cases with the seeds of another few thousand modern descendants quietly germinating under the Pilgrim women's' hastily re-lowered skirts.So it was that, when the Pilgrim men and the natives alike had finally sated themselves, well after the dessert course and into the after-meal drinking and general turkey-clobbered lethargy, Americana got her final surprise. With the coast finally clear, the Pilgrim wives climbed up one by one and got the 'compensation' that Mary Brewster had negotiated for them. As they lifted their skirts and lowered their unkempt bushes down towards the invading harlot's open gasping lips, Americana moaned to discover, one after another, that there was a pie of fresh cream waiting for her under each and every skirt, to accompany the gutted pumpkin and other pies lying spent all around her.But she didn't have much choice. Digging her tongue up between the wives' outer lips, she did her best to show them how it was done."Oh!" one Pilgrim woman after another sighed, heads rolling and shivering, as they discovered at the tip of the 'harem girl's' practiced tongue a pleasure their husbands had rarely, if ever, managed to provide them. Americana was not by nature a cunt-eater, but she had been put into that position often enough by triumphant villainesses to know her way around. She stroked the inner lips, teased the hood, and then finally went after the excited clit with vigor. And as she did so, streamers and tendrils of married Pilgrim cum poured out into her own mouth, which, like all the others before her, she periodically paused to gulp down hungrily before resuming her probing services.Finally, the last dish of all, the one between the legs of Mary Brewster herself, was served to her. As she stroked and stroked between Mary's labia, and felt the Reverend's hallowed semen wash down her tongue, Americana heard her ear-ring microphone crackle."Just so you know, Miss Americana," she heard Flag Girl's voice say, excitedly, "the semen you are currently eating will give rise to at least one Nobel Prize recipient, several Oscar-winning actresses and actors, one Supreme Court Justice, several Governors and Senators, a bunch of highly decorated Admirals in the U.S. Navy, and one President." The events she was getting to witness through the professor's Time Viewer were inspiring an interest in history the airheaded sidekick had never felt before, and she was eagerly scrolling through the lists of descendants of the various people her mentor was getting fucked by. "Isn't that cool?!" Americana heard her squeal.Americana whimpered. "Wonderful," she managed to moan into Mary Brewster's cunt, and with a lap of her tongue, sent more thrillingly historically-significant semen running down her throat.At last even the Pilgrim women had had their fill of serving up themselves, and receiving the novel pleasures of the harem girl's tongue in return. With Pilgrim and native alike now full and tired, they all started to decamp. The Pilgrims wandered back into their homes. The native leaders had had a few dwellings set aside for them, and the rest would make camp just outside the settlement.As the throng began to disperse, Governor Bradford, Squanto, and Massasoit stood side-by-side, surveying what was left of the Pilgrims' 'peace offering'.Americana lay sprawled upon the Thanksgiving table, as utterly and thoroughly consumed as any of the empty dishes all around her. She was not unconscious, but her blue eyes stared glassily up at the sky and didn't seem to see anything. She still had her belt, no one knowing to try to take it off of her, but despite that no muscle of her mighty curvy body seemed capable of movement, save for the slow rise and fall of her huge breasts as she breathed. Rivers of cum seemed to pour out of her cunt, spilling down in waterfalls between the planks of the table to form a vast growing lake underneath it."Shall we clean this mess up?" Governor Bradford asked, nodding towards Miss Americana.Without waiting for his interpreter, Massasoit shook his head. "No need," he said."It can wait until morning," Squanto assured him, smirking at the sight of the sprawled fucked-out white harlot. "Everyone is very tired and content.""Especially her!" Massasoit said, and tilting his head back let out a booming laugh."Should we post a guard on her then?" Governor Bradford asked.Massasoit again shook his head."The Sachem's warriors watch well all the approaches through the woods," Squanto advised. "No enemy tribe will enter here to take her. As for her, look at her. Do you think she can even walk at this point, let alone outrun the finest hunters of the Wampanoag people?""Good point," Governor Bradford admitted. "So, in that case, I have a small stash of brandy left. Shall we share some?"At this Massasoit tilted his head back and laughed vigorously. "Now this, is a good idea!" he said.With that the two natives and the Pilgrim turned and proceeded to the Governor's house, to continue their conversation.Americana was left alone, lying spent on the First Thanksgiving table. Soon all around her was quiet, save for the distant sound of a couple married Pilgrims getting in a second round. Panting, she stared at the stars, still in shock. Occasionally her gloved fingers twitched, down beside her wide and absurdly well-filled hips. Other than that, huge buns squished against the rough-hewn planks of the table, and huge tits rising and falling in the cool Massachusetts night, she could make no other move.At last, everyone nearby had either left or fallen asleep, and the coast was clear. Miss Americana's body began to glow. Her bikini, having been passed around and marveled at by various members of the party before being finally added as decorative elements to the top of the main centerpiece, glowed as well. Her chain, which had been secured to one leg of the table some time ago, did not.With a flash she was gone, leaving the Plymouth colony as mysteriously as she had entered it. The chain, disturbed by the wind of her passage, clanked to the ground. Pilgrims and natives alike would find it empty in the morning and assume that against all odds the 'harem girl' had managed to slip away in the night, and was probably therefore a witch after all. But, having already gotten very full use of her cunt, and since the blame for this could only rest primarily on his own sleepy sentries, Massasoit would not fault the Pilgrims for this and the treaty would not again be endangered. History, such as it was, for better or worse, was saved.Back in the current time, Flag Girl stood by, shivering nervously, as she watched the professor work the controls. A shining form slowly appeared upon the platform, a sprawled and shapely silhouette laid out spread-eagled atop it. Two smaller blobs appeared beside her, for her retrieved bra and panties.Then, with a last flash, the reverse time passage was complete. The machine hummed down, as Miss Americana and her discarded costume lay quivering upon the platform, once more in the flesh."Oh, thank the Goddess!" Flag Girl gasped, rushing forward in relief. Then, halfway to embracing her mistress, she suddenly gasped, skidded to a halt and froze. "Wha-what?" she gasped."Oh, yes," the Professor said. Looking down upon Americana from the control station beside the platform, he scratched his head sheepishly. "Yes, sometimes the time particles have, odd effects like this."Upon the platform Miss Americana groaned. Having recovered some of her strength and energy during the passage back, she lifted her head. She gasped, her curvy naked body rolling back and forth upon the platform, as rivers of semen continued to drip off it. Then, lifting one hand up to hold her head, she raised the other to comfortingly caress her aching belly, and then suddenly let out a loud yelp."Wha- what the?!" Miss Americana gasped.Lifting up her trembling gloved hand, she raised her head and stared down between her breasts in shock. There, rising up before her, which her fingers had unexpectedly encountered, her once-flat belly had already started to swell upwards considerably. She was six or seven months' pregnant, at least."Oh, Gah-Great Justice!" Miss Americana groaned, staring at her own enormous belly in disbelief."What, what happened?" Flag Girl squealed, hands over her lips."As I said," the professor said. Picking up a hand-held bio-scanner, he leaned over and began using it to examine Miss Americana's swollen belly. "The time-stream can have, odd effects sometimes. The exterior didn't age a day, if the still-runny and viable state of all this semen is any indication. The inside, well," He shrugged.Miss Americana shook her head, eyes glued to her impregnated body. As the Professor had stated, despite the advanced state of her pregnancy, streamers of seemingly fresh and gooey cum continued to flow out of her ravaged cunt lips, down onto the platform, spreading around her buxom buns."There's, there's no way my sonic device can deal with this," she whimpered. "Could you get me to Doctor Lingam fast? Maybe, maybe she could still fix this for me.""Maybe," the Professor admitted, still studying his scanner. "The time particles may make that more complicated than expected. But regardless of one's normal feelings on that practice, I think it might be considered a particularly sticky matter in this case, regardless.""What, what are you talking about, Professor?" the Queen of Justice gasped.He pointed at his scanner readout. "The other half of the genetic material in your womb matches no known human bloodline," he said. "Do you know what that means?"Miss Americana shook her head, glaring up at him furiously. "No of course not!" she said. "But since it's god-damn inside of me, just tell me!""The Native American known as Squanto," the Professor said, still looking over his readings with clinical detachment, "he was the one who had the first crack at your cunt, correct? And he was among the longest of those who fucked you, based on what we saw on the viewer, so if anyone's sperm reached your egg first, it was probably his. Correct?""Yes!" Americana said. She squirmed in particular, at the mention of the native interpreter's long cock, as it promptly dragged up deep memories of what it had felt like inside her. "Get to the point!" she said, naming an activity that none of the natives who had fucked her, least of all Squanto himself, had had any trouble at all doing within her."Well," he said. "In history as we previously understood it, the Pawtuxet tribe was entirely wiped out by disease save for one survivor. That would be Squanto. History tells us that he succumbed to European diseases himself shortly after the First Thanksgiving, and fathered no known children, thus making him the very last of his people."Turning it around, he showed her the readings on his bio-scanner."Until now," he said.Americana stared at the readings on the scanner in shock. In addition to all the genetic readings it also revealed to her that Squanto had gotten a jump on repopulating his tribe in another way as well. It wasn't one baby inside her, it was twins. Both boys. She turned and looked at her impregnated belly. Then she looked back at the scanner."Oh, oh shit," she whispered softly.Flag Girl suddenly started bouncing eagerly on her heels, having finally processed with her limited teen brainpower what the adults were talking about. "Oh, yay, Miss A!" she squealed. "You're going to be, like, the step-mother of an entire nation! Isn't that so cool?"Her face shivering in horror and wonder behind her star-spangled patriotic mask, Miss Americana shivered. "Oh, oh my fucking God!" she moaned.Overcome by the implications, she slumped back down onto the platform, her buxom naked body once more too overcome by what was happening to it to rise at all. Quivering against the floor, she shook and gasped in disbelief, as the seed of a vanished people suddenly re-birthed after a four-hundred-year absence continued to germinate eagerly within her patriotic womb.Back in the past, Governor Bradford had passed out in his chair. On a paper beside him, he had already taken some hasty notes about how the day's events could be carefully edited in the colonial records to preserve decorum. Massasoit and Tisquantum, still holding glasses of the governor's best brandy, had wandered to the outskirts of the colony. The escape of the busty peace offering had not yet been discovered. Sitting down on the side on a large rock by the shore they observed the light of the moon on the harbor in which the strangers had first arrived.'Does it ever disturb you,' Massasoit suddenly asked, in the Wampanoag tongue, 'to have to teach these people to live atop the graves of your tribe?''Sometimes' Tisquantum admitted. 'But I must do what is best for my people, and I trust you see that better than me.''I hope that I do,' Massasoit said. 'Being Sachem is not restful. I do sympathize though. The ghosts that dwell here cannot give you much rest either.'Looking out over the shining harbor Tisquantum thought back to playing upon this very rock as a child. He thought about the teenage girl he had courted, upon the hill above, who, as it turned out, he had never gotten to make his wife. He knew what remained of her was under a tree not far away, and visited it occasionally when no one else was watching.But, because it was so recent, he could also not help but remember the peace offering's cunt squeezing tight around his cock as he unleashed his seed into her.'It's alright,' he said. 'They just got a very tiny bit quieter for some reason.'Beside him, Massasoit let out a tiny bark of laughter. 'Yes, I'll bet!' he said.Then, raising their glasses of brandy, they chuckled as they each enjoyed a sip while looking out over the shining sea to the distant horizon.By Mark V Sharp for Literotica.Historical Characters:Massasoit, Sachem (essentially chief-over-other-chiefs) of the Wampanoag Confederacy, which dominated much of the land around the Plymouth settlement. Historically he signed a peace treaty with Governor John Carver in early 1621 that would last for nearly a century. He was also the one who sent Squanto to act as their interpreter and advisor. The land the colony was built on had been occupied by one of the tribes of his confederacy which, save for Squanto, had been entirely wiped out by disease. Without his help, including repeated deliveries of food, it is very unlikely the Plymouth colony would have survived.Tisquantum aka Squanto, last surviving member of the Pawtuxet tribe, whose vacant village the Pilgrims essentially settled on top of. The entire rest of the tribe was wiped out by a sudden outbreak of disease a few years before their arrival, most likely smallpox; Squanto escaped this fate by being kidnapped by an English explorer and sold into slavery in Spain, during which time he learned English. Eventually returning to his native land he was sent by Massasoit as the ambassador to his new white allies, and according to legend assisted the Pilgrims greatly in learning to survive in their new home. In actual history he would die of disease in 1622, a year after the so-called 'First Thanksgiving', leaving no known issue.William Brewster, though in reality the English Dissenters were a relatively egalitarian lot that rejected formal religious authorities, William Brewster is generally recognized as the chief spiritual leader and authority of the early colony. I just titled him 'Reverend' for simplicity's sake. Like many of the Pilgrims William Brewster has tens of thousands of known latter-day or modern-day descendants, but his list is particularly impressive including John Foster Dulles, Richard Gere, Katherine Hepburn, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Sarah Palin, Nelson Rockefeller, Supreme Court Justice David Souter, Commodore Matthew Perry (the dude who 'opened' Japan), Robert Noyce (the inventor of the integrated circuit), World War 2 Admiral William 'Bull' Halsey, and President Zachary Taylor.Mary Brewster, William Brewster's wife and mother of his children. I have no historical information that Mary Brewster had the slightest interest in receiving cunnilingus from other women; on the other hand I also don't have any hard information that she didn't.Truelove Brewster and Wrestling Brewster: no, really, these are the actual names William Brewster gave his sons. Also named his daughter 'Fear'.William Bradford, second Governor of the Plymouth Colony, after the first governor John Carver died of disease early in 1621. His journal, titled 'Of Plymouth Plantation,' is one of the primary historical sources on the early colony, including the First Thanksgiving. His descendants include Alec Baldwin, Clint Eastwood, Christopher Reeve, and Noah Webster, of 'Webster's Dictionary' fame. Unfortunately, William Bradford named his sons boring things like 'William Jr.' and 'Joseph' instead of the bat-shit awesome stuff William Brewster came up with, so I didn't give them any cameos.Myles Standish, hired by the Merchant Adventurers (non-religious monetary backers of the Mayflower expedition who were in it for potential trading profits) as a military advisor; Myles was not a Puritan, but was instead a career military man and veteran of warfare against the Spanish in Holland. However, he still was one of the signatories to the Mayflower Compact.

 A heroine goes back in time to a sticky-fingered situation.By Mark V Sharp, in 2 parts. Listen to the ► Podcast at Steamy Stories. The current reigning Miss Americana is a college student who forces Professor Whirter to send her back to the First Thanksgiving; so she can help Flag Girl with a history assignment. She gets led before the elders of the colony, only for a distraught messenger to run in reporting that the Wampanoag party carrying the majority of the food has turned back. Having spotted Miss Americana, they have concluded the colony cannot be so hard up for food as they claim if it contains one as well-endowed as she is.In order to restore history, Miss Americana presents herself as a peace offering to restore Massasoit's favor. She ends up being a feature of the event; from her place at the end of the long Thanksgiving table. For the entire duration of the famous feast, a seemingly endless succession of Wampanoag warriors indulge in her charms.Finally, after everyone has had their fill, she is left a sprawled devastated wreck upon the gutted feasting table. Alone at last, she gets warped safely back to the present, only to discover that her misadventure will have lasting and historic consequences for the interior of her womb. Miss Americana goes to the First Thanksgiving"Flag Girl has a school project due, Dr. Whirter," Miss Americana said. "She's flunking, so we need a guaranteed A. So I want you to send me back in time. If we can learn the true history of the First Thanksgiving, then with the report I'll help her write there's no way she can fail."Professor Whirter shook his head. "Miss Americana!" he gasped. "The time machine is not a toy! You cannot use it for such purposes!"The mighty superheroine stood before him in his lab. She was resplendent in her defiant costume, which consisted chiefly of a patriotic American Flag bikini. A golden belt, the source of her powers, lay cinched tight about her buxom hips, emblazoned with a bright red A upon its buckle, at the center of her broad flat belly. She wore a star-spangled mask upon her face to protect her secret identity, with a matching A on her forehead. Two red gloves with blue A's on the backs of her hands, and gleaming red boots, completed her ensemble.Her sidekick Flag Girl stood by her side, in a very similar but less ostentatious version of the same costume, and at least had the decency to blush. Behind Americana's sculpted ass, the platform of the Professor's newly-built time machine waited.Miss Americana's expression darkened behind her mask. She was a proud woman and not used to being denied. "Professor," she growled, "my, I mean, my good friend Brenda Wade's money pays for this place. Do you really want me to put in a word with her about how, diligently, you use your funding?"The Professor's blood ran cold, and he caved immediately. "Alright, alright," he said, bowing his head. Obediently, he went to the control panel, and started twisting dials. Flag Girl followed, watching curiously over his shoulder. Smiling smugly at her easy victory, Miss Americana walked up onto the round steel platform of the time machine."Ready?" Professor Whirter asked, as the machine started to hum."Ready!" Miss Americana announced, proudly. A crackle of energy sounded, and a glow of light enveloped her. When it faded, she was gone.The wind stirred the woods near the Plymouth colony. It was autumn, and the leaves were red and orange and brown. There was a crackle of energy and a flash of light, and Miss Americana appeared. Sauntering up to the edge of the tree-line, she pulled down a branch and smirked.Before her, across a large tilled field covered in the remains of harvested wheat, lay a hill. Atop the hill she saw a cluster of rough-hewn houses overlooking a rocky harbor. A second adjacent hill nearby held a simple earthwork with a few cannon emplaced upon it."Perfect," she cooed.There came a rustling in the brush behind her. Two men emerged, one tall and one short. They wore black woolen clothing and broad-brimmed black hats. Each brandished a long flintlock musket."Told you I heard a noise," the tall Pilgrim said to the short one."Heaven defend us!" the short Pilgrim said, eyes going wide, as he saw what had caused it.The two Pilgrims gaped in disbelief for several seconds at the stacked scantily-clad beauty that stood before them."Hello," Miss Americana said. She started to move towards them.But at that instant, the short Pilgrim snapped his musket up and pointed it at her. "Stay back, witch!" he said.His companion seemed less sure. "Are you sure she's a witch?" he asked."She's a strange woman hanging out in the woods, what else could she be?" the short one asked."Hmm," the tall one said. He looked Americana up and down again. "Well, she has certainly cast a spell on my phallus so,"He suddenly snapped his musket up, and cocked back the flint. "Get on your knees and put your hands up, witch!" he said. "No speaking hexes, either!"Miss Americana sighed, and shook her head, as she looked down the barrels of the two Pilgrims' long guns. Given the protections of her belt, she had absolutely nothing to fear from bullets. "You boys are making a big mistake," she cooed at them, as she cracked her knuckles and prepared to use her superhuman might to subdue them. "Fortunately I can correct it,"But suddenly, a noise crackled in the earpiece of the communication system embedded in her earrings and choker."Miss Americana!" Professor Whirter's voice said, rising and falling from time distortion as he spoke to her from the viewing panel of his time machine. "You cannot harm anyone in this period!" he said. "Given their lack of medical care and poor nutrition, one punch could be deadly. And each of these men may have tens of thousands of descendants in our modern time, one of which just might be you! If you lay a finger upon them you might well erase yourself from history!""Oh," Miss Americana gulped. "Right,"She looked back and forth between the two men and their guns. She swallowed, but realized she truly had no choice. Getting summoned back immediately, in front of the two witnesses, could hardly disturb the time line much less."On second thought," she said, "I surrender."She went down onto her knees before them, and put her hands up.The taller Pilgrim kept his gun on her, while the shorter Pilgrim came forward. He had a set of iron manacles he had brought on his patrol, in case they should happen upon a hostile person spying on the colony and have a chance to take him prisoner. While his partner covered him, he dragged Americana's hands behind her curvy back and manacled them above her ass, having great difficulty keeping his eyes off the panty-swelling contours of her posterior as he did so. Then he put an iron collar on her, to which was attached a length of chain."There," he said, backing up. "The cold iron should keep the witch from casting any hexes upon us.""If you say so," Miss Americana said, standing back up. Due to her superior nutrition and super-human genetics, she stood a head taller than even the taller of them. The shorter Pilgrim's head was level with her enormous breasts, a fact that despite his literally puritanical nature he seemed to find immensely affecting. "Now, please take me to your leaders so that I may work this misunderstanding out."Eyeing her up and down, the taller one turned to his partner. "Let's take her to the Elders," he said. "Between them, the Reverend, the Governor, and Captain Standish will know what to do with her."Miss Americana rolled her eyes. "That's what I said, you oafs!" she said, the chains clanking as she shifted her bikini-clad body impatiently.Leading her by her new chain, the two Pilgrims marched Miss Americana out of the woods and up the hill towards the colony. As she approached, Miss Americana saw that a long table had been set up in the middle of the ring of houses. Although there were seats for over a hundred, only about forty men sat at it, and despite what should have been the impending festivities they looked nervous and emaciated. A short distance away upon the hill she noticed a chillingly extensive grave-yard, with nearly as many shallow and hastily-dug graves as she saw living people in the colony.A little ways away from the main table, a second table had been set up for the Elders of the community, though here too there were several empty seats. They sat only on one side, facing towards the rest of the community. Miss Americana was brought to stand before the Elders, while the rest of the male colonists gaped at her in disbelief from where they sat. Several women and children rushed out to the doors and windows of the houses where they were working preparing the day's large meal and also stared in wonder at the strange woman being led through their midst, although their faces twisted in jealousy when they saw how their men were gaping at her.As she was marched forth, Miss Americana wracked her brain desperately, for once, for a non-violent solution to her problems. 'Who would wear a bikini during this time period?' she thought to herself. Then suddenly, with a gasp, she got an idea."We caught this strangely-attired and exotically-shaped one snooping about in the north-west forest," the tall pilgrim said."We think she's a witch," the short one said. "Shall we put her under some rocks and crush her to find out?"Stepping forward dramatically, Miss Americana lifted her head high and addressed the elders of the colony directly."I am not a witch!" she boldly declared. "I am an Englishwoman, like you! But I was captured by the Turks and kept in their harem. I escaped from the sultan's palace, but was blown by a storm all the way to this shore!"'That ought to fool these simpletons,' she thought to herself smugly, as she watched them process this.Before her, at the center of the table, the leading men of the colony sat, pondering her response. She vaguely recognized them, from their historical portraits: William Brewster, the chief spiritual leader of the colony; Myles Standish, the captain of the colonial militia; and William Bradford, the colony's current Governor. They each stroked their beards, considering her."Hmm," Captain Standish said. "If what you say is true, and you are no witch, then you should be prepared to prove it so," he said."Prove it? And how should I do that?" Miss Americana asked, indignantly."If you were a harem girl," Captain Standish said, "then you know how to dance like one. So, show us." He turned his head to the man next to him. "Do you permit this Reverend?" he asked.Beside him, Reverend Brewster shifted uncomfortably, as he allowed his holy gaze to sweep up and down Americana's flesh. But then he nodded. "If it is necessary to prove whether she is in league with the Devil, then, as God wills it," he said.Americana gasped. "H-how can you ask me that?" she said.Governor Bradford looked at the other two, then back to her, and smirked. "The Captain has given his orders and the Reverend has given his permission," he told her. "So if your story is true then prove it." He nodded up to the large table. "You can do it on there, if you would be so kind."Miss Americana gasped. But then she lifted her head and nodded, haughtily."Very well," she said. She held up her wrists behind her back, the manacles clanking on them. "But I cannot dance in these!" she said.At a quickly-supplied nod from Captain Standish in his role as commander of the militia, the short pilgrim approached and unlocked Americana's manacles. But they left the collar on her. Her chain still held at the far end by the tall pilgrim like a long leash, Miss Americana turned and, with as much grace and dignity as she could muster, marched up to the long table and ascended to stand atop it. Around her the common Pilgrims, male and female alike, gaped up in awe as she came to tower against the sky above them.Standing tall before the whole colony, Miss Americana lifted up her arms, and arched her body gracefully. "Prepare to see my skill, and know I speak the truth!" she said.And with that, she began to dance."H-holy shit," one Pilgrim gasped, gaping upwards in awe."That's blasphemy," a second beside him murmured. "Also, god fucking damn," he added, staring up as well.None of them had ever seen anything like it. Miss Americana did her best to imitate how she had seen strippers or slutty girls in night clubs dance, whenever she had ventured into those places as part of her crime-fighting duties. Lifting her arms up she shook her enormous cans in broad circles, making them slosh and bounce dramatically within the confines of her gargantuan yet overloaded bra. Going down low, she bounced her ass just above the table, while presenting an excellent view of her panty-clad crotch between her wide-spread thighs. Twirling about, she shook and shimmied her ass for them, showing off the grace and flexibility of her muscular legs at the same time she shook the contours of her enormous bubble-ass.Midway through her performance, there came a loud crackling, then a pilgrim suddenly came up holding a large wooden bowl."Verily, my friends," he said, "I was so distracted by the witch's performance, I dropped the last of that 'maize' stuff into the fire and, look what happened!"His large bowl was filled to the brim with popcorn. Passing it around, the Pilgrims munched eagerly as they watched Miss Americana, having become lost in her own perfectionism, continue to dance and dance seductively before them.A little later, munching a little popcorn of his own, Myles Standish leaned over and put his lips near Reverend Brewster's ear."Did the Lord really condone this, William?" he asked, chuckling softly.Reverend Brewster shook his head. "After so many deaths the colony certainly needed a boost of morale," he said. "Clearly God sent us one. Also, shut up." Taking some of Captain Standish's popcorn, he munched on it as well as he watched Miss Americana, bent low at the waist, shake and shimmy her enormous breasts in such a way that he could like right down the tremendous cleavage between them.Suddenly, a distraught sentry came running into the midst of the colony, stopping only briefly, to gape at what he had been missing in wonder."Governor Bradford, Governor Bradford!" he moaned, his eyes still darting over repeatedly to take in the dancing Queen of Justice in awe. "The Indians! They are not coming! They are turning back, and taking their food with them!"At this a great groan rose from the Pilgrims, even as they continued to stare at Miss Americana's wiggling and grinding bubble-ass."What?!" Governor Bradford gasped. "But our stores are almost depleted! Without that food, we'll starve! Why have they turned back?!"The sentry nodded up to Miss Americana."When the Sachem's party came out of the woods, they saw the huge teats and fat ass on that one," he said. "The Sachem said that if we had a woman of such bountiful proportions, we surely could not be starving, and had deceived him as to our lack of food,"At this, Miss Americana stopped dancing and gasped down in shock."My ass is not fat!" she hissed, her face quivering in fury behind her mask. Reaching back she slapped her gloved hand against her ass repeatedly, turning so every member of the community got to see, showing off that though it was awesomely projecting and generously curved, every inch of her enormous bubble-ass was in fact taut and silky muscle. "Two hours a day on a Stairmaster doesn't lead to fat!" she hissed.Reverend Brewster turned to Captain Standish, their veteran soldier and military expert. "What's a stair-masterer?" he asked. "Some sort of Turkish siege engine?"Myles shrugged, puzzled."Never mind that!" Governor Bradford said. He stood up, getting the community's attention off Miss Americana. "This is a disaster! We have to find some way to make amends. If Massasoit breaks the treaty and stops giving us supplies, we are done for!""Hmm," said Captain Standish. "What we need is some sort of tribute to appease him, a peace offering, if you will.""But the whole point is we have no food!" Reverend Brewster pointed out. "What sort of peace offering could we give?""We could give them our guns, or the cannon," Governor Bradford said."And surrender our only military leverage?" Captain Standish scoffed. "I would sooner dump them in the sea!""The Indians are yet heathens," Reverend Brewster pointed out. "They do not follow Christian virtues. So what sort of 'peace offering' might they be interested in?"For a short time, the Pilgrims looked at one another. Then, slowly, all eyes turned up to look at Miss Americana, and stared at her spectacular and well-displayed body meaningfully.Miss Americana stared back for a few seconds, still perched imperiously upon their table. Then, as she realized what they were all thinking, her jaw dropped."No," she whispered. "No, no, No!" Reaching up she folded her hands over her giant breasts, which given the quantity of her flesh on display, did little to reduce the quality of the goods for them to consider when evaluating potential tributes. "How, how can you even consider that?!" she hissed. "Aren't you Puritans?! A Godly people?!"Reverend Brewster shook his head."We are," he affirmed. "But, woman, even God must recognize a lost cause at some point. Verily, I see from your attire that you have already committed adultery no less than four times!"Lifting his hand, he pointed to various parts of Miss Americana's body. Upon her tiara and upon her belt was emblazoned a bright red A. Her red gloves also each had a large blue A upon them."I know well the meaning of the scarlet A's," Reverend Brewster said. "The azure ones I am not familiar with, perhaps they mean you only soiled your mouth or your posterior entrance? But regardless, woman, I am a man of God, but at some point surely one does have to ask, is even the Good Lord Himself going to give the tiniest of shits about just a few more?"Looking down, Miss Americana gasped as she stared at the bright red A upon her belt, and the blue ones upon her gloves, and finally remembered her Hawthorne.'Great Justice! Why didn't I pay more attention in high school lit class?' she thought, marking the first time in all of recorded history that this has occurred.But then she looked back up, and saw that all the Pilgrims were nodding in agreement with their spiritual leader. She swallowed.Suddenly, a sound came over her microphone. "You made the choice to go back into the past," Professor Whirter chided her. He could not quite keep the relish out of his voice, to see the arrogant heroine hoisted upon her own scantily-clad petard. "It is your duty now to make sure history goes forward, no matter what that takes!" He cut the feed again.Americana gasped. But then, squirming before the staring Pilgrims, she bowed her head and then slowly nodded."Very well," she said. "If it is what must happen, then so be it."At this, one of the few surviving female Pilgrims could remain properly silent no longer."Hey!" she snapped, from where she stood in the door of her roughly-built house, an apron over her simple dress and her hands soiled with flour from her long labors to prepare the day's feast. "You might fool them," she said, nodding at the men, "but you can't fool me. Given how you just danced in front of my husband, and that after all this time you still wear that harem attire with relish, don't pretend you don't want every cock you can take you thrice-damned Jezebel!"At this, Miss Americana gasped in shock. But she did not get a chance to respond, for around her the men had already launched into preparing their response, it had to be sent swiftly, before the Native column could get too far. With haste, a runner was sent, vanishing into the woods.In due time, a large party of Native Americans emerged from the forest and began to approach. In the meantime, Miss Americana had gotten down off the table, and now stood under guard nearby, beside and in front of the table of the elders. Miss Americana gulped in trepidation when she saw their numbers, there may have been forty or so adult male Pilgrims left, but there were more than twice that number of Indians approaching, all of them men.At the head of the column, there came a grand and muscular figure with burnished bronze skin, a large head-dress on his head. This, she knew from history and from the whispered comments of the Pilgrim elders just beside her, was Massasoit, the Great Sachem of the Wampanoag people. It was only the treaty he had signed with the now-late Governor Carver, and its attendant protection from raiding and repeated deliveries of food, that had enabled the meager settlement around her to survive at all. At his side walked another Native man in a mixture of native and Pilgrim garb, from more comments among the elders Americana discerned that this was Tisquantum, better known to most white schoolchildren as 'Squanto', the Pilgrims' tutor and interpreter. Although he normally lived amongst the Pilgrims, he had gone off to help escort Massasoit in for this very important meeting.They were also, she could not help but notice, much more buff and handsome than she expected. As she gazed upon them, a strange tingle ran up and down between her legs, accompanied by a sudden and mysterious abundance of fluids.Behind Massasoit came a column of nearly a hundred Wampanoag warriors; a few came armed, but most were instead carrying great baskets filled with food. Turkeys; fish; pumpkins; maize; squash and cranberries, all in enormous quantity. Five recently felled deer were also carried, each on the shoulders to two strapping Wampanoag hunters. The Pilgrims' own supplies were very meager, more so than they would even admit to in the historical record, and Miss Americana realized that without the Indians' food the First Thanksgiving Feast would instead be replaced by a Great Starvation, and the probable extinction of the Plymouth colony.However, although they had come back, the Native American party remained suspicious. The majority of the column stopped just short of the entrance to the colony, and only Massasoit, Squanto, and a small honor guard of strapping warriors came forward to meet the Elders at their table."Greetings, Squanto," Governor Bradford said, standing. "And holy Greetings to the great king Massasoit, may the blessings of our God be upon him.""Greetings, Governor," Squanto replied. He bowed slightly, and gestured to his muscular boss beside him. "But the Great Sachem's mind is not rested. This one," he said, nodding towards Miss Americana, "and her, impressive, proportions, caused him some distress, that perhaps he had been lied to. I understand this is not the case?"Behind him, one by one, each of the native warriors was leaning out and gaping at Miss Americana in awe. In all their days and travels, they had never seen breasts nearly as enormous as hers, nor a figure quite so bountifully and visibly fertile."Please express our deep apologies for the misunderstanding to the Sachem," Governor Bradford replied. "This woman," he said, gesturing toward where Miss Americana stood chained, "is not a member of our community. We desired to give him a gift worthy of his own generosity, but as you know we have no food to spare. So we," He glanced at the two Pilgrims who had captured Americana, and still held her leash. "Obtained her," he decided to say at last, "so that we could have an appropriate present to reward him for his magnanimity."Squanto turned to Massasoit, and they shared a brief conversation in the Wampanoag tongue, which Americana could not understand, and, she gathered from their nervous squirming, the Pilgrims mostly could not either. Then Squanto turned back to them."I see," he said. He eyed Miss Americana up and down. "The Great Sachem wants to know, exactly what is the nature of this, gift?"Sitting near and behind her, Reverend Brewster looked up at Miss Americana's staggering curves."You reply to that one, Scarlet-Lettered One," he told her. "From what we have seen of your instincts with that body, you should not need words to do so,"Miss Americana blushed deeply. Then, she nodded. Before Massasoit, Squanto, the Elders, the Wampanoag warriors, and the entire Pilgrim community, she walked over to stand before the end of the Pilgrims' great main table. This faced back, directly towards where Massasoit stood, some few meters behind her. Reaching up, blush deepening on her cheeks, she put her hand between her breasts, and with a flick undid her golden star-shaped bra catch. Her huge bra, nevertheless under vast strain to contain her super-human rack, exploded apart, allowing her gigantic breasts to spill forth to jostle and sway before everyone."God, damn!" she heard Myles Standish say. Reverend Brewster, sitting right beside him, was himself too occupied by the dropping of his own jaw to call him on his blasphemy. Even the Pilgrim women appeared breathless at the sight of Americana's giant udders. A great hew and shout rose among the Wampanoag column, pointing and gaping in disbelief. Even Massasoit himself, who to this point had stood tall and still like a bronzed god among lesser men, seemed to be affected. Though he said nothing, as Miss Americana's huge breasts shook before him his eyebrows went up, and Miss Americana herself swallowed, as she noticed what seemed to be the stirrings of something disturbingly large in the front of his deerskin trousers.But she could not stop. Shrugging out of her bra, she turned and laid it on the table before her. Then, reaching back, she slipped her gloved hands into the hips of her panties. She squirmed for a few seconds, as she felt the eyes of every single member of both nations staring at her squirming ass. Then slowly, bending low, she guided her panties up and over her ass, and down her thighs. She slipped one boot out of them, then the other, and left them in a tiny colorful heap between her feet.Then, her lips trembling and her cheeks bright pink under her mask, Miss Americana made the one signal a woman could make that, regardless of language and culture, no man could mis-understand. Bending over, she put both hands on the table. Her voluptuous ass lifted up high and wiggling behind her, she slowly slid her boots wider and wider apart, until her long and mighty legs were spread at a nearly forty-five degree angle to either side. Then lifting her head, she looked back over her shoulder, her blue eyes blinking moistly. Her dripping cunt was pointed straight back at Massasoit, gaping slightly to show her tender inner lips between the thicker outer ones, in clear and open invitation.Despite the clarity of Americana's signal, Massasoit still turned and, eyes never leaving the glistening cunt being offered to him, had a brief conversation with Squanto."The Great Sachem wishes to know," Squanto said, afterwards, "whether this gift is for him alone, or for his people as well."The Pilgrim Elders looked at each other.Reverend Brewster shrugged. "As I said," he stated, "at a certain point one must ask, does God care about a few more?"Governor Bradford nodded. "Anyone and everyone can partake of our gift," he said, "as the Chief wishes.""Oh, Great Justice!" Miss Americana whimpered, her eyes blinking in horror. But, knowing she had no choice if she was not to change history, although they trembled, her mighty thighs remained spread wide, and her hands, though they shivered, remained planted flat to the table.Squanto and Massasoit shared another brief conversation. It concluded with what appeared to be a magnanimous gesture by Massasoit, towards Americana's waiting and naked cunt. Squanto nodded, and then stepped forward."The Great Sachem accepts your generous gift," he said. Reaching up, he began to take off his shirt. "As he knows your laws would not permit you to do so yourselves, he wishes that I test her first, to make sure she is worthy of him. He will have her after me, and then the rest of the tribe."Miss Americana let out a tiny whimper of disbelief, as she heard this. But, strangely, the news seemed to have another effect on her cunt, where, between her muscular thighs, her naked slit suddenly seemed to drip with even more gooey juices than before.Unable to watch her fate coming, Americana turned her head away and instead looked down the table. This did little to lessen her humiliation, however, as she now just got to watch the entire Pilgrim community staring up at her, as she stood ready to secure their futures with the much-questioned purity of her gaping cunt.Standing behind her, Squanto took off his pants. This caused an immediate stir among the Pilgrim women."By the Lord," the woman who had called out Miss Americana said, her eyes going hypocritically wide.Another shook her head slowly. "I, I had, suspected," she said. "But I did not realize the true extent of the native's, gifts."Fortunately for the Pilgrim women, their men were too busy staring at the naked Queen of Justice to see where their wives' attention was directed. Meanwhile Miss Americana, her face down and looking at the table, was the only one who could not see what was coming up behind her. So she didn't have any clue what she was in for, until Squanto's dark hands appeared upon her pale curvy hips, and he swung himself up into position."Oh!" Miss Americana gasped, her blue eyes spreading wide, as she realized that, with both of his hands accounted for on her flesh, what she was feeling nuzzling up against her drooling cunt could not be a fist or arm, as she in the initial moment of contact suspected. She gasped deeply, her eyes spreading even wider, as his tip started to part her. She shook her head."Oh, oh my God," she said, as her cunt lips spread wider and wider around the incoming bronze cock-head, until they quivered to either side of the crest of his uncircumcised cock. "I, I didn't know," she whimpered, "that, that Squanto was so hung!" Her voice rose up to a squeal, as he thrust deep inside her."Is," the native interpreter calmly corrected the English-woman on her grammar. Then, taking a tight grip on her hips, he began to slam his massive cock vigorously back and forth inside her drooling slit.Miss Americana shook and squealed, as he nailed her. All around her, the Pilgrim men and women stared in awe. But Americana was not the only one to be affected by the experience for long."Oh, yes!" Squanto announced. Sliding his eager dark hands around from her hips he cupped her enormous breasts from below, and squeezed them, as he continued to nail her gaping cunt with bountiful vigor and abandon. "This, strange woman, is indeed, worthy of the Sachem!" he said. He rolled his head and gasped in awe. "My goodness! She is so tight!" he marveled, squeezing her enormous hooters and stroking their erect tips with his fingers. "And yet, there is an ocean inside her hips!""Very good!" Massasoit announced, revealing that, though he naturally depended on his interpreter for complex and important negotiations, he had had the foresight to learn some rudimentary English himself. He removed his pants and then his loincloth, which caused another stir among the Pilgrim women, as it was revealed that Squanto was not a unique outlier among his people.To be continued in part 2, By Mark V Sharp for Literotica.

 A heroine goes back in time to a sticky-fingered situation.By Mark V Sharp, in 2 parts. Listen to the ► Podcast at Steamy Stories. The current reigning Miss Americana is a college student who forces Professor Whirter to send her back to the First Thanksgiving; so she can help Flag Girl with a history assignment. She gets led before the elders of the colony, only for a distraught messenger to run in reporting that the Wampanoag party carrying the majority of the food has turned back. Having spotted Miss Americana, they have concluded the colony cannot be so hard up for food as they claim if it contains one as well-endowed as she is.In order to restore history, Miss Americana presents herself as a peace offering to restore Massasoit's favor. She ends up being a feature of the event; from her place at the end of the long Thanksgiving table. For the entire duration of the famous feast, a seemingly endless succession of Wampanoag warriors indulge in her charms.Finally, after everyone has had their fill, she is left a sprawled devastated wreck upon the gutted feasting table. Alone at last, she gets warped safely back to the present, only to discover that her misadventure will have lasting and historic consequences for the interior of her womb. Miss Americana goes to the First Thanksgiving"Flag Girl has a school project due, Dr. Whirter," Miss Americana said. "She's flunking, so we need a guaranteed A. So I want you to send me back in time. If we can learn the true history of the First Thanksgiving, then with the report I'll help her write there's no way she can fail."Professor Whirter shook his head. "Miss Americana!" he gasped. "The time machine is not a toy! You cannot use it for such purposes!"The mighty superheroine stood before him in his lab. She was resplendent in her defiant costume, which consisted chiefly of a patriotic American Flag bikini. A golden belt, the source of her powers, lay cinched tight about her buxom hips, emblazoned with a bright red A upon its buckle, at the center of her broad flat belly. She wore a star-spangled mask upon her face to protect her secret identity, with a matching A on her forehead. Two red gloves with blue A's on the backs of her hands, and gleaming red boots, completed her ensemble.Her sidekick Flag Girl stood by her side, in a very similar but less ostentatious version of the same costume, and at least had the decency to blush. Behind Americana's sculpted ass, the platform of the Professor's newly-built time machine waited.Miss Americana's expression darkened behind her mask. She was a proud woman and not used to being denied. "Professor," she growled, "my, I mean, my good friend Brenda Wade's money pays for this place. Do you really want me to put in a word with her about how, diligently, you use your funding?"The Professor's blood ran cold, and he caved immediately. "Alright, alright," he said, bowing his head. Obediently, he went to the control panel, and started twisting dials. Flag Girl followed, watching curiously over his shoulder. Smiling smugly at her easy victory, Miss Americana walked up onto the round steel platform of the time machine."Ready?" Professor Whirter asked, as the machine started to hum."Ready!" Miss Americana announced, proudly. A crackle of energy sounded, and a glow of light enveloped her. When it faded, she was gone.The wind stirred the woods near the Plymouth colony. It was autumn, and the leaves were red and orange and brown. There was a crackle of energy and a flash of light, and Miss Americana appeared. Sauntering up to the edge of the tree-line, she pulled down a branch and smirked.Before her, across a large tilled field covered in the remains of harvested wheat, lay a hill. Atop the hill she saw a cluster of rough-hewn houses overlooking a rocky harbor. A second adjacent hill nearby held a simple earthwork with a few cannon emplaced upon it."Perfect," she cooed.There came a rustling in the brush behind her. Two men emerged, one tall and one short. They wore black woolen clothing and broad-brimmed black hats. Each brandished a long flintlock musket."Told you I heard a noise," the tall Pilgrim said to the short one."Heaven defend us!" the short Pilgrim said, eyes going wide, as he saw what had caused it.The two Pilgrims gaped in disbelief for several seconds at the stacked scantily-clad beauty that stood before them."Hello," Miss Americana said. She started to move towards them.But at that instant, the short Pilgrim snapped his musket up and pointed it at her. "Stay back, witch!" he said.His companion seemed less sure. "Are you sure she's a witch?" he asked."She's a strange woman hanging out in the woods, what else could she be?" the short one asked."Hmm," the tall one said. He looked Americana up and down again. "Well, she has certainly cast a spell on my phallus so,"He suddenly snapped his musket up, and cocked back the flint. "Get on your knees and put your hands up, witch!" he said. "No speaking hexes, either!"Miss Americana sighed, and shook her head, as she looked down the barrels of the two Pilgrims' long guns. Given the protections of her belt, she had absolutely nothing to fear from bullets. "You boys are making a big mistake," she cooed at them, as she cracked her knuckles and prepared to use her superhuman might to subdue them. "Fortunately I can correct it,"But suddenly, a noise crackled in the earpiece of the communication system embedded in her earrings and choker."Miss Americana!" Professor Whirter's voice said, rising and falling from time distortion as he spoke to her from the viewing panel of his time machine. "You cannot harm anyone in this period!" he said. "Given their lack of medical care and poor nutrition, one punch could be deadly. And each of these men may have tens of thousands of descendants in our modern time, one of which just might be you! If you lay a finger upon them you might well erase yourself from history!""Oh," Miss Americana gulped. "Right,"She looked back and forth between the two men and their guns. She swallowed, but realized she truly had no choice. Getting summoned back immediately, in front of the two witnesses, could hardly disturb the time line much less."On second thought," she said, "I surrender."She went down onto her knees before them, and put her hands up.The taller Pilgrim kept his gun on her, while the shorter Pilgrim came forward. He had a set of iron manacles he had brought on his patrol, in case they should happen upon a hostile person spying on the colony and have a chance to take him prisoner. While his partner covered him, he dragged Americana's hands behind her curvy back and manacled them above her ass, having great difficulty keeping his eyes off the panty-swelling contours of her posterior as he did so. Then he put an iron collar on her, to which was attached a length of chain."There," he said, backing up. "The cold iron should keep the witch from casting any hexes upon us.""If you say so," Miss Americana said, standing back up. Due to her superior nutrition and super-human genetics, she stood a head taller than even the taller of them. The shorter Pilgrim's head was level with her enormous breasts, a fact that despite his literally puritanical nature he seemed to find immensely affecting. "Now, please take me to your leaders so that I may work this misunderstanding out."Eyeing her up and down, the taller one turned to his partner. "Let's take her to the Elders," he said. "Between them, the Reverend, the Governor, and Captain Standish will know what to do with her."Miss Americana rolled her eyes. "That's what I said, you oafs!" she said, the chains clanking as she shifted her bikini-clad body impatiently.Leading her by her new chain, the two Pilgrims marched Miss Americana out of the woods and up the hill towards the colony. As she approached, Miss Americana saw that a long table had been set up in the middle of the ring of houses. Although there were seats for over a hundred, only about forty men sat at it, and despite what should have been the impending festivities they looked nervous and emaciated. A short distance away upon the hill she noticed a chillingly extensive grave-yard, with nearly as many shallow and hastily-dug graves as she saw living people in the colony.A little ways away from the main table, a second table had been set up for the Elders of the community, though here too there were several empty seats. They sat only on one side, facing towards the rest of the community. Miss Americana was brought to stand before the Elders, while the rest of the male colonists gaped at her in disbelief from where they sat. Several women and children rushed out to the doors and windows of the houses where they were working preparing the day's large meal and also stared in wonder at the strange woman being led through their midst, although their faces twisted in jealousy when they saw how their men were gaping at her.As she was marched forth, Miss Americana wracked her brain desperately, for once, for a non-violent solution to her problems. 'Who would wear a bikini during this time period?' she thought to herself. Then suddenly, with a gasp, she got an idea."We caught this strangely-attired and exotically-shaped one snooping about in the north-west forest," the tall pilgrim said."We think she's a witch," the short one said. "Shall we put her under some rocks and crush her to find out?"Stepping forward dramatically, Miss Americana lifted her head high and addressed the elders of the colony directly."I am not a witch!" she boldly declared. "I am an Englishwoman, like you! But I was captured by the Turks and kept in their harem. I escaped from the sultan's palace, but was blown by a storm all the way to this shore!"'That ought to fool these simpletons,' she thought to herself smugly, as she watched them process this.Before her, at the center of the table, the leading men of the colony sat, pondering her response. She vaguely recognized them, from their historical portraits: William Brewster, the chief spiritual leader of the colony; Myles Standish, the captain of the colonial militia; and William Bradford, the colony's current Governor. They each stroked their beards, considering her."Hmm," Captain Standish said. "If what you say is true, and you are no witch, then you should be prepared to prove it so," he said."Prove it? And how should I do that?" Miss Americana asked, indignantly."If you were a harem girl," Captain Standish said, "then you know how to dance like one. So, show us." He turned his head to the man next to him. "Do you permit this Reverend?" he asked.Beside him, Reverend Brewster shifted uncomfortably, as he allowed his holy gaze to sweep up and down Americana's flesh. But then he nodded. "If it is necessary to prove whether she is in league with the Devil, then, as God wills it," he said.Americana gasped. "H-how can you ask me that?" she said.Governor Bradford looked at the other two, then back to her, and smirked. "The Captain has given his orders and the Reverend has given his permission," he told her. "So if your story is true then prove it." He nodded up to the large table. "You can do it on there, if you would be so kind."Miss Americana gasped. But then she lifted her head and nodded, haughtily."Very well," she said. She held up her wrists behind her back, the manacles clanking on them. "But I cannot dance in these!" she said.At a quickly-supplied nod from Captain Standish in his role as commander of the militia, the short pilgrim approached and unlocked Americana's manacles. But they left the collar on her. Her chain still held at the far end by the tall pilgrim like a long leash, Miss Americana turned and, with as much grace and dignity as she could muster, marched up to the long table and ascended to stand atop it. Around her the common Pilgrims, male and female alike, gaped up in awe as she came to tower against the sky above them.Standing tall before the whole colony, Miss Americana lifted up her arms, and arched her body gracefully. "Prepare to see my skill, and know I speak the truth!" she said.And with that, she began to dance."H-holy shit," one Pilgrim gasped, gaping upwards in awe."That's blasphemy," a second beside him murmured. "Also, god fucking damn," he added, staring up as well.None of them had ever seen anything like it. Miss Americana did her best to imitate how she had seen strippers or slutty girls in night clubs dance, whenever she had ventured into those places as part of her crime-fighting duties. Lifting her arms up she shook her enormous cans in broad circles, making them slosh and bounce dramatically within the confines of her gargantuan yet overloaded bra. Going down low, she bounced her ass just above the table, while presenting an excellent view of her panty-clad crotch between her wide-spread thighs. Twirling about, she shook and shimmied her ass for them, showing off the grace and flexibility of her muscular legs at the same time she shook the contours of her enormous bubble-ass.Midway through her performance, there came a loud crackling, then a pilgrim suddenly came up holding a large wooden bowl."Verily, my friends," he said, "I was so distracted by the witch's performance, I dropped the last of that 'maize' stuff into the fire and, look what happened!"His large bowl was filled to the brim with popcorn. Passing it around, the Pilgrims munched eagerly as they watched Miss Americana, having become lost in her own perfectionism, continue to dance and dance seductively before them.A little later, munching a little popcorn of his own, Myles Standish leaned over and put his lips near Reverend Brewster's ear."Did the Lord really condone this, William?" he asked, chuckling softly.Reverend Brewster shook his head. "After so many deaths the colony certainly needed a boost of morale," he said. "Clearly God sent us one. Also, shut up." Taking some of Captain Standish's popcorn, he munched on it as well as he watched Miss Americana, bent low at the waist, shake and shimmy her enormous breasts in such a way that he could like right down the tremendous cleavage between them.Suddenly, a distraught sentry came running into the midst of the colony, stopping only briefly, to gape at what he had been missing in wonder."Governor Bradford, Governor Bradford!" he moaned, his eyes still darting over repeatedly to take in the dancing Queen of Justice in awe. "The Indians! They are not coming! They are turning back, and taking their food with them!"At this a great groan rose from the Pilgrims, even as they continued to stare at Miss Americana's wiggling and grinding bubble-ass."What?!" Governor Bradford gasped. "But our stores are almost depleted! Without that food, we'll starve! Why have they turned back?!"The sentry nodded up to Miss Americana."When the Sachem's party came out of the woods, they saw the huge teats and fat ass on that one," he said. "The Sachem said that if we had a woman of such bountiful proportions, we surely could not be starving, and had deceived him as to our lack of food,"At this, Miss Americana stopped dancing and gasped down in shock."My ass is not fat!" she hissed, her face quivering in fury behind her mask. Reaching back she slapped her gloved hand against her ass repeatedly, turning so every member of the community got to see, showing off that though it was awesomely projecting and generously curved, every inch of her enormous bubble-ass was in fact taut and silky muscle. "Two hours a day on a Stairmaster doesn't lead to fat!" she hissed.Reverend Brewster turned to Captain Standish, their veteran soldier and military expert. "What's a stair-masterer?" he asked. "Some sort of Turkish siege engine?"Myles shrugged, puzzled."Never mind that!" Governor Bradford said. He stood up, getting the community's attention off Miss Americana. "This is a disaster! We have to find some way to make amends. If Massasoit breaks the treaty and stops giving us supplies, we are done for!""Hmm," said Captain Standish. "What we need is some sort of tribute to appease him, a peace offering, if you will.""But the whole point is we have no food!" Reverend Brewster pointed out. "What sort of peace offering could we give?""We could give them our guns, or the cannon," Governor Bradford said."And surrender our only military leverage?" Captain Standish scoffed. "I would sooner dump them in the sea!""The Indians are yet heathens," Reverend Brewster pointed out. "They do not follow Christian virtues. So what sort of 'peace offering' might they be interested in?"For a short time, the Pilgrims looked at one another. Then, slowly, all eyes turned up to look at Miss Americana, and stared at her spectacular and well-displayed body meaningfully.Miss Americana stared back for a few seconds, still perched imperiously upon their table. Then, as she realized what they were all thinking, her jaw dropped."No," she whispered. "No, no, No!" Reaching up she folded her hands over her giant breasts, which given the quantity of her flesh on display, did little to reduce the quality of the goods for them to consider when evaluating potential tributes. "How, how can you even consider that?!" she hissed. "Aren't you Puritans?! A Godly people?!"Reverend Brewster shook his head."We are," he affirmed. "But, woman, even God must recognize a lost cause at some point. Verily, I see from your attire that you have already committed adultery no less than four times!"Lifting his hand, he pointed to various parts of Miss Americana's body. Upon her tiara and upon her belt was emblazoned a bright red A. Her red gloves also each had a large blue A upon them."I know well the meaning of the scarlet A's," Reverend Brewster said. "The azure ones I am not familiar with, perhaps they mean you only soiled your mouth or your posterior entrance? But regardless, woman, I am a man of God, but at some point surely one does have to ask, is even the Good Lord Himself going to give the tiniest of shits about just a few more?"Looking down, Miss Americana gasped as she stared at the bright red A upon her belt, and the blue ones upon her gloves, and finally remembered her Hawthorne.'Great Justice! Why didn't I pay more attention in high school lit class?' she thought, marking the first time in all of recorded history that this has occurred.But then she looked back up, and saw that all the Pilgrims were nodding in agreement with their spiritual leader. She swallowed.Suddenly, a sound came over her microphone. "You made the choice to go back into the past," Professor Whirter chided her. He could not quite keep the relish out of his voice, to see the arrogant heroine hoisted upon her own scantily-clad petard. "It is your duty now to make sure history goes forward, no matter what that takes!" He cut the feed again.Americana gasped. But then, squirming before the staring Pilgrims, she bowed her head and then slowly nodded."Very well," she said. "If it is what must happen, then so be it."At this, one of the few surviving female Pilgrims could remain properly silent no longer."Hey!" she snapped, from where she stood in the door of her roughly-built house, an apron over her simple dress and her hands soiled with flour from her long labors to prepare the day's feast. "You might fool them," she said, nodding at the men, "but you can't fool me. Given how you just danced in front of my husband, and that after all this time you still wear that harem attire with relish, don't pretend you don't want every cock you can take you thrice-damned Jezebel!"At this, Miss Americana gasped in shock. But she did not get a chance to respond, for around her the men had already launched into preparing their response, it had to be sent swiftly, before the Native column could get too far. With haste, a runner was sent, vanishing into the woods.In due time, a large party of Native Americans emerged from the forest and began to approach. In the meantime, Miss Americana had gotten down off the table, and now stood under guard nearby, beside and in front of the table of the elders. Miss Americana gulped in trepidation when she saw their numbers, there may have been forty or so adult male Pilgrims left, but there were more than twice that number of Indians approaching, all of them men.At the head of the column, there came a grand and muscular figure with burnished bronze skin, a large head-dress on his head. This, she knew from history and from the whispered comments of the Pilgrim elders just beside her, was Massasoit, the Great Sachem of the Wampanoag people. It was only the treaty he had signed with the now-late Governor Carver, and its attendant protection from raiding and repeated deliveries of food, that had enabled the meager settlement around her to survive at all. At his side walked another Native man in a mixture of native and Pilgrim garb, from more comments among the elders Americana discerned that this was Tisquantum, better known to most white schoolchildren as 'Squanto', the Pilgrims' tutor and interpreter. Although he normally lived amongst the Pilgrims, he had gone off to help escort Massasoit in for this very important meeting.They were also, she could not help but notice, much more buff and handsome than she expected. As she gazed upon them, a strange tingle ran up and down between her legs, accompanied by a sudden and mysterious abundance of fluids.Behind Massasoit came a column of nearly a hundred Wampanoag warriors; a few came armed, but most were instead carrying great baskets filled with food. Turkeys; fish; pumpkins; maize; squash and cranberries, all in enormous quantity. Five recently felled deer were also carried, each on the shoulders to two strapping Wampanoag hunters. The Pilgrims' own supplies were very meager, more so than they would even admit to in the historical record, and Miss Americana realized that without the Indians' food the First Thanksgiving Feast would instead be replaced by a Great Starvation, and the probable extinction of the Plymouth colony.However, although they had come back, the Native American party remained suspicious. The majority of the column stopped just short of the entrance to the colony, and only Massasoit, Squanto, and a small honor guard of strapping warriors came forward to meet the Elders at their table."Greetings, Squanto," Governor Bradford said, standing. "And holy Greetings to the great king Massasoit, may the blessings of our God be upon him.""Greetings, Governor," Squanto replied. He bowed slightly, and gestured to his muscular boss beside him. "But the Great Sachem's mind is not rested. This one," he said, nodding towards Miss Americana, "and her, impressive, proportions, caused him some distress, that perhaps he had been lied to. I understand this is not the case?"Behind him, one by one, each of the native warriors was leaning out and gaping at Miss Americana in awe. In all their days and travels, they had never seen breasts nearly as enormous as hers, nor a figure quite so bountifully and visibly fertile."Please express our deep apologies for the misunderstanding to the Sachem," Governor Bradford replied. "This woman," he said, gesturing toward where Miss Americana stood chained, "is not a member of our community. We desired to give him a gift worthy of his own generosity, but as you know we have no food to spare. So we," He glanced at the two Pilgrims who had captured Americana, and still held her leash. "Obtained her," he decided to say at last, "so that we could have an appropriate present to reward him for his magnanimity."Squanto turned to Massasoit, and they shared a brief conversation in the Wampanoag tongue, which Americana could not understand, and, she gathered from their nervous squirming, the Pilgrims mostly could not either. Then Squanto turned back to them."I see," he said. He eyed Miss Americana up and down. "The Great Sachem wants to know, exactly what is the nature of this, gift?"Sitting near and behind her, Reverend Brewster looked up at Miss Americana's staggering curves."You reply to that one, Scarlet-Lettered One," he told her. "From what we have seen of your instincts with that body, you should not need words to do so,"Miss Americana blushed deeply. Then, she nodded. Before Massasoit, Squanto, the Elders, the Wampanoag warriors, and the entire Pilgrim community, she walked over to stand before the end of the Pilgrims' great main table. This faced back, directly towards where Massasoit stood, some few meters behind her. Reaching up, blush deepening on her cheeks, she put her hand between her breasts, and with a flick undid her golden star-shaped bra catch. Her huge bra, nevertheless under vast strain to contain her super-human rack, exploded apart, allowing her gigantic breasts to spill forth to jostle and sway before everyone."God, damn!" she heard Myles Standish say. Reverend Brewster, sitting right beside him, was himself too occupied by the dropping of his own jaw to call him on his blasphemy. Even the Pilgrim women appeared breathless at the sight of Americana's giant udders. A great hew and shout rose among the Wampanoag column, pointing and gaping in disbelief. Even Massasoit himself, who to this point had stood tall and still like a bronzed god among lesser men, seemed to be affected. Though he said nothing, as Miss Americana's huge breasts shook before him his eyebrows went up, and Miss Americana herself swallowed, as she noticed what seemed to be the stirrings of something disturbingly large in the front of his deerskin trousers.But she could not stop. Shrugging out of her bra, she turned and laid it on the table before her. Then, reaching back, she slipped her gloved hands into the hips of her panties. She squirmed for a few seconds, as she felt the eyes of every single member of both nations staring at her squirming ass. Then slowly, bending low, she guided her panties up and over her ass, and down her thighs. She slipped one boot out of them, then the other, and left them in a tiny colorful heap between her feet.Then, her lips trembling and her cheeks bright pink under her mask, Miss Americana made the one signal a woman could make that, regardless of language and culture, no man could mis-understand. Bending over, she put both hands on the table. Her voluptuous ass lifted up high and wiggling behind her, she slowly slid her boots wider and wider apart, until her long and mighty legs were spread at a nearly forty-five degree angle to either side. Then lifting her head, she looked back over her shoulder, her blue eyes blinking moistly. Her dripping cunt was pointed straight back at Massasoit, gaping slightly to show her tender inner lips between the thicker outer ones, in clear and open invitation.Despite the clarity of Americana's signal, Massasoit still turned and, eyes never leaving the glistening cunt being offered to him, had a brief conversation with Squanto."The Great Sachem wishes to know," Squanto said, afterwards, "whether this gift is for him alone, or for his people as well."The Pilgrim Elders looked at each other.Reverend Brewster shrugged. "As I said," he stated, "at a certain point one must ask, does God care about a few more?"Governor Bradford nodded. "Anyone and everyone can partake of our gift," he said, "as the Chief wishes.""Oh, Great Justice!" Miss Americana whimpered, her eyes blinking in horror. But, knowing she had no choice if she was not to change history, although they trembled, her mighty thighs remained spread wide, and her hands, though they shivered, remained planted flat to the table.Squanto and Massasoit shared another brief conversation. It concluded with what appeared to be a magnanimous gesture by Massasoit, towards Americana's waiting and naked cunt. Squanto nodded, and then stepped forward."The Great Sachem accepts your generous gift," he said. Reaching up, he began to take off his shirt. "As he knows your laws would not permit you to do so yourselves, he wishes that I test her first, to make sure she is worthy of him. He will have her after me, and then the rest of the tribe."Miss Americana let out a tiny whimper of disbelief, as she heard this. But, strangely, the news seemed to have another effect on her cunt, where, between her muscular thighs, her naked slit suddenly seemed to drip with even more gooey juices than before.Unable to watch her fate coming, Americana turned her head away and instead looked down the table. This did little to lessen her humiliation, however, as she now just got to watch the entire Pilgrim community staring up at her, as she stood ready to secure their futures with the much-questioned purity of her gaping cunt.Standing behind her, Squanto took off his pants. This caused an immediate stir among the Pilgrim women."By the Lord," the woman who had called out Miss Americana said, her eyes going hypocritically wide.Another shook her head slowly. "I, I had, suspected," she said. "But I did not realize the true extent of the native's, gifts."Fortunately for the Pilgrim women, their men were too busy staring at the naked Queen of Justice to see where their wives' attention was directed. Meanwhile Miss Americana, her face down and looking at the table, was the only one who could not see what was coming up behind her. So she didn't have any clue what she was in for, until Squanto's dark hands appeared upon her pale curvy hips, and he swung himself up into position."Oh!" Miss Americana gasped, her blue eyes spreading wide, as she realized that, with both of his hands accounted for on her flesh, what she was feeling nuzzling up against her drooling cunt could not be a fist or arm, as she in the initial moment of contact suspected. She gasped deeply, her eyes spreading even wider, as his tip started to part her. She shook her head."Oh, oh my God," she said, as her cunt lips spread wider and wider around the incoming bronze cock-head, until they quivered to either side of the crest of his uncircumcised cock. "I, I didn't know," she whimpered, "that, that Squanto was so hung!" Her voice rose up to a squeal, as he thrust deep inside her."Is," the native interpreter calmly corrected the English-woman on her grammar. Then, taking a tight grip on her hips, he began to slam his massive cock vigorously back and forth inside her drooling slit.Miss Americana shook and squealed, as he nailed her. All around her, the Pilgrim men and women stared in awe. But Americana was not the only one to be affected by the experience for long."Oh, yes!" Squanto announced. Sliding his eager dark hands around from her hips he cupped her enormous breasts from below, and squeezed them, as he continued to nail her gaping cunt with bountiful vigor and abandon. "This, strange woman, is indeed, worthy of the Sachem!" he said. He rolled his head and gasped in awe. "My goodness! She is so tight!" he marveled, squeezing her enormous hooters and stroking their erect tips with his fingers. "And yet, there is an ocean inside her hips!""Very good!" Massasoit announced, revealing that, though he naturally depended on his interpreter for complex and important negotiations, he had had the foresight to learn some rudimentary English himself. He removed his pants and then his loincloth, which caused another stir among the Pilgrim women, as it was revealed that Squanto was not a unique outlier among his people.To be continued in part 2, By Mark V Sharp for Literotica.

A heroine goes back in time to a sticky-fingered situation.By Mark V Sharp, in 2 parts. Listen to the ► Podcast at Steamy Stories. "In her, shoot fast," Principal Chief Massasoit directed, using what words he knew so that he would not surprise or confuse his strange hosts, "I want in her, my first use to take.""First use?!" Miss Americana managed to whimper, in horror, in between the moans and yelps Squanto's big thrusting cock was forcing out of her. But she didn't have long to contemplate that."That is no problem at all, my lord!" Squanto replied. Relaxing himself he thrust his enormous hardened cock deep into Miss Americana and, with a groan of ecstasy, unleashed his potent Pawtuxet seed upon her defenseless womb."Oh, Great Justice!" Americana groaned, her eyes rolling up in her head, as she felt the pulsing of his great cock inside her, and knew it meant that his sperm was flooding into her.He pulled out and then stepped aside, his long cock dripping."I have lubricated her for you, my Sachem," he said, gesturing towards Americana's cunt, which, gaping slightly wider than before, was also already releasing a long tendril of his semen to dangle down between her thighs."Very good!" Massasoit said. He stepped forward and took up his own position behind her. Reaching out he stroked her toned bubble-ass, and shook his head. "This," he said, squeezing Americana's bulging silky cheeks, "is a very rich gift, indeed!"With that he pushed himself up against her leaking cunt, and also entered her."Oh, my God," Miss Americana whimpered, as she too discovered Squanto was not to be a unique case. Her entire body shivered, as the great chief's enormous copper-colored cock sank deep up inside her helplessly quivering cunt."That's a sin!" one of the Pilgrims sitting near her chided, and continued eagerly to watch.At the sight that their chief had accepted the gift and that peace had been restored, the waiting column of Wampanoag warriors let out a great whoop of glee. Then, hoisting their burdens, they marched into the Plymouth settlement. The Pilgrims greeted them warmly, food was handed out, the Pilgrims contributing their meager stocks of beer and bread to the natives' largesse. Soon the great feast was in progress, with Wampanoag and Pilgrim dining and chatting together, sampling the first dishes as the Pilgrim women and their daughters and servants worked to prepare the main courses.And through it all, bent over at one end of the great table at which the First Thanksgiving was being laid, Miss Americana continued to get nailed. Massasoit's great cock, in his eagerness, lasted only slightly longer than Squanto had. But there was plenty more where that had come from. He was followed by Samoset, the Sagamore of the Abanaki tribe, who kept closer tabs on the strange new colonists while the Sachem was busy with other matters. After Samoset, the Sachem's honor guard took their turns; and after they had finished, every warrior in the entire column came up one by one and also partook in Miss Americana's flesh.The Pilgrims, with their Godly morals, piously abstained, but this did not stop the Pilgrim men's faces from showing deep jealousy, that their native guests got to enjoy two great helpings of Thanks-giving bounty instead of just one.In between their own turns upon Miss Americana's body, Massasoit, Squanto, and Samoset took their own seats at the table of the Elders, and with it, a privileged view of the action up between Americana's muscular shivering thighs, as the pale-skinned beauty got nailed by one long uncut native cock after another after another. Between her spread thighs they could also see her enormous breasts hanging down low and swaying wildly over the table as she squealed and squirmed under her furious and unchecked invasions, as if her enormous milk-filled udders were blessing the heavily-laden table with their own generous bounty."Does this disturb you, Pilgrim?" one native who had also picked up some English asked. Sitting down after his own turn inside her he found an open seat before Americana's enormous swaying udders, smoking a post-coital pipe. "I thought your God does not approve of this sort of thing."The Pilgrim shook his head. "Nah," he said. "God makes everyone for a purpose. I think it's pretty clear what he made this one for."Then, leaning forward, the Pilgrim seized one of Americana's giant breasts and held his glass up under it. He squeezed, discharging a rich squirt of milk from the heroine's hanging fruits into his cup. He took the cup back, threw it back, and then licked some of the delicious white super-milk off his lips."Well, that and this!" he said, as he held the glass up.Seeing yet another way in which the mysterious woman could be used in a celebration of plenty, other Pilgrims soon came forward to also eagerly sample the fuck-quivering cow's produce. Americana, too busy squealing as she got nailed by one big native cock after another, could do nothing to resist as her big breasts were squeezed and squeezed until finally even those bottomless udders were drained dry.Eventually, the entire feast had been consumed and everyone was full and sated. Even Americana's belt-boosted strength eventually failed her, and after eighty or so consecutive fucks up against the table her knees finally buckled and she sank down, a quivering wreck. She had taken so much cum inside her that rivers seemed to flow down her thighs, and a huge puddle had formed, which her knees landed in with twin pearly splashes like comets entering an ocean of gooey white fluid.But though she was spent, she had not even begun to exhaust the collective vigor of the Wampanoag delegation. Flipping her over, the warriors positioned her on her back at the edge of the First Thanksgiving table, which, the feast having been largely consumed, was now otherwise covered in a great mass of empty used bowls, plates, and tableware. Then, having positioned her, they continued nailing her almost-limp body face-to-face upon the table, as, around them, the dessert course finally began to be served.The tight order of the early stages of the feast had by now broken down, and Elder and commoner, Indian and Pilgrim were now all mixing freely. Copious quantities of beer had also flowed along with the food, and everyone was now quite contentedly drunk, as while the Puritans were against many things, booze was not actually one of them."I say Reverend," the short Pilgrim commented to William Brewster, as they stood side by side near the entrance of a house and watched Americana's continuing show. "Everyone has eaten their full, except for the harem girl. It seems rather unsuited to a great Thanksgiving like this to leave one, even a harlot and serial adulteress such as she, unsated.""True," the Reverend said. "But the food has already been cleared. What is there for her to eat?""There is, one set of sausages that have not been touched," the tall Pilgrim said, finally dropping what they were angling for. "I know that putting them where the Indians are putting theirs is a sin, but what about her mouth. Does that, you know, count?""Hmm," the Reverend Brewster said. "Normally I would say yes. However, this is a special festive day, and she was clearly sent by Providence itself to perform exactly this, function, so perhaps, just once." As he saw the brightening expressions on the two Pilgrims' faces, he shook his head, and raised a chiding finger. "However, for the sake of the harmony of our settlement," he added, "it is not just God who must be consulted."As it happened, the Reverend's own wife was at that moment emerging from the house behind them, carrying two freshly-baked pies. The Reverend's sons, Truelove Brewster and Wrestling Brewster, trailed behind her, carrying another pie each."What say you, Mary?" the Reverend asked her, knowing full well her sharp ears would have overheard everything."Hmm," Mary Brewster said. She glanced at the other Pilgrim wives scattered about the festival, of which there were not many. Between the composition of the original complement of settlers and the terrible toll of deaths that had occurred over the previous winter, there were now a great deal more men than women in the colony. The few other wives looked at her, significantly, saying nothing but their expressions communicating much. Nodding with understanding, Mary turned back to her husband."I know that men build up a great deal of, pressure, if they are not given release," she said. "So, I would say it is fine if the unmarried or widowed men sate themselves while sating the whore. It might reduce, future problems. But the married men will be sated by their wives, or else!" She lifted up a finger and glared."Of course," Reverend Brewster said. He could not quite keep the disappointment out of his voice that he would not be among those allowed to partake.But before he could give general approval for the new plan, Mary caught one of the other wives widening her eyes to get her attention. The silent wife nodded a couple times, significantly, towards Americana's moaning lips, and then looked at Mary meaningfully. Mary nodded."There is one other condition," she added, hastily. "We good women of the colony have had to endure our husbands watching the whore get nailed, in silence. We have done so, for the future of our settlement. However, we must get compensated." She looked at her husband, her eyes boring into him. "So after the unmarried men have fed her their main course, we will feed her dessert, of the pies we have long had prepared between our legs, but rarely if ever had eaten. Is this clear?"The two junior Pilgrims' eyes widened, as if they had never imagined such a thing."Good heavens!" the tall one said, fingers going to his own lips."Is, is that permitted under Heaven's law, Reverend?" the short one asked."Uh," Reverend Brewster said. He wracked his memory of the Good Book, trying to think of a clear passage one way or the other. "To be honest," he said, "I'm not sure if the Good Lord considers that sex, or not,""Then there should be no problem, should there?" Mary asked testily."I guess not," he said, deciding to err on the side of marital harmony over strict doctrine for once. God's forgiveness, after all, was infinite. His wife's, on the other hand,Of course, before the natives 'peace offering' could be used in this manner, clearance first had to be gotten from Massasoit. But the Great Sachem, in a very relaxed state having thoroughly drained his own scrotum over the course of five separate sessions within Miss Americana, was in a magnanimous mood, and with a simple nod of his bronzed head and wave of his hand signaled his approval.So it was that as the pies got laid out, cut, and consumption began eagerly, one by one Pilgrim men began to ascend the table. As with the Indians, they went in strict order of rank, and, his own wife Rose being one of the casualties of the previous winter, this meant that Myles Standish was first in line."Open wide, and say your grace," he advised her, as having preemptively removed his pants, he came in for a landing on her moaning tongue.Miss Americana whimpered loudly as his cock entered her mouth. Pure instinct took over almost immediately. Wrapping her lips tight around his respectable but, compared to some of the monsters that had been in her cunt that day, modestly-sized cock, she began to suck it enthusiastically."Oh, yes!" Myles said. He lifted his eyes heavenward, as she slurped and slurped upon him. "T-truly, this wench was sent by the Lord!" he said, before erupting down her throat and giving her, her first load of cum to swallow.It would, of course, not be the last. As the lesser Pilgrims had pointed out, while everyone else had had their fill, at this First Thanksgiving Americana had had none. Now, they made up for that. One after another, unmarried Pilgrim men climbed up and, sometimes still eating pieces of pie as they did so, inserted their fresh sausages down between her lips. Americana moaned, and blushed, and sucked each one as vigorously and worshipfully as she could, as if they were truly her gifts from God. One warm protein shake after another poured down her throat, finally filling up her until-now-empty belly, and each and every one she gulped down with a vigor equal to the holiday. Then after each one finished she opened wide and, extending out her tongue, began putting preparatory licks upon the next incoming cock that inevitably replaced the last one in the never-ending cornucopia of cock she was being served.In the meantime, watching all this, and knowing that based on Mary Brewster's pronouncement they would not get their own full Thanksgiving repast any other way, one by one the married Pilgrim men snuck away from the party with their now equally enthused and eager wives, into the bushes or the backs of the more remote houses, to do what married couples do. Although, given the inspirations provided by Americana's marathon performance, they generally put a little more effort and creativity into it than they typically had. One by one, flush-faced and hand-in-hand they returned to the center of the festival, in a few cases with the seeds of another few thousand modern descendants quietly germinating under the Pilgrim women's' hastily re-lowered skirts.So it was that, when the Pilgrim men and the natives alike had finally sated themselves, well after the dessert course and into the after-meal drinking and general turkey-clobbered lethargy, Americana got her final surprise. With the coast finally clear, the Pilgrim wives climbed up one by one and got the 'compensation' that Mary Brewster had negotiated for them. As they lifted their skirts and lowered their unkempt bushes down towards the invading harlot's open gasping lips, Americana moaned to discover, one after another, that there was a pie of fresh cream waiting for her under each and every skirt, to accompany the gutted pumpkin and other pies lying spent all around her.But she didn't have much choice. Digging her tongue up between the wives' outer lips, she did her best to show them how it was done."Oh!" one Pilgrim woman after another sighed, heads rolling and shivering, as they discovered at the tip of the 'harem girl's' practiced tongue a pleasure their husbands had rarely, if ever, managed to provide them. Americana was not by nature a cunt-eater, but she had been put into that position often enough by triumphant villainesses to know her way around. She stroked the inner lips, teased the hood, and then finally went after the excited clit with vigor. And as she did so, streamers and tendrils of married Pilgrim cum poured out into her own mouth, which, like all the others before her, she periodically paused to gulp down hungrily before resuming her probing services.Finally, the last dish of all, the one between the legs of Mary Brewster herself, was served to her. As she stroked and stroked between Mary's labia, and felt the Reverend's hallowed semen wash down her tongue, Americana heard her ear-ring microphone crackle."Just so you know, Miss Americana," she heard Flag Girl's voice say, excitedly, "the semen you are currently eating will give rise to at least one Nobel Prize recipient, several Oscar-winning actresses and actors, one Supreme Court Justice, several Governors and Senators, a bunch of highly decorated Admirals in the U.S. Navy, and one President." The events she was getting to witness through the professor's Time Viewer were inspiring an interest in history the airheaded sidekick had never felt before, and she was eagerly scrolling through the lists of descendants of the various people her mentor was getting fucked by. "Isn't that cool?!" Americana heard her squeal.Americana whimpered. "Wonderful," she managed to moan into Mary Brewster's cunt, and with a lap of her tongue, sent more thrillingly historically-significant semen running down her throat.At last even the Pilgrim women had had their fill of serving up themselves, and receiving the novel pleasures of the harem girl's tongue in return. With Pilgrim and native alike now full and tired, they all started to decamp. The Pilgrims wandered back into their homes. The native leaders had had a few dwellings set aside for them, and the rest would make camp just outside the settlement.As the throng began to disperse, Governor Bradford, Squanto, and Massasoit stood side-by-side, surveying what was left of the Pilgrims' 'peace offering'.Americana lay sprawled upon the Thanksgiving table, as utterly and thoroughly consumed as any of the empty dishes all around her. She was not unconscious, but her blue eyes stared glassily up at the sky and didn't seem to see anything. She still had her belt, no one knowing to try to take it off of her, but despite that no muscle of her mighty curvy body seemed capable of movement, save for the slow rise and fall of her huge breasts as she breathed. Rivers of cum seemed to pour out of her cunt, spilling down in waterfalls between the planks of the table to form a vast growing lake underneath it."Shall we clean this mess up?" Governor Bradford asked, nodding towards Miss Americana.Without waiting for his interpreter, Massasoit shook his head. "No need," he said."It can wait until morning," Squanto assured him, smirking at the sight of the sprawled fucked-out white harlot. "Everyone is very tired and content.""Especially her!" Massasoit said, and tilting his head back let out a booming laugh."Should we post a guard on her then?" Governor Bradford asked.Massasoit again shook his head."The Sachem's warriors watch well all the approaches through the woods," Squanto advised. "No enemy tribe will enter here to take her. As for her, look at her. Do you think she can even walk at this point, let alone outrun the finest hunters of the Wampanoag people?""Good point," Governor Bradford admitted. "So, in that case, I have a small stash of brandy left. Shall we share some?"At this Massasoit tilted his head back and laughed vigorously. "Now this, is a good idea!" he said.With that the two natives and the Pilgrim turned and proceeded to the Governor's house, to continue their conversation.Americana was left alone, lying spent on the First Thanksgiving table. Soon all around her was quiet, save for the distant sound of a couple married Pilgrims getting in a second round. Panting, she stared at the stars, still in shock. Occasionally her gloved fingers twitched, down beside her wide and absurdly well-filled hips. Other than that, huge buns squished against the rough-hewn planks of the table, and huge tits rising and falling in the cool Massachusetts night, she could make no other move.At last, everyone nearby had either left or fallen asleep, and the coast was clear. Miss Americana's body began to glow. Her bikini, having been passed around and marveled at by various members of the party before being finally added as decorative elements to the top of the main centerpiece, glowed as well. Her chain, which had been secured to one leg of the table some time ago, did not.With a flash she was gone, leaving the Plymouth colony as mysteriously as she had entered it. The chain, disturbed by the wind of her passage, clanked to the ground. Pilgrims and natives alike would find it empty in the morning and assume that against all odds the 'harem girl' had managed to slip away in the night, and was probably therefore a witch after all. But, having already gotten very full use of her cunt, and since the blame for this could only rest primarily on his own sleepy sentries, Massasoit would not fault the Pilgrims for this and the treaty would not again be endangered. History, such as it was, for better or worse, was saved.Back in the current time, Flag Girl stood by, shivering nervously, as she watched the professor work the controls. A shining form slowly appeared upon the platform, a sprawled and shapely silhouette laid out spread-eagled atop it. Two smaller blobs appeared beside her, for her retrieved bra and panties.Then, with a last flash, the reverse time passage was complete. The machine hummed down, as Miss Americana and her discarded costume lay quivering upon the platform, once more in the flesh."Oh, thank the Goddess!" Flag Girl gasped, rushing forward in relief. Then, halfway to embracing her mistress, she suddenly gasped, skidded to a halt and froze. "Wha-what?" she gasped."Oh, yes," the Professor said. Looking down upon Americana from the control station beside the platform, he scratched his head sheepishly. "Yes, sometimes the time particles have, odd effects like this."Upon the platform Miss Americana groaned. Having recovered some of her strength and energy during the passage back, she lifted her head. She gasped, her curvy naked body rolling back and forth upon the platform, as rivers of semen continued to drip off it. Then, lifting one hand up to hold her head, she raised the other to comfortingly caress her aching belly, and then suddenly let out a loud yelp."Wha- what the?!" Miss Americana gasped.Lifting up her trembling gloved hand, she raised her head and stared down between her breasts in shock. There, rising up before her, which her fingers had unexpectedly encountered, her once-flat belly had already started to swell upwards considerably. She was six or seven months' pregnant, at least."Oh, Gah-Great Justice!" Miss Americana groaned, staring at her own enormous belly in disbelief."What, what happened?" Flag Girl squealed, hands over her lips."As I said," the professor said. Picking up a hand-held bio-scanner, he leaned over and began using it to examine Miss Americana's swollen belly. "The time-stream can have, odd effects sometimes. The exterior didn't age a day, if the still-runny and viable state of all this semen is any indication. The inside, well," He shrugged.Miss Americana shook her head, eyes glued to her impregnated body. As the Professor had stated, despite the advanced state of her pregnancy, streamers of seemingly fresh and gooey cum continued to flow out of her ravaged cunt lips, down onto the platform, spreading around her buxom buns."There's, there's no way my sonic device can deal with this," she whimpered. "Could you get me to Doctor Lingam fast? Maybe, maybe she could still fix this for me.""Maybe," the Professor admitted, still studying his scanner. "The time particles may make that more complicated than expected. But regardless of one's normal feelings on that practice, I think it might be considered a particularly sticky matter in this case, regardless.""What, what are you talking about, Professor?" the Queen of Justice gasped.He pointed at his scanner readout. "The other half of the genetic material in your womb matches no known human bloodline," he said. "Do you know what that means?"Miss Americana shook her head, glaring up at him furiously. "No of course not!" she said. "But since it's god-damn inside of me, just tell me!""The Native American known as Squanto," the Professor said, still looking over his readings with clinical detachment, "he was the one who had the first crack at your cunt, correct? And he was among the longest of those who fucked you, based on what we saw on the viewer, so if anyone's sperm reached your egg first, it was probably his. Correct?""Yes!" Americana said. She squirmed in particular, at the mention of the native interpreter's long cock, as it promptly dragged up deep memories of what it had felt like inside her. "Get to the point!" she said, naming an activity that none of the natives who had fucked her, least of all Squanto himself, had had any trouble at all doing within her."Well," he said. "In history as we previously understood it, the Pawtuxet tribe was entirely wiped out by disease save for one survivor. That would be Squanto. History tells us that he succumbed to European diseases himself shortly after the First Thanksgiving, and fathered no known children, thus making him the very last of his people."Turning it around, he showed her the readings on his bio-scanner."Until now," he said.Americana stared at the readings on the scanner in shock. In addition to all the genetic readings it also revealed to her that Squanto had gotten a jump on repopulating his tribe in another way as well. It wasn't one baby inside her, it was twins. Both boys. She turned and looked at her impregnated belly. Then she looked back at the scanner."Oh, oh shit," she whispered softly.Flag Girl suddenly started bouncing eagerly on her heels, having finally processed with her limited teen brainpower what the adults were talking about. "Oh, yay, Miss A!" she squealed. "You're going to be, like, the step-mother of an entire nation! Isn't that so cool?"Her face shivering in horror and wonder behind her star-spangled patriotic mask, Miss Americana shivered. "Oh, oh my fucking God!" she moaned.Overcome by the implications, she slumped back down onto the platform, her buxom naked body once more too overcome by what was happening to it to rise at all. Quivering against the floor, she shook and gasped in disbelief, as the seed of a vanished people suddenly re-birthed after a four-hundred-year absence continued to germinate eagerly within her patriotic womb.Back in the past, Governor Bradford had passed out in his chair. On a paper beside him, he had already taken some hasty notes about how the day's events could be carefully edited in the colonial records to preserve decorum. Massasoit and Tisquantum, still holding glasses of the governor's best brandy, had wandered to the outskirts of the colony. The escape of the busty peace offering had not yet been discovered. Sitting down on the side on a large rock by the shore they observed the light of the moon on the harbor in which the strangers had first arrived.'Does it ever disturb you,' Massasoit suddenly asked, in the Wampanoag tongue, 'to have to teach these people to live atop the graves of your tribe?''Sometimes' Tisquantum admitted. 'But I must do what is best for my people, and I trust you see that better than me.''I hope that I do,' Massasoit said. 'Being Sachem is not restful. I do sympathize though. The ghosts that dwell here cannot give you much rest either.'Looking out over the shining harbor Tisquantum thought back to playing upon this very rock as a child. He thought about the teenage girl he had courted, upon the hill above, who, as it turned out, he had never gotten to make his wife. He knew what remained of her was under a tree not far away, and visited it occasionally when no one else was watching.But, because it was so recent, he could also not help but remember the peace offering's cunt squeezing tight around his cock as he unleashed his seed into her.'It's alright,' he said. 'They just got a very tiny bit quieter for some reason.'Beside him, Massasoit let out a tiny bark of laughter. 'Yes, I'll bet!' he said.Then, raising their glasses of brandy, they chuckled as they each enjoyed a sip while looking out over the shining sea to the distant horizon.By Mark V Sharp for Literotica.Historical Characters:Massasoit, Sachem (essentially chief-over-other-chiefs) of the Wampanoag Confederacy, which dominated much of the land around the Plymouth settlement. Historically he signed a peace treaty with Governor John Carver in early 1621 that would last for nearly a century. He was also the one who sent Squanto to act as their interpreter and advisor. The land the colony was built on had been occupied by one of the tribes of his confederacy which, save for Squanto, had been entirely wiped out by disease. Without his help, including repeated deliveries of food, it is very unlikely the Plymouth colony would have survived.Tisquantum aka Squanto, last surviving member of the Pawtuxet tribe, whose vacant village the Pilgrims essentially settled on top of. The entire rest of the tribe was wiped out by a sudden outbreak of disease a few years before their arrival, most likely smallpox; Squanto escaped this fate by being kidnapped by an English explorer and sold into slavery in Spain, during which time he learned English. Eventually returning to his native land he was sent by Massasoit as the ambassador to his new white allies, and according to legend assisted the Pilgrims greatly in learning to survive in their new home. In actual history he would die of disease in 1622, a year after the so-called 'First Thanksgiving', leaving no known issue.William Brewster, though in reality the English Dissenters were a relatively egalitarian lot that rejected formal religious authorities, William Brewster is generally recognized as the chief spiritual leader and authority of the early colony. I just titled him 'Reverend' for simplicity's sake. Like many of the Pilgrims William Brewster has tens of thousands of known latter-day or modern-day descendants, but his list is particularly impressive including John Foster Dulles, Richard Gere, Katherine Hepburn, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Sarah Palin, Nelson Rockefeller, Supreme Court Justice David Souter, Commodore Matthew Perry (the dude who 'opened' Japan), Robert Noyce (the inventor of the integrated circuit), World War 2 Admiral William 'Bull' Halsey, and President Zachary Taylor.Mary Brewster, William Brewster's wife and mother of his children. I have no historical information that Mary Brewster had the slightest interest in receiving cunnilingus from other women; on the other hand I also don't have any hard information that she didn't.Truelove Brewster and Wrestling Brewster: no, really, these are the actual names William Brewster gave his sons. Also named his daughter 'Fear'.William Bradford, second Governor of the Plymouth Colony, after the first governor John Carver died of disease early in 1621. His journal, titled 'Of Plymouth Plantation,' is one of the primary historical sources on the early colony, including the First Thanksgiving. His descendants include Alec Baldwin, Clint Eastwood, Christopher Reeve, and Noah Webster, of 'Webster's Dictionary' fame. Unfortunately, William Bradford named his sons boring things like 'William Jr.' and 'Joseph' instead of the bat-shit awesome stuff William Brewster came up with, so I didn't give them any cameos.Myles Standish, hired by the Merchant Adventurers (non-religious monetary backers of the Mayflower expedition who were in it for potential trading profits) as a military advisor; Myles was not a Puritan, but was instead a career military man and veteran of warfare against the Spanish in Holland. However, he still was one of the signatories to the Mayflower Compact.

In today's episode Danny does the one chip challenge, the boys spend their first ever Thanksgiving apart as Danny heads to Minnesota with his wife, shots are taken at pork for being a below average meat and then bologna catches some strays as well, Danny fights through a thumb injury, the power goes out at Zach's crib, and more!! Be sure to tune in every Monday and Thursday for new episodes!

Grab your big tub of acorns and dive into a festival new LIVE! It's never too late for our annual Thanksgiving episode! What are some ways Pat could spice up his first Thanksgiving as the host? Pat turns it into a black tie event. Matt refuses to look inside himself. Jim Standowitz calls the Lions game. Plus, how long can Pat remain in peak form? Where will Matt be for Thanksgiving? Would you believe your significant other if they told you Walt Disney was haunting them? All that and Jay Tingle Says Tongle and it all happens LIVE!

The Pilgrims' escape from religious persecution in the 16th century is a gripping tale of survival and courage. Amid empires, global conflicts, and piracy, they sought freedom to practice their faith. Key events like the Reformation, the rise of the Ottoman Empire, and figures like Squanto shaped their struggle and laid the foundation for America's freedom. This powerful narrative brings their journey to life, highlighting the miraculous escape that helped shape a nation. Check out "The Treacherous World of the 16th Century & How the Pilgrims Escaped It" book here! https://www.swrc.com/product/the-treacherous-world-of-the-16th-century-how-the-pilgrims-escaped-it-the-prequel-to-america-s-freedom/

What if the essence of America's gratitude could be traced back to a single proclamation? Join us in an enlightening journey through history as we unravel the profound significance of George Washington's first Thanksgiving Proclamation, dated October 3rd, 1789. Witness the timeless values of unity, gratitude, and wisdom that Washington emphasized as the bedrock of the American spirit. We'll explore how these ideals shaped the nation's identity, rooted in the shared experience of establishing government, civil liberties, and the blessings that followed the Revolutionary War.Through Washington's eloquent words, we gain a deeper understanding of the aspirations that have guided the United States from its inception. This episode invites you to reflect on the historic call for national thanksgiving and prayer, encouraging us to celebrate the enduring principles of peace, justice, and prosperity. Whether you're a history enthusiast or simply curious about the origins of Thanksgiving, this exploration promises to enrich your perspective on the values that continue to define America today.Support the showThe American Soul Podcasthttps://www.buzzsprout.com/1791934/subscribe

3425 – November 29, 2024 – America's Legacy, Then and Now – Events Leading Up To The First Thanksgiving (part 2 of 2) Follow along as Beth Ann tells the story! This is an encore presentation of the show we aired on black Friday last year. Be sure to check out Beth's newest Substack here. csctalkradio.com The post America's Legacy, Then and Now – Events Leading Up To The First Thanksgiving (part 2 of 2) appeared first on CSC Talk Radio.

Chocolate Yoddah describes the real first Thanksgiving.Follow Me On TikTokhttps://www.tiktok.com/@chocolate_yoddahGet Uncensored Content On Patreonhttps://www.patreon.com/ThePersistentRumorFacebookhttps://www.facebook.com/ThePersistentRumorInstagramhttps://www.instagram.com/ThePersistentRumorTwitterhttps://twitter.com/PersistentRumorOriginal theme music written, produced, and performed by Chocolate Yoddah

Plus a special show from the archives: Dinner Democracy

Today's show opens first opens with my thoughts on how to learn thankfulness. Like any skill, if you have never really practiced, it may difficult at first, but gets easier with time. Protesters do their best to ruin the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade. These people are such miserable human beings, they have no joy in their lives, so they live to suck the joy out of everyone else's. Kevin O'Leary once again got a CNN panel all aflutter when he first suggested Trump didn't need to be talking to Trudeau, because he wasn't going to be in power much longer. Then, he suggested the tariff discussion was simply a negotiation technique. Needless to say, the panelists lacked any depth of understanding. We got word from the animal rescue in New York that justice for Peanut and Fred would be coming soon. It seems the couple that was raided and their pet squirrel and raccoon euthanized is set to sue the state of New York for their tyrannical overreach. Finally, as has been my tradition for years, I break down the truth behind the first Thanksgiving. It wasn't about farming or making friends with the Native Americans or even about surviving. It was about learning how to unleash their collective entrepreneurial spirit, becoming the precursor to what our Founding Fathers would enshrine in the U.S. Constitution. Please take a moment to rate and review the show and then share the episode on social media. You can find me on Facebook, X, Instagram, GETTR and TRUTH Social by searching for The Alan Sanders Show. You can also support the show by visiting my Patreon page!!

You may have thought Thanksgiving dates back to the Pilgrims of Plymouth Colony in today's state of Massachusetts.  But, in a moment we'll travel to...

3524 – November 28, 2024 – America's Legacy, Then and Now – Events Leading Up To The First Thanksgiving (part 1 of 2) Follow along as Beth Ann tells the story! This is an encore presentation of the 2023 Thanksgiving Day show. Be sure to check out Beth’s newest Substack here. csctalkradio.com The post America's Legacy, Then and Now – Events Leading Up To The First Thanksgiving (part 1 of 2) appeared first on CSC Talk Radio.

On this special Thanksgiving episode of Family Vision, Rob Rienow shares the incredible story of the Pilgrims and their journey to the New World in 1620. Discover why this small church relocated from England, to Holland, and ultimately to the New World.  But what compelled them to come? In Bradford's book, Of Plymouth Plantation, he explains how their love for God, their love for their children, and their love for the Gospel motivated them to risk everything.  Gather your family to learn how the Pilgrims' faith, courage, and vision continue to shape our understanding of Thanksgiving and God's providence today. Featured Resources: Of Plymouth Plantation by William Bradford: https://www.amazon.com/dp/0075542811 What If Jesus Had Never Been Born? by D. James Kennedy: https://www.amazon.com/dp/0849920795/ The Value of Every Life: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gmQjQIdtkfw  Visionary Family Ministries Conferences – Learn how to host an event at: https://visionaryfam.com/host-a-conference/ 

Hi, friends! You may remember Robert from Episode 68, where he shared fascinating insights into Florida's history. Well, he's back—and this time, he's revealing where and when the real first Thanksgiving took place. So, grab your coffee, tea, or favorite drink, and settle in for an eye-opening story. Or, if you're like us, hit play while you're knee-deep in Thanksgiving meal prep. Enjoy, and happy Thanksgiving prep, y'all!

Discover the horrifying truth behind the first Thanksgiving in this blood-chilling story where dark traditions meet modern terror. As loner movie nerd Dan faces off against a sinister legacy of Pilgrim cannibalism. Will he escape their grisly fate, or become the next course at the Thanksgiving table?The Real First Thanksgiving by Bruce HaneySupport Us and Get Bonus Shows on Patreon!Contact Us/Submit a Storytwitter.com/WeeklySpookyfacebook.com/WeeklySpookyWeeklySpooky@gmail.comMusic by Ray Mattis http://raymattispresents.bandcamp.comExecutive ProducersRob FieldsMark ShieldsBobbletopia.comProduced by Daniel WilderThis episode is sponsored by HenFlix.com

All the links you need https://linktr.ee/TheMikeyPodcast Thanksgiving: a holiday built on myths, massacres, and PR spin so strong it convinced us all to eat dry-ass turkey every year. In this special episode of The Mikey Podcast, I rip apart the sanitized history, share what I'm thankful for (like TikTok bans and colonial keggers), and dish out a heaping serving of truth with a side of sarcasm. You'll never look at Thanksgiving the same way again. Show Notes/Highlights Intro Thanksgiving: a holiday built on myths, massacres, and a PR campaign convincing us to eat turkey every year. What's coming up: gratitude, Aftershock updates, political chaos, and the messy truth about Thanksgiving. Gratitude Segment Family Gratitude Political Gratitude Podcast Gratitude Aftershock Gratitude Thanksgiving History Debunked Pilgrims weren't saints—they were religious separatists with bad attitudes. The so-called “First Thanksgiving”: a chaotic, gun-filled rager mistaken for an attack by the Wampanoag. The real menu: venison, shellfish, and whatever plants didn't kill you. No turkey or pie. Thanksgiving's Evolution How Abraham Lincoln used Thanksgiving to unite a divided nation. How Sarah Josepha Hale and Reverend Alexander Young turned it into the cozy holiday we know today. Closing Thoughts Thanksgiving isn't about the past—it's about surviving the present chaos. Eat, drink, try not to kill your relatives, and maybe keep the party vibes alive with some 1621-style shenanigans. Stay safe, stay weird, and question everything. Support independent media: Like, follow, and subscribe. Join the Sub Club for less than 10 cents a day on Spotify or MikeyPodcast.com. Grab some Mikey Podcast merch (like the holiday mug) and make someone's day—or your own Thanksgiving myths, edgy podcast, Mikey Podcast, Pilgrims and Natives, Aftershock 2024, TikTok ban, Trump 2024, Kamala Harris missing, Thanksgiving special, independent media, Thanksgiving history, podcast humor. #ThanksgivingSpecial #MikeyPodcast #ThanksgivingMyths #IndependentMedia #PodcastLife #Aftershock2024 #EdgyHumor #HistoryUnfiltered #SupportIndependentMedia #QuestionEverything

Florida was the site of the first Thanksgiving.

JLP Tue 11-26-24 Country & Western Tuesday Hr 1 Trump cases dropped. Jussie Smollett. BLASPHEMER! // Hr 2 Forgave mother. Evil is evil. Supers. Darkness in people // Hr 3 Gary is not safe. Trans in sports? Old lady locked in! // Biblical Question: What's the difference between a Christian and an atheist? TIMESTAMPS (0:00:00) HOUR 1 (0:05:44) Don't mess with Trump! Jack Smith (0:15:10) Daniel Penny… Jussie Smollett (0:25:55) Trouble in the land … Ayanna Pressley alopecia (0:33:44) Thankful? First Thanksgiving! (0:37:20) ARTHUR, Boston, 1st: You're a blasphemer! Love whites? (0:55:01) NEWS, End Hr1 (1:00:56) HOUR 2 (1:04:07) Is this watermelon in my hand? (1:04:55) CHRISTINE, NM: Honest with mother, forgave (1:17:10) CHRISTINE: One of the greatest tricks… You could be free (1:22:13) JEROME, NJ: Crowder-JLP. No "degrees of evil"! (1:31:22) Announcements (1:34:35) Supers: Glory. Georgia. BQ. 11yo. Don't judge family. (1:45:34) ASHLEY, CA: Darkness in people (1:50:05) DEBORAH, IL: Jerome, "Levels of evil" (1:55:00) NEWS, End Hr2 (2:00:55) HOUR 3 (2:04:08) Gary, Indiana, machete attack on undercover cop (2:10:48) Trans in women's sports? (2:19:30) Woman playing in men's sports (2:21:55) Putting shopping carts back (2:22:52) JADEN, CA: Die of the ego. HOLD (2:32:42) Trust no one! Old black lady, locked in by "nice" couple (2:36:49) CALVIN, OH… Jesus will hold us responsible! (2:48:19) JADEN: BQ, sales story Fri (2:49:33) Supers: BQ … (2:54:16) RIVER, Sacramento: Forgave, angry grandma (2:55:58) Drop your anger! Closing

Dan responds to Jack Smith dropping all charges against President-elect Trump and plays Rush Limbaugh's immortal "Real Story of the First Thanksgiving."

This week, Brian and Frank are joined by our good friend Dave Fiorillo who just lost a razor-thin town council race. We talk about running for local office and how Dave might win more votes when he runs again in a couple years. Then, we stage a table read of Brian's latest screenplay: the Untitled presentation of the story of the First Thanksgiving!  Go to StonerDadPodcast.com for links to each show, our Patreon, and all things Stoner Dad. #StonerDad #StonerDadPodcast #BrianBeaudoin #DaveFiorillo #RIComedyConnection #Thanksgiving #FirstThanksgiving  

Thanksgiving Day. Have you wondered about that first Thanksgiving Day? I found it very interesting that 200 years ago, in 1789 George Washington declared November 26th the official day of Thanksgiving. This year, Thanksgiving falls on November 26th. After 1789, the States continued to celebrate on different days. It was Sarah Hale, an editor of a women's magazine in Boston, who waged a 30 year letter writing campaign to governors and the presidents, urging them to make Thanksgiving Day a national holiday and to pick one day for the celebration. President Lincoln proclaimed the last Thursday in November as a day of National Thanksgiving in 1863. Franklin Roosevelt pushed Thanksgiving into December in 1939 but two years later, it was moved back to the present, fourth Thursday in November. Thanksgiving really dates back to October 1621 in Plymouth, Massachusetts. Many of the pilgrims who had come over on the Mayflower the previous year had died, and the survivors had weathered a severe winter, but their fortunes had changed by the spring and summer, and they had good crop harvests, thanks to the help of a local tribe, the Wampanoags. To celebrate the better times, the Pilgrims declared a holiday so that all might, after a more special manner, rejoice together. The Pilgrims did not forget the hard times, and they had a custom of putting five kernels of corn on each empty plate before a dinner was served. These five kernels were chosen because prior to that first harvest, things were so bad that the daily ration was five kernels of corn per person per day. That custom of the pilgrims is a reminder for us to reflect upon our blessings, which are given to us by a gracious, generous God. Thanksgiving is a day of reflection on all that America has, our freedom, and our bounty. Every day is a day of thanksgiving and thanks living. I am reminded what the late A W Tozer once wrote about the habit of thanksgiving. He stated that "Thanksgiving will cure a host of injurious evils in our dispositions, self pity, resentment, murmuring and fault finding. All these will wither and die of themselves. For how can they grow inside a heart overflowing with gratitude and praise?" An unknown author wrote these prayerful thoughts, "Lord, we thank you for the privilege of living in a land of opportunity and beauty and plenty. We thank you for a religious heritage and freedom to worship as we may desire. We thank you for houses of worship that point fingers of stone towards heaven. We thank you for friends across the street, throughout the land, and around the world. We thank you for friendly nations on our borders and the ability to help the less fortunate in our own and other lands. We thank you for fertile fields swathed in robes of golden grain, for rolling plains blanketed with herds of lowing cattle, for majestic mountains ribbed with an ooze of steel. We thank you God for strength to work, for minds to plan and hearts to appreciate all good things from heaven." Happy Thanksgiving!Warm Thoughts from the Little Home on the Prairie Over a Cup of Tea by Dr Luetta G WernerPublished in the Marion Record November 26th, 1998Download the Found Photo Freebie and cherish your memories of the past.Enjoy flipping through the Vintage Photo Book on your coffee table.I hope you enjoyed this podcast episode! Please follow along on this journey by going to visualbenedictions.com or following me on Instagram, Facebook, and Pinterest. You can listen to the podcast on Apple Podcast,Spotify,Stitcher, and Overcast. And don't forget to rate and review so more people can tune in! I'd greatly appreciate it.Till next time,Trina

The challenge for teachers this time of year is to approach the history of Thanksgiving without stereotypes and outdated myths about interactions between Native Americans and early settlers. The National Museum of the American Indian's Native Knowledge 360 education initiative has developed a new curriculum on the First Thanksgiving, to provide teachers with a way to tell a more accurate and respectful story that includes perspectives from the Wampanoag, the tribe that first came in contact with European settlers. We'll talk with Native educators about the work they're doing to bring accuracy and balance to classrooms.

Join Paula Peters, citizen of the Mashpee Wampanoag Tribe as she shares the historical and cultural legacy and story of the Wampanoag: the People of the First Light. She unravels common misperceptions and false narratives around the first “Thanksgiving” and the harvest of 1621 involving Native people and the first colonizers, the Pilgrims. By acknowledging what has gone before, she invites us to envision and collectively create a balanced way forward for humanity. The Wampanoag have lived in southeastern Massachusetts for more than 12,000 years. They are the tribe first encountered by Mayflower Pilgrims when they landed in Provincetown harbor and explored the eastern coast of Cape Cod and when they continued on to Patuxet (Plymouth) to establish Plymouth Colony. In 2020, America commemorated the 400th anniversary of the Mayflower voyage and the founding of Plymouth Colony, a story that cannot be told without the perspective of the indigenous people who were here as that ship arrived and who still remain. For Part II of this interview, CLICK HERE https://www.patreon.com/posts/116836972?pr=true Video Links: NK 360 The First Thanksgiving with Linda Coombs: https://youtu.be/pba21_DOGl8?si=4BuJUMlpk0U9zLAK Story of Squanto, Smithsonian Channel: https://youtu.be/N-uE7cbH1-I?si=DY2Il4PYp0C4bG7x Cranberry Day: Traditional Harvest Festivals, Smoke Sygnals/Smithsonian: https://youtu.be/g2pSir70DG4?si=RRA9b9uk4v4LS0rZ For an extended interview and other benefits, become an EcoJustice Radio patron at https://www.patreon.com/ecojusticeradio LINKS The Thanksgiving Story from the Wampanoag Perspective: https://wilderutopia.com/traditions/wampanoag-thanksgiving-stolen-land-massacred-hope/ Native Knowledge 360: https://americanindian.si.edu/nk360 Plymouth 400: https://www.plymouth400inc.org/category/news/ Suppressed Speech Wamsutta Frank B. James:http://www.uaine.org/suppressed_speech.htm Native Land Conservancy: https://www.nativelandconservancy.org Linda Coombs: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sGSmn2UPicQ https://www.penguinrandomhouse.com/books/692454/colonization-and-the-wampanoag-story-by-linda-coombs/ Paula Peters is a politically, socially and culturally active citizen of the Mashpee Wampanoag Tribe. For more than a decade she worked as a journalist for the Cape Cod Times and is now co-owner of SmokeSygnals [http://smokesygnals.com], a Native owned and operated creative production agency. As an independent scholar and writer of Native, and particularly Wampanoag history, she produced the traveling exhibit “Our”Story: 400 Years of Wampanoag History and The Wampum Belt Project documenting the art and tradition of wampum in the contemporary Wampanoag community [https://www.plymouth400inc.org/category/news/]. In 2020 she wrote the introduction to the 400th Anniversary Edition of William Bradford's, Of Plimoth Plantation. Paula is also the executive producer of the 2016 documentary film Mashpee Nine and author of the companion book, a story of law enforcement abuse of power and cultural justice in the Wampanoag community in 1976. Paula lives with her husband and children in Mashpee, Massachusetts, the Wampanoag ancestral homeland. Carry Kim, Co-Host of EcoJustice Radio. An advocate for ecosystem restoration, Indigenous lifeways, and a new humanity born of connection and compassion, she is a long-time volunteer for SoCal350, member of Ecosystem Restoration Camps, and a co-founder of the Soil Sponge Collective, a grassroots community organization dedicated to big and small scale regeneration of Mother Earth. Podcast Website: http://ecojusticeradio.org/ Podcast Blog: https://www.wilderutopia.com/category/ecojustice-radio/ Support the Podcast: Patreon https://www.patreon.com/ecojusticeradio PayPal https://www.paypal.com/donate/?hosted_button_id=LBGXTRM292TFC&source=url Executive Producer and Intro: Jack Eidt Hosted by Carry Kim Engineer and Original Music: Blake Quake Beats Episode 242 Photo credit: Paula Peters

The challenge for teachers this time of year is to approach the history of Thanksgiving without stereotypes and outdated myths about interactions between Native Americans and early settlers. The National Museum of the American Indian's Native Knowledge 360 education initiative has developed a new curriculum on the First Thanksgiving, to provide teachers with a way to tell a more accurate and respectful story that includes perspectives from the Wampanoag, the tribe that first came in contact with European settlers. We'll talk with Native educators about the work they're doing to bring accuracy and balance to classrooms.

On November 11, 1620, forty-one men aboard the ship the Mayflower signed a document of great importance. With their signatures they vowed to create fair and just laws and to work together for the good of the Plymouth colony. This document, the Mayflower Compact, was the first to outline self-governance in the so called “New World” and it would go on to serve as a foundation for both the Declaration of Independence and the US Constitution. Our government was practically built upon the Mayflower Compact signed by those men. But not all of them would uphold the vows they made that day. One in particular, John Billington, would go so far against them as to become the first convicted murderer in American history. In the words of Governor William Bradford “He is a knave, and so will live and die.” But it wasn't just John Sr., his whole family wreaked havoc on the colony, prompting Bradford to call them “one of the profanest families amongst them.” Join me this week to learn more about John Billington, the murderer on the Mayflower.Support the show! Join the PatreonBuy Me a CoffeeVenmo @Shea-LaFountaineSources: "History of Plimoth Plantation" by William Bradford (1630)"Mourt's Relation: A Journal of the Pilgrims at Plymouth" by Edward Winslow (1622)Mayflower 400 "The Mayflower Story"New England Historical Society "John Billington Gets Lost"History.com "Who Was the First Convicted Murderer in America"The Mayflower Society "The Billington Family"Mayflower 400 "America's first murderer was executed for killing fellow Plymouth settler"Wikipedia "John Billington"Shoot me a message! Great Business StoriesA great business story thoroughly researched and brought to life by Caemin &...Listen on: Apple Podcasts Spotify

How many photographs have been taken worldwide in the history of photography? And how many just this year? These are a few of the fascinating facts that begin this episode that I know you'll end up repeating at upcoming holiday parties that will make you sound so interesting! Source: John Mitchinson author of 1227 Quite Interesting Facts to Blow Your Socks Off (https://amzn.to/4fP4vaX). To hear it said, artificial intelligence is the greatest thing in the world or the beginning of the end of civilization. So, what's the truth about AI? What can it do and what will it never do? That is what Arvind Narayanan is going to tell you, and he is someone to listen to. Arvind is a professor of computer science at Princeton University and director of its Center for Information Technology Policy. He was named one of Time magazine 100 most influential people in AI and he is co-author of the book k AI Snake Oil: What Artificial Intelligence Can Do, What It Can't, and How to Tell the Difference (https://amzn.to/3Z9RBiv). What did they eat at the first Thanksgiving? No doubt you've heard stories about the first Thanksgiving but a lot of what we were told just isn't true. In fact, many of the foods and traditions of Thanksgiving came much later. Here to set the record straight on that famous dinner held by the Pilgrims and native Americans is Leslie Landrigan. She has been writing about New England history for over 10 years – and she is author of the book the book Historic Thanksgiving Foods: And the People who Cooked Them, 1607 to 1955 (https://amzn.to/40NW23s) Anyone who owns a printer has wondered why the ink cartridges cost so much to replace. The answer is a bit complicated and kind of interesting. Listen as I explain https://www.consumerreports.org/electronics-computers/printers/why-is-printer-ink-so-expensive-a2101590645/ Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

How did the Thanksgiving holiday first begin? What provocative parallels emerge in the strange career of the Indian "Squanto" and the Biblical record of Joseph? What is the most important legacy we can leave our children and grandchildren? Chuck Missler reviews the origin of our unique national holiday and challenges our Christian stewardship concerning the precious heritage that is slowly being stripped away by the enemies of our Republic. Runtime: Approx 2 hours. Copyright © 10-20-1997

Okay, we know the stories we were told about Thanksgiving were… questionable, but what REALLY happened? Historian Richard Pickering paints with all the colors of the truth. And if that truth isn't embarrassing enough, we've got you covered with our first-ever confessional tour or our Most Embarrassing Moments! GUEST Richard Pickering plimoth.org HOUSE BAND Rachel Galassi ypplv.org SPONSORS Get 15% off OneSkin with the code PAULA at https://www.oneskin.co/ #oneskinpod Cut your wireless bill to 15 bucks a month at mintmobile.com/NOBODY! Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

How did the Thanksgiving holiday first begin? What provocative parallels emerge in the strange career of the Indian "Squanto" and the Biblical record of Joseph? What is the most important legacy we can leave our children and grandchildren? Chuck Missler reviews the origin of our unique national holiday and challenges our Christian stewardship concerning the precious heritage that is slowly being stripped away by the enemies of our Republic. Runtime: Approx 2 hours. Copyright © 10-20-1997

In this holiday episode, we look back to the past to see some of the historical roots of the Thanksgiving holiday. We look at the early life of the Plymouth pilgrims as well as the more general practice of Thanksgiving holidays that has permeated American life. What can we learn about gratitude, courage, faithfulness, and endurance from these pioneer saints of the past? What lessons can we draw from the harsh world they encountered and overcame? What world were they fleeing and seeking for their children? How can we embrace a more meaningful Thanksgiving today in light of the past? Welcome to the conversation.

Miss Americana goes to the First Thanksgiving: Part 2A heroine goes back in time to a sticky-fingered situation.By Mark V Sharp, in 2 parts. Listen to the ► Podcast at Steamy Stories.“In her, shoot fast,” Principal Chief Massasoit directed, using what words he knew so that he would not surprise or confuse his strange hosts, “I want in her, my first use to take.”“First use?!” Miss Americana managed to whimper, in horror, in between the moans and yelps Squanto’s big thrusting cock was forcing out of her. But she didn’t have long to contemplate that.“That is no problem at all, my lord!” Squanto replied. Relaxing himself he thrust his enormous hardened cock deep into Miss Americana and, with a groan of ecstasy, unleashed his potent Pawtuxet seed upon her defenseless womb.“Oh, Great Justice!” Americana groaned, her eyes rolling up in her head, as she felt the pulsing of his great cock inside her, and knew it meant that his sperm was flooding into her.He pulled out and then stepped aside, his long cock dripping.“I have lubricated her for you, my Sachem,” he said, gesturing towards Americana’s cunt, which, gaping slightly wider than before, was also already releasing a long tendril of his semen to dangle down between her thighs.“Very good!” Massasoit said. He stepped forward and took up his own position behind her. Reaching out he stroked her toned bubble-ass, and shook his head. “This,” he said, squeezing Americana’s bulging silky cheeks, “is a very rich gift, indeed!”With that he pushed himself up against her leaking cunt, and also entered her.“Oh, my God,” Miss Americana whimpered, as she too discovered Squanto was not to be a unique case. Her entire body shivered, as the great chief’s enormous copper-colored cock sank deep up inside her helplessly quivering cunt.“That’s a sin!” one of the Pilgrims sitting near her chided, and continued eagerly to watch.At the sight that their chief had accepted the gift and that peace had been restored, the waiting column of Wampanoag warriors let out a great whoop of glee. Then, hoisting their burdens, they marched into the Plymouth settlement. The Pilgrims greeted them warmly, food was handed out, the Pilgrims contributing their meager stocks of beer and bread to the natives’ largesse. Soon the great feast was in progress, with Wampanoag and Pilgrim dining and chatting together, sampling the first dishes as the Pilgrim women and their daughters and servants worked to prepare the main courses.And through it all, bent over at one end of the great table at which the First Thanksgiving was being laid, Miss Americana continued to get nailed. Massasoit’s great cock, in his eagerness, lasted only slightly longer than Squanto had. But there was plenty more where that had come from. He was followed by Samoset, the Sagamore of the Abanaki tribe, who kept closer tabs on the strange new colonists while the Sachem was busy with other matters. After Samoset, the Sachem’s honor guard took their turns; and after they had finished, every warrior in the entire column came up one by one and also partook in Miss Americana’s flesh.The Pilgrims, with their Godly morals, piously abstained, but this did not stop the Pilgrim men’s faces from showing deep jealousy, that their native guests got to enjoy two great helpings of Thanks-giving bounty instead of just one.In between their own turns upon Miss Americana’s body, Massasoit, Squanto, and Samoset took their own seats at the table of the Elders, and with it, a privileged view of the action up between Americana’s muscular shivering thighs, as the pale-skinned beauty got nailed by one long uncut native cock after another after another. Between her spread thighs they could also see her enormous breasts hanging down low and swaying wildly over the table as she squealed and squirmed under her furious and unchecked invasions, as if her enormous milk-filled udders were blessing the heavily-laden table with their own generous bounty.“Does this disturb you, Pilgrim?” one native who had also picked up some English asked. Sitting down after his own turn inside her he found an open seat before Americana’s enormous swaying udders, smoking a post-coital pipe. “I thought your God does not approve of this sort of thing.”The Pilgrim shook his head. “Nah,” he said. “God makes everyone for a purpose. I think it’s pretty clear what he made this one for.”Then, leaning forward, the Pilgrim seized one of Americana’s giant breasts and held his glass up under it. He squeezed, discharging a rich squirt of milk from the heroine’s hanging fruits into his cup. He took the cup back, threw it back, and then licked some of the delicious white super-milk off his lips.“Well, that and this!” he said, as he held the glass up.Seeing yet another way in which the mysterious woman could be used in a celebration of plenty, other Pilgrims soon came forward to also eagerly sample the fuck-quivering cow’s produce. Americana, too busy squealing as she got nailed by one big native cock after another, could do nothing to resist as her big breasts were squeezed and squeezed until finally even those bottomless udders were drained dry.Eventually, the entire feast had been consumed and everyone was full and sated. Even Americana’s belt-boosted strength eventually failed her, and after eighty or so consecutive fucks up against the table her knees finally buckled and she sank down, a quivering wreck. She had taken so much cum inside her that rivers seemed to flow down her thighs, and a huge puddle had formed, which her knees landed in with twin pearly splashes like comets entering an ocean of gooey white fluid.But though she was spent, she had not even begun to exhaust the collective vigor of the Wampanoag delegation. Flipping her over, the warriors positioned her on her back at the edge of the First Thanksgiving table, which, the feast having been largely consumed, was now otherwise covered in a great mass of empty used bowls, plates, and tableware. Then, having positioned her, they continued nailing her almost-limp body face-to-face upon the table, as, around them, the dessert course finally began to be served.The tight order of the early stages of the feast had by now broken down, and Elder and commoner, Indian and Pilgrim were now all mixing freely. Copious quantities of beer had also flowed along with the food, and everyone was now quite contentedly drunk, as while the Puritans were against many things, booze was not actually one of them.“I say Reverend,” the short Pilgrim commented to William Brewster, as they stood side by side near the entrance of a house and watched Americana’s continuing show. “Everyone has eaten their full, except for the harem girl. It seems rather unsuited to a great Thanksgiving like this to leave one, even a harlot and serial adulteress such as she, unsated.”“True,” the Reverend said. “But the food has already been cleared. What is there for her to eat?”“There is, one set of sausages that have not been touched,” the tall Pilgrim said, finally dropping what they were angling for. “I know that putting them where the Indians are putting theirs is a sin, but what about her mouth. Does that, you know, count?”“Hmm,” the Reverend Brewster said. “Normally I would say yes. However, this is a special festive day, and she was clearly sent by Providence itself to perform exactly this, function, so perhaps, just once.” As he saw the brightening expressions on the two Pilgrims’ faces, he shook his head, and raised a chiding finger. “However, for the sake of the harmony of our settlement,” he added, “it is not just God who must be consulted.”As it happened, the Reverend’s own wife was at that moment emerging from the house behind them, carrying two freshly-baked pies. The Reverend’s sons, Truelove Brewster and Wrestling Brewster, trailed behind her, carrying another pie each.“What say you, Mary?” the Reverend asked her, knowing full well her sharp ears would have overheard everything.“Hmm,” Mary Brewster said. She glanced at the other Pilgrim wives scattered about the festival, of which there were not many. Between the composition of the original complement of settlers and the terrible toll of deaths that had occurred over the previous winter, there were now a great deal more men than women in the colony. The few other wives looked at her, significantly, saying nothing but their expressions communicating much. Nodding with understanding, Mary turned back to her husband.“I know that men build up a great deal of, pressure, if they are not given release,” she said. “So, I would say it is fine if the unmarried or widowed men sate themselves while sating the whore. It might reduce, future problems. But the married men will be sated by their wives, or else!” She lifted up a finger and glared.“Of course,” Reverend Brewster said. He could not quite keep the disappointment out of his voice that he would not be among those allowed to partake.But before he could give general approval for the new plan, Mary caught one of the other wives widening her eyes to get her attention. The silent wife nodded a couple times, significantly, towards Americana’s moaning lips, and then looked at Mary meaningfully. Mary nodded.“There is one other condition,” she added, hastily. “We good women of the colony have had to endure our husbands watching the whore get nailed, in silence. We have done so, for the future of our settlement. However, we must get compensated.” She looked at her husband, her eyes boring into him. “So after the unmarried men have fed her their main course, we will feed her dessert, of the pies we have long had prepared between our legs, but rarely if ever had eaten. Is this clear?”The two junior Pilgrims’ eyes widened, as if they had never imagined such a thing.“Good heavens!” the tall one said, fingers going to his own lips.“Is, is that permitted under Heaven’s law, Reverend?” the short one asked.“Uh,” Reverend Brewster said. He wracked his memory of the Good Book, trying to think of a clear passage one way or the other. “To be honest,” he said, “I’m not sure if the Good Lord considers that sex, or not,”“Then there should be no problem, should there?” Mary asked testily.“I guess not,” he said, deciding to err on the side of marital harmony over strict doctrine for once. God’s forgiveness, after all, was infinite. His wife’s, on the other hand,Of course, before the natives ‘peace offering’ could be used in this manner, clearance first had to be gotten from Massasoit. But the Great Sachem, in a very relaxed state having thoroughly drained his own scrotum over the course of five separate sessions within Miss Americana, was in a magnanimous mood, and with a simple nod of his bronzed head and wave of his hand signaled his approval.So it was that as the pies got laid out, cut, and consumption began eagerly, one by one Pilgrim men began to ascend the table. As with the Indians, they went in strict order of rank, and, his own wife Rose being one of the casualties of the previous winter, this meant that Myles Standish was first in line.“Open wide, and say your grace,” he advised her, as having preemptively removed his pants, he came in for a landing on her moaning tongue.Miss Americana whimpered loudly as his cock entered her mouth. Pure instinct took over almost immediately. Wrapping her lips tight around his respectable but, compared to some of the monsters that had been in her cunt that day, modestly-sized cock, she began to suck it enthusiastically.“Oh, yes!” Myles said. He lifted his eyes heavenward, as she slurped and slurped upon him. “T-truly, this wench was sent by the Lord!” he said, before erupting down her throat and giving her, her first load of cum to swallow.It would, of course, not be the last. As the lesser Pilgrims had pointed out, while everyone else had had their fill, at this First Thanksgiving Americana had had none. Now, they made up for that. One after another, unmarried Pilgrim men climbed up and, sometimes still eating pieces of pie as they did so, inserted their fresh sausages down between her lips. Americana moaned, and blushed, and sucked each one as vigorously and worshipfully as she could, as if they were truly her gifts from God. One warm protein shake after another poured down her throat, finally filling up her until-now-empty belly, and each and every one she gulped down with a vigor equal to the holiday. Then after each one finished she opened wide and, extending out her tongue, began putting preparatory licks upon the next incoming cock that inevitably replaced the last one in the never-ending cornucopia of cock she was being served.In the meantime, watching all this, and knowing that based on Mary Brewster’s pronouncement they would not get their own full Thanksgiving repast any other way, one by one the married Pilgrim men snuck away from the party with their now equally enthused and eager wives, into the bushes or the backs of the more remote houses, to do what married couples do. Although, given the inspirations provided by Americana’s marathon performance, they generally put a little more effort and creativity into it than they typically had. One by one, flush-faced and hand-in-hand they returned to the center of the festival, in a few cases with the seeds of another few thousand modern descendants quietly germinating under the Pilgrim women's’ hastily re-lowered skirts.So it was that, when the Pilgrim men and the natives alike had finally sated themselves, well after the dessert course and into the after-meal drinking and general turkey-clobbered lethargy, Americana got her final surprise. With the coast finally clear, the Pilgrim wives climbed up one by one and got the 'compensation’ that Mary Brewster had negotiated for them. As they lifted their skirts and lowered their unkempt bushes down towards the invading harlot’s open gasping lips, Americana moaned to discover, one after another, that there was a pie of fresh cream waiting for her under each and every skirt, to accompany the gutted pumpkin and other pies lying spent all around her.But she didn’t have much choice. Digging her tongue up between the wives’ outer lips, she did her best to show them how it was done.“Oh!” one Pilgrim woman after another sighed, heads rolling and shivering, as they discovered at the tip of the 'harem girl’s’ practiced tongue a pleasure their husbands had rarely, if ever, managed to provide them. Americana was not by nature a cunt-eater, but she had been put into that position often enough by triumphant villainesses to know her way around. She stroked the inner lips, teased the hood, and then finally went after the excited clit with vigor. And as she did so, streamers and tendrils of married Pilgrim cum poured out into her own mouth, which, like all the others before her, she periodically paused to gulp down hungrily before resuming her probing services.Finally, the last dish of all, the one between the legs of Mary Brewster herself, was served to her. As she stroked and stroked between Mary’s labia, and felt the Reverend’s hallowed semen wash down her tongue, Americana heard her ear-ring microphone crackle.“Just so you know, Miss Americana,” she heard Flag Girl’s voice say, excitedly, “the semen you are currently eating will give rise to at least one Nobel Prize recipient, several Oscar-winning actresses and actors, one Supreme Court Justice, several Governors and Senators, a bunch of highly decorated Admirals in the U.S. Navy, and one President.” The events she was getting to witness through the professor’s Time Viewer were inspiring an interest in history the airheaded sidekick had never felt before, and she was eagerly scrolling through the lists of descendants of the various people her mentor was getting fucked by. “Isn’t that cool?!” Americana heard her squeal.Americana whimpered. “Wonderful,” she managed to moan into Mary Brewster’s cunt, and with a lap of her tongue, sent more thrillingly historically-significant semen running down her throat.At last even the Pilgrim women had had their fill of serving up themselves, and receiving the novel pleasures of the harem girl’s tongue in return. With Pilgrim and native alike now full and tired, they all started to decamp. The Pilgrims wandered back into their homes. The native leaders had had a few dwellings set aside for them, and the rest would make camp just outside the settlement.As the throng began to disperse, Governor Bradford, Squanto, and Massasoit stood side-by-side, surveying what was left of the Pilgrims’ 'peace offering’.Americana lay sprawled upon the Thanksgiving table, as utterly and thoroughly consumed as any of the empty dishes all around her. She was not unconscious, but her blue eyes stared glassily up at the sky and didn’t seem to see anything. She still had her belt, no one knowing to try to take it off of her, but despite that no muscle of her mighty curvy body seemed capable of movement, save for the slow rise and fall of her huge breasts as she breathed. Rivers of cum seemed to pour out of her cunt, spilling down in waterfalls between the planks of the table to form a vast growing lake underneath it.“Shall we clean this mess up?” Governor Bradford asked, nodding towards Miss Americana.Without waiting for his interpreter, Massasoit shook his head. “No need,” he said.“It can wait until morning,” Squanto assured him, smirking at the sight of the sprawled fucked-out white harlot. “Everyone is very tired and content.”“Especially her!” Massasoit said, and tilting his head back let out a booming laugh.“Should we post a guard on her then?” Governor Bradford asked.Massasoit again shook his head.“The Sachem’s warriors watch well all the approaches through the woods,” Squanto advised. “No enemy tribe will enter here to take her. As for her, look at her. Do you think she can even walk at this point, let alone outrun the finest hunters of the Wampanoag people?”“Good point,” Governor Bradford admitted. “So, in that case, I have a small stash of brandy left. Shall we share some?”At this Massasoit tilted his head back and laughed vigorously. “Now this, is a good idea!” he said.With that the two natives and the Pilgrim turned and proceeded to the Governor’s house, to continue their conversation.Americana was left alone, lying spent on the First Thanksgiving table. Soon all around her was quiet, save for the distant sound of a couple married Pilgrims getting in a second round. Panting, she stared at the stars, still in shock. Occasionally her gloved fingers twitched, down beside her wide and absurdly well-filled hips. Other than that, huge buns sq

Miss Americana goes to the First Thanksgiving: Part 2A heroine goes back in time to a sticky-fingered situation.By Mark V Sharp, in 2 parts. Listen to the ► Podcast at Steamy Stories.“In her, shoot fast,” Principal Chief Massasoit directed, using what words he knew so that he would not surprise or confuse his strange hosts, “I want in her, my first use to take.”“First use?!” Miss Americana managed to whimper, in horror, in between the moans and yelps Squanto’s big thrusting cock was forcing out of her. But she didn’t have long to contemplate that.“That is no problem at all, my lord!” Squanto replied. Relaxing himself he thrust his enormous hardened cock deep into Miss Americana and, with a groan of ecstasy, unleashed his potent Pawtuxet seed upon her defenseless womb.“Oh, Great Justice!” Americana groaned, her eyes rolling up in her head, as she felt the pulsing of his great cock inside her, and knew it meant that his sperm was flooding into her.He pulled out and then stepped aside, his long cock dripping.“I have lubricated her for you, my Sachem,” he said, gesturing towards Americana’s cunt, which, gaping slightly wider than before, was also already releasing a long tendril of his semen to dangle down between her thighs.“Very good!” Massasoit said. He stepped forward and took up his own position behind her. Reaching out he stroked her toned bubble-ass, and shook his head. “This,” he said, squeezing Americana’s bulging silky cheeks, “is a very rich gift, indeed!”With that he pushed himself up against her leaking cunt, and also entered her.“Oh, my God,” Miss Americana whimpered, as she too discovered Squanto was not to be a unique case. Her entire body shivered, as the great chief’s enormous copper-colored cock sank deep up inside her helplessly quivering cunt.“That’s a sin!” one of the Pilgrims sitting near her chided, and continued eagerly to watch.At the sight that their chief had accepted the gift and that peace had been restored, the waiting column of Wampanoag warriors let out a great whoop of glee. Then, hoisting their burdens, they marched into the Plymouth settlement. The Pilgrims greeted them warmly, food was handed out, the Pilgrims contributing their meager stocks of beer and bread to the natives’ largesse. Soon the great feast was in progress, with Wampanoag and Pilgrim dining and chatting together, sampling the first dishes as the Pilgrim women and their daughters and servants worked to prepare the main courses.And through it all, bent over at one end of the great table at which the First Thanksgiving was being laid, Miss Americana continued to get nailed. Massasoit’s great cock, in his eagerness, lasted only slightly longer than Squanto had. But there was plenty more where that had come from. He was followed by Samoset, the Sagamore of the Abanaki tribe, who kept closer tabs on the strange new colonists while the Sachem was busy with other matters. After Samoset, the Sachem’s honor guard took their turns; and after they had finished, every warrior in the entire column came up one by one and also partook in Miss Americana’s flesh.The Pilgrims, with their Godly morals, piously abstained, but this did not stop the Pilgrim men’s faces from showing deep jealousy, that their native guests got to enjoy two great helpings of Thanks-giving bounty instead of just one.In between their own turns upon Miss Americana’s body, Massasoit, Squanto, and Samoset took their own seats at the table of the Elders, and with it, a privileged view of the action up between Americana’s muscular shivering thighs, as the pale-skinned beauty got nailed by one long uncut native cock after another after another. Between her spread thighs they could also see her enormous breasts hanging down low and swaying wildly over the table as she squealed and squirmed under her furious and unchecked invasions, as if her enormous milk-filled udders were blessing the heavily-laden table with their own generous bounty.“Does this disturb you, Pilgrim?” one native who had also picked up some English asked. Sitting down after his own turn inside her he found an open seat before Americana’s enormous swaying udders, smoking a post-coital pipe. “I thought your God does not approve of this sort of thing.”The Pilgrim shook his head. “Nah,” he said. “God makes everyone for a purpose. I think it’s pretty clear what he made this one for.”Then, leaning forward, the Pilgrim seized one of Americana’s giant breasts and held his glass up under it. He squeezed, discharging a rich squirt of milk from the heroine’s hanging fruits into his cup. He took the cup back, threw it back, and then licked some of the delicious white super-milk off his lips.“Well, that and this!” he said, as he held the glass up.Seeing yet another way in which the mysterious woman could be used in a celebration of plenty, other Pilgrims soon came forward to also eagerly sample the fuck-quivering cow’s produce. Americana, too busy squealing as she got nailed by one big native cock after another, could do nothing to resist as her big breasts were squeezed and squeezed until finally even those bottomless udders were drained dry.Eventually, the entire feast had been consumed and everyone was full and sated. Even Americana’s belt-boosted strength eventually failed her, and after eighty or so consecutive fucks up against the table her knees finally buckled and she sank down, a quivering wreck. She had taken so much cum inside her that rivers seemed to flow down her thighs, and a huge puddle had formed, which her knees landed in with twin pearly splashes like comets entering an ocean of gooey white fluid.But though she was spent, she had not even begun to exhaust the collective vigor of the Wampanoag delegation. Flipping her over, the warriors positioned her on her back at the edge of the First Thanksgiving table, which, the feast having been largely consumed, was now otherwise covered in a great mass of empty used bowls, plates, and tableware. Then, having positioned her, they continued nailing her almost-limp body face-to-face upon the table, as, around them, the dessert course finally began to be served.The tight order of the early stages of the feast had by now broken down, and Elder and commoner, Indian and Pilgrim were now all mixing freely. Copious quantities of beer had also flowed along with the food, and everyone was now quite contentedly drunk, as while the Puritans were against many things, booze was not actually one of them.“I say Reverend,” the short Pilgrim commented to William Brewster, as they stood side by side near the entrance of a house and watched Americana’s continuing show. “Everyone has eaten their full, except for the harem girl. It seems rather unsuited to a great Thanksgiving like this to leave one, even a harlot and serial adulteress such as she, unsated.”“True,” the Reverend said. “But the food has already been cleared. What is there for her to eat?”“There is, one set of sausages that have not been touched,” the tall Pilgrim said, finally dropping what they were angling for. “I know that putting them where the Indians are putting theirs is a sin, but what about her mouth. Does that, you know, count?”“Hmm,” the Reverend Brewster said. “Normally I would say yes. However, this is a special festive day, and she was clearly sent by Providence itself to perform exactly this, function, so perhaps, just once.” As he saw the brightening expressions on the two Pilgrims’ faces, he shook his head, and raised a chiding finger. “However, for the sake of the harmony of our settlement,” he added, “it is not just God who must be consulted.”As it happened, the Reverend’s own wife was at that moment emerging from the house behind them, carrying two freshly-baked pies. The Reverend’s sons, Truelove Brewster and Wrestling Brewster, trailed behind her, carrying another pie each.“What say you, Mary?” the Reverend asked her, knowing full well her sharp ears would have overheard everything.“Hmm,” Mary Brewster said. She glanced at the other Pilgrim wives scattered about the festival, of which there were not many. Between the composition of the original complement of settlers and the terrible toll of deaths that had occurred over the previous winter, there were now a great deal more men than women in the colony. The few other wives looked at her, significantly, saying nothing but their expressions communicating much. Nodding with understanding, Mary turned back to her husband.“I know that men build up a great deal of, pressure, if they are not given release,” she said. “So, I would say it is fine if the unmarried or widowed men sate themselves while sating the whore. It might reduce, future problems. But the married men will be sated by their wives, or else!” She lifted up a finger and glared.“Of course,” Reverend Brewster said. He could not quite keep the disappointment out of his voice that he would not be among those allowed to partake.But before he could give general approval for the new plan, Mary caught one of the other wives widening her eyes to get her attention. The silent wife nodded a couple times, significantly, towards Americana’s moaning lips, and then looked at Mary meaningfully. Mary nodded.“There is one other condition,” she added, hastily. “We good women of the colony have had to endure our husbands watching the whore get nailed, in silence. We have done so, for the future of our settlement. However, we must get compensated.” She looked at her husband, her eyes boring into him. “So after the unmarried men have fed her their main course, we will feed her dessert, of the pies we have long had prepared between our legs, but rarely if ever had eaten. Is this clear?”The two junior Pilgrims’ eyes widened, as if they had never imagined such a thing.“Good heavens!” the tall one said, fingers going to his own lips.“Is, is that permitted under Heaven’s law, Reverend?” the short one asked.“Uh,” Reverend Brewster said. He wracked his memory of the Good Book, trying to think of a clear passage one way or the other. “To be honest,” he said, “I’m not sure if the Good Lord considers that sex, or not,”“Then there should be no problem, should there?” Mary asked testily.“I guess not,” he said, deciding to err on the side of marital harmony over strict doctrine for once. God’s forgiveness, after all, was infinite. His wife’s, on the other hand,Of course, before the natives ‘peace offering’ could be used in this manner, clearance first had to be gotten from Massasoit. But the Great Sachem, in a very relaxed state having thoroughly drained his own scrotum over the course of five separate sessions within Miss Americana, was in a magnanimous mood, and with a simple nod of his bronzed head and wave of his hand signaled his approval.So it was that as the pies got laid out, cut, and consumption began eagerly, one by one Pilgrim men began to ascend the table. As with the Indians, they went in strict order of rank, and, his own wife Rose being one of the casualties of the previous winter, this meant that Myles Standish was first in line.“Open wide, and say your grace,” he advised her, as having preemptively removed his pants, he came in for a landing on her moaning tongue.Miss Americana whimpered loudly as his cock entered her mouth. Pure instinct took over almost immediately. Wrapping her lips tight around his respectable but, compared to some of the monsters that had been in her cunt that day, modestly-sized cock, she began to suck it enthusiastically.“Oh, yes!” Myles said. He lifted his eyes heavenward, as she slurped and slurped upon him. “T-truly, this wench was sent by the Lord!” he said, before erupting down her throat and giving her, her first load of cum to swallow.It would, of course, not be the last. As the lesser Pilgrims had pointed out, while everyone else had had their fill, at this First Thanksgiving Americana had had none. Now, they made up for that. One after another, unmarried Pilgrim men climbed up and, sometimes still eating pieces of pie as they did so, inserted their fresh sausages down between her lips. Americana moaned, and blushed, and sucked each one as vigorously and worshipfully as she could, as if they were truly her gifts from God. One warm protein shake after another poured down her throat, finally filling up her until-now-empty belly, and each and every one she gulped down with a vigor equal to the holiday. Then after each one finished she opened wide and, extending out her tongue, began putting preparatory licks upon the next incoming cock that inevitably replaced the last one in the never-ending cornucopia of cock she was being served.In the meantime, watching all this, and knowing that based on Mary Brewster’s pronouncement they would not get their own full Thanksgiving repast any other way, one by one the married Pilgrim men snuck away from the party with their now equally enthused and eager wives, into the bushes or the backs of the more remote houses, to do what married couples do. Although, given the inspirations provided by Americana’s marathon performance, they generally put a little more effort and creativity into it than they typically had. One by one, flush-faced and hand-in-hand they returned to the center of the festival, in a few cases with the seeds of another few thousand modern descendants quietly germinating under the Pilgrim women's’ hastily re-lowered skirts.So it was that, when the Pilgrim men and the natives alike had finally sated themselves, well after the dessert course and into the after-meal drinking and general turkey-clobbered lethargy, Americana got her final surprise. With the coast finally clear, the Pilgrim wives climbed up one by one and got the 'compensation’ that Mary Brewster had negotiated for them. As they lifted their skirts and lowered their unkempt bushes down towards the invading harlot’s open gasping lips, Americana moaned to discover, one after another, that there was a pie of fresh cream waiting for her under each and every skirt, to accompany the gutted pumpkin and other pies lying spent all around her.But she didn’t have much choice. Digging her tongue up between the wives’ outer lips, she did her best to show them how it was done.“Oh!” one Pilgrim woman after another sighed, heads rolling and shivering, as they discovered at the tip of the 'harem girl’s’ practiced tongue a pleasure their husbands had rarely, if ever, managed to provide them. Americana was not by nature a cunt-eater, but she had been put into that position often enough by triumphant villainesses to know her way around. She stroked the inner lips, teased the hood, and then finally went after the excited clit with vigor. And as she did so, streamers and tendrils of married Pilgrim cum poured out into her own mouth, which, like all the others before her, she periodically paused to gulp down hungrily before resuming her probing services.Finally, the last dish of all, the one between the legs of Mary Brewster herself, was served to her. As she stroked and stroked between Mary’s labia, and felt the Reverend’s hallowed semen wash down her tongue, Americana heard her ear-ring microphone crackle.“Just so you know, Miss Americana,” she heard Flag Girl’s voice say, excitedly, “the semen you are currently eating will give rise to at least one Nobel Prize recipient, several Oscar-winning actresses and actors, one Supreme Court Justice, several Governors and Senators, a bunch of highly decorated Admirals in the U.S. Navy, and one President.” The events she was getting to witness through the professor’s Time Viewer were inspiring an interest in history the airheaded sidekick had never felt before, and she was eagerly scrolling through the lists of descendants of the various people her mentor was getting fucked by. “Isn’t that cool?!” Americana heard her squeal.Americana whimpered. “Wonderful,” she managed to moan into Mary Brewster’s cunt, and with a lap of her tongue, sent more thrillingly historically-significant semen running down her throat.At last even the Pilgrim women had had their fill of serving up themselves, and receiving the novel pleasures of the harem girl’s tongue in return. With Pilgrim and native alike now full and tired, they all started to decamp. The Pilgrims wandered back into their homes. The native leaders had had a few dwellings set aside for them, and the rest would make camp just outside the settlement.As the throng began to disperse, Governor Bradford, Squanto, and Massasoit stood side-by-side, surveying what was left of the Pilgrims’ 'peace offering’.Americana lay sprawled upon the Thanksgiving table, as utterly and thoroughly consumed as any of the empty dishes all around her. She was not unconscious, but her blue eyes stared glassily up at the sky and didn’t seem to see anything. She still had her belt, no one knowing to try to take it off of her, but despite that no muscle of her mighty curvy body seemed capable of movement, save for the slow rise and fall of her huge breasts as she breathed. Rivers of cum seemed to pour out of her cunt, spilling down in waterfalls between the planks of the table to form a vast growing lake underneath it.“Shall we clean this mess up?” Governor Bradford asked, nodding towards Miss Americana.Without waiting for his interpreter, Massasoit shook his head. “No need,” he said.“It can wait until morning,” Squanto assured him, smirking at the sight of the sprawled fucked-out white harlot. “Everyone is very tired and content.”“Especially her!” Massasoit said, and tilting his head back let out a booming laugh.“Should we post a guard on her then?” Governor Bradford asked.Massasoit again shook his head.“The Sachem’s warriors watch well all the approaches through the woods,” Squanto advised. “No enemy tribe will enter here to take her. As for her, look at her. Do you think she can even walk at this point, let alone outrun the finest hunters of the Wampanoag people?”“Good point,” Governor Bradford admitted. “So, in that case, I have a small stash of brandy left. Shall we share some?”At this Massasoit tilted his head back and laughed vigorously. “Now this, is a good idea!” he said.With that the two natives and the Pilgrim turned and proceeded to the Governor’s house, to continue their conversation.Americana was left alone, lying spent on the First Thanksgiving table. Soon all around her was quiet, save for the distant sound of a couple married Pilgrims getting in a second round. Panting, she stared at the stars, still in shock. Occasionally her gloved fingers twitched, down beside her wide and absurdly well-filled hips. Other than that, huge buns sq

A heroine goes back in time to a sticky-fingered situation.By Mark V Sharp, in 2 parts. Listen to the ► Podcast at Steamy Stories.The current reigning Miss Americana is a college student who forces Professor Whirter to send her back to the First Thanksgiving; so she can help Flag Girl with a history assignment. She gets led before the elders of the colony, only for a distraught messenger to run in reporting that the Wampanoag party carrying the majority of the food has turned back. Having spotted Miss Americana, they have concluded the colony cannot be so hard up for food as they claim if it contains one as well-endowed as she is.In order to restore history, Miss Americana presents herself as a peace offering to restore Massasoit’s favor. She ends up being a feature of the event; from her place at the end of the long Thanksgiving table. For the entire duration of the famous feast, a seemingly endless succession of Wampanoag warriors indulge in her charms.Finally, after everyone has had their fill, she is left a sprawled devastated wreck upon the gutted feasting table. Alone at last, she gets warped safely back to the present, only to discover that her misadventure will have lasting and historic consequences for the interior of her womb.Miss Americana goes to the First Thanksgiving“Flag Girl has a school project due, Dr. Whirter,” Miss Americana said. “She’s flunking, so we need a guaranteed A. So I want you to send me back in time. If we can learn the true history of the First Thanksgiving, then with the report I’ll help her write there’s no way she can fail.”Professor Whirter shook his head. “Miss Americana!” he gasped. “The time machine is not a toy! You cannot use it for such purposes!”The mighty superheroine stood before him in his lab. She was resplendent in her defiant costume, which consisted chiefly of a patriotic American Flag bikini. A golden belt, the source of her powers, lay cinched tight about her buxom hips, emblazoned with a bright red A upon its buckle, at the center of her broad flat belly. She wore a star-spangled mask upon her face to protect her secret identity, with a matching A on her forehead. Two red gloves with blue A’s on the backs of her hands, and gleaming red boots, completed her ensemble.Her sidekick Flag Girl stood by her side, in a very similar but less ostentatious version of the same costume, and at least had the decency to blush. Behind Americana’s sculpted ass, the platform of the Professor’s newly-built time machine waited.Miss Americana’s expression darkened behind her mask. She was a proud woman and not used to being denied. “Professor,” she growled, “my, I mean, my good friend Brenda Wade’s money pays for this place. Do you really want me to put in a word with her about how, diligently, you use your funding?”The Professor’s blood ran cold, and he caved immediately. “Alright, alright,” he said, bowing his head. Obediently, he went to the control panel, and started twisting dials. Flag Girl followed, watching curiously over his shoulder. Smiling smugly at her easy victory, Miss Americana walked up onto the round steel platform of the time machine.“Ready?” Professor Whirter asked, as the machine started to hum.“Ready!” Miss Americana announced, proudly. A crackle of energy sounded, and a glow of light enveloped her. When it faded, she was gone.The wind stirred the woods near the Plymouth colony. It was autumn, and the leaves were red and orange and brown. There was a crackle of energy and a flash of light, and Miss Americana appeared. Sauntering up to the edge of the tree-line, she pulled down a branch and smirked.Before her, across a large tilled field covered in the remains of harvested wheat, lay a hill. Atop the hill she saw a cluster of rough-hewn houses overlooking a rocky harbor. A second adjacent hill nearby held a simple earthwork with a few cannon emplaced upon it.“Perfect,” she cooed.There came a rustling in the brush behind her. Two men emerged, one tall and one short. They wore black woolen clothing and broad-brimmed black hats. Each brandished a long flintlock musket.“Told you I heard a noise,” the tall Pilgrim said to the short one.“Heaven defend us!” the short Pilgrim said, eyes going wide, as he saw what had caused it.The two Pilgrims gaped in disbelief for several seconds at the stacked scantily-clad beauty that stood before them.“Hello,” Miss Americana said. She started to move towards them.But at that instant, the short Pilgrim snapped his musket up and pointed it at her. “Stay back, witch!” he said.His companion seemed less sure. “Are you sure she’s a witch?” he asked.“She’s a strange woman hanging out in the woods, what else could she be?” the short one asked.“Hmm,” the tall one said. He looked Americana up and down again. “Well, she has certainly cast a spell on my phallus so,”He suddenly snapped his musket up, and cocked back the flint. “Get on your knees and put your hands up, witch!” he said. “No speaking hexes, either!”Miss Americana sighed, and shook her head, as she looked down the barrels of the two Pilgrims’ long guns. Given the protections of her belt, she had absolutely nothing to fear from bullets. “You boys are making a big mistake,” she cooed at them, as she cracked her knuckles and prepared to use her superhuman might to subdue them. “Fortunately I can correct it,”But suddenly, a noise crackled in the earpiece of the communication system embedded in her earrings and choker.“Miss Americana!” Professor Whirter’s voice said, rising and falling from time distortion as he spoke to her from the viewing panel of his time machine. “You cannot harm anyone in this period!” he said. “Given their lack of medical care and poor nutrition, one punch could be deadly. And each of these men may have tens of thousands of descendants in our modern time, one of which just might be you! If you lay a finger upon them you might well erase yourself from history!”“Oh,” Miss Americana gulped. “Right,”She looked back and forth between the two men and their guns. She swallowed, but realized she truly had no choice. Getting summoned back immediately, in front of the two witnesses, could hardly disturb the time line much less.“On second thought,” she said, “I surrender.”She went down onto her knees before them, and put her hands up.The taller Pilgrim kept his gun on her, while the shorter Pilgrim came forward. He had a set of iron manacles he had brought on his patrol, in case they should happen upon a hostile person spying on the colony and have a chance to take him prisoner. While his partner covered him, he dragged Americana’s hands behind her curvy back and manacled them above her ass, having great difficulty keeping his eyes off the panty-swelling contours of her posterior as he did so. Then he put an iron collar on her, to which was attached a length of chain.“There,” he said, backing up. “The cold iron should keep the witch from casting any hexes upon us.”“If you say so,” Miss Americana said, standing back up. Due to her superior nutrition and super-human genetics, she stood a head taller than even the taller of them. The shorter Pilgrim’s head was level with her enormous breasts, a fact that despite his literally puritanical nature he seemed to find immensely affecting. “Now, please take me to your leaders so that I may work this misunderstanding out.”Eyeing her up and down, the taller one turned to his partner. “Let’s take her to the Elders,” he said. “Between them, the Reverend, the Governor, and Captain Standish will know what to do with her.”Miss Americana rolled her eyes. “That’s what I said, you oafs!” she said, the chains clanking as she shifted her bikini-clad body impatiently.Leading her by her new chain, the two Pilgrims marched Miss Americana out of the woods and up the hill towards the colony. As she approached, Miss Americana saw that a long table had been set up in the middle of the ring of houses. Although there were seats for over a hundred, only about forty men sat at it, and despite what should have been the impending festivities they looked nervous and emaciated. A short distance away upon the hill she noticed a chillingly extensive grave-yard, with nearly as many shallow and hastily-dug graves as she saw living people in the colony.A little ways away from the main table, a second table had been set up for the Elders of the community, though here too there were several empty seats. They sat only on one side, facing towards the rest of the community. Miss Americana was brought to stand before the Elders, while the rest of the male colonists gaped at her in disbelief from where they sat. Several women and children rushed out to the doors and windows of the houses where they were working preparing the day’s large meal and also stared in wonder at the strange woman being led through their midst, although their faces twisted in jealousy when they saw how their men were gaping at her.As she was marched forth, Miss Americana wracked her brain desperately, for once, for a non-violent solution to her problems. ‘Who would wear a bikini during this time period?’ she thought to herself. Then suddenly, with a gasp, she got an idea.“We caught this strangely-attired and exotically-shaped one snooping about in the north-west forest,” the tall pilgrim said.“We think she’s a witch,” the short one said. “Shall we put her under some rocks and crush her to find out?”Stepping forward dramatically, Miss Americana lifted her head high and addressed the elders of the colony directly.“I am not a witch!” she boldly declared. “I am an Englishwoman, like you! But I was captured by the Turks and kept in their harem. I escaped from the sultan’s palace, but was blown by a storm all the way to this shore!”'That ought to fool these simpletons,’ she thought to herself smugly, as she watched them process this.Before her, at the center of the table, the leading men of the colony sat, pondering her response. She vaguely recognized them, from their historical portraits: William Brewster, the chief spiritual leader of the colony; Myles Standish, the captain of the colonial militia; and William Bradford, the colony’s current Governor. They each stroked their beards, considering her.“Hmm,” Captain Standish said. “If what you say is true, and you are no witch, then you should be prepared to prove it so,” he said.“Prove it? And how should I do that?” Miss Americana asked, indignantly.“If you were a harem girl,” Captain Standish said, “then you know how to dance like one. So, show us.” He turned his head to the man next to him. “Do you permit this Reverend?” he asked.Beside him, Reverend Brewster shifted uncomfortably, as he allowed his holy gaze to sweep up and down Americana’s flesh. But then he nodded. “If it is necessary to prove whether she is in league with the Devil, then, as God wills it,” he said.Americana gasped. “H-how can you ask me that?” she said.Governor Bradford looked at the other two, then back to her, and smirked. “The Captain has given his orders and the Reverend has given his permission,” he told her. “So if your story is true then prove it.” He nodded up to the large table. “You can do it on there, if you would be so kind.”Miss Americana gasped. But then she lifted her head and nodded, haughtily.“Very well,” she said. She held up her wrists behind her back, the manacles clanking on them. “But I cannot dance in these!” she said.At a quickly-supplied nod from Captain Standish in his role as commander of the militia, the short pilgrim approached and unlocked Americana’s manacles. But they left the collar on her. Her chain still held at the far end by the tall pilgrim like a long leash, Miss Americana turned and, with as much grace and dignity as she could muster, marched up to the long table and ascended to stand atop it. Around her the common Pilgrims, male and female alike, gaped up in awe as she came to tower against the sky above them.Standing tall before the whole colony, Miss Americana lifted up her arms, and arched her body gracefully. “Prepare to see my skill, and know I speak the truth!” she said.And with that, she began to dance.“H-holy shit,” one Pilgrim gasped, gaping upwards in awe.“That’s blasphemy,” a second beside him murmured. “Also, god fucking damn,” he added, staring up as well.None of them had ever seen anything like it. Miss Americana did her best to imitate how she had seen strippers or slutty girls in night clubs dance, whenever she had ventured into those places as part of her crime-fighting duties. Lifting her arms up she shook her enormous cans in broad circles, making them slosh and bounce dramatically within the confines of her gargantuan yet overloaded bra. Going down low, she bounced her ass just above the table, while presenting an excellent view of her panty-clad crotch between her wide-spread thighs. Twirling about, she shook and shimmied her ass for them, showing off the grace and flexibility of her muscular legs at the same time she shook the contours of her enormous bubble-ass.Midway through her performance, there came a loud crackling, then a pilgrim suddenly came up holding a large wooden bowl.“Verily, my friends,” he said, “I was so distracted by the witch’s performance, I dropped the last of that 'maize’ stuff into the fire and, look what happened!”His large bowl was filled to the brim with popcorn. Passing it around, the Pilgrims munched eagerly as they watched Miss Americana, having become lost in her own perfectionism, continue to dance and dance seductively before them.A little later, munching a little popcorn of his own, Myles Standish leaned over and put his lips near Reverend Brewster’s ear.“Did the Lord really condone this, William?” he asked, chuckling softly.Reverend Brewster shook his head. “After so many deaths the colony certainly needed a boost of morale,” he said. “Clearly God sent us one. Also, shut up.” Taking some of Captain Standish’s popcorn, he munched on it as well as he watched Miss Americana, bent low at the waist, shake and shimmy her enormous breasts in such a way that he could like right down the tremendous cleavage between them.Suddenly, a distraught sentry came running into the midst of the colony, stopping only briefly, to gape at what he had been missing in wonder.“Governor Bradford, Governor Bradford!” he moaned, his eyes still darting over repeatedly to take in the dancing Queen of Justice in awe. “The Indians! They are not coming! They are turning back, and taking their food with them!”At this a great groan rose from the Pilgrims, even as they continued to stare at Miss Americana’s wiggling and grinding bubble-ass.“What?!” Governor Bradford gasped. “But our stores are almost depleted! Without that food, we’ll starve! Why have they turned back?!”The sentry nodded up to Miss Americana.“When the Sachem’s party came out of the woods, they saw the huge teats and fat ass on that one,” he said. “The Sachem said that if we had a woman of such bountiful proportions, we surely could not be starving, and had deceived him as to our lack of food,”At this, Miss Americana stopped dancing and gasped down in shock.“My ass is not fat!” she hissed, her face quivering in fury behind her mask. Reaching back she slapped her gloved hand against her ass repeatedly, turning so every member of the community got to see, showing off that though it was awesomely projecting and generously curved, every inch of her enormous bubble-ass was in fact taut and silky muscle. “Two hours a day on a Stairmaster doesn’t lead to fat!” she hissed.Reverend Brewster turned to Captain Standish, their veteran soldier and military expert. “What’s a stair-masterer?” he asked. “Some sort of Turkish siege engine?”Myles shrugged, puzzled.“Never mind that!” Governor Bradford said. He stood up, getting the community’s attention off Miss Americana. “This is a disaster! We have to find some way to make amends. If Massasoit breaks the treaty and stops giving us supplies, we are done for!”“Hmm,” said Captain Standish. “What we need is some sort of tribute to appease him, a peace offering, if you will.”“But the whole point is we have no food!” Reverend Brewster pointed out. “What sort of peace offering could we give?”“We could give them our guns, or the cannon,” Governor Bradford said.“And surrender our only military leverage?” Captain Standish scoffed. “I would sooner dump them in the sea!”“The Indians are yet heathens,” Reverend Brewster pointed out. “They do not follow Christian virtues. So what sort of 'peace offering’ might they be interested in?”For a short time, the Pilgrims looked at one another. Then, slowly, all eyes turned up to look at Miss Americana, and stared at her spectacular and well-displayed body meaningfully.Miss Americana stared back for a few seconds, still perched imperiously upon their table. Then, as she realized what they were all thinking, her jaw dropped.“No,” she whispered. “No, no, No!” Reaching up she folded her hands over her giant breasts, which given the quantity of her flesh on display, did little to reduce the quality of the goods for them to consider when evaluating potential tributes. “How, how can you even consider that?!” she hissed. “Aren’t you Puritans?! A Godly people?!”Reverend Brewster shook his head.“We are,” he affirmed. “But, woman, even God must recognize a lost cause at some point. Verily, I see from your attire that you have already committed adultery no less than four times!”Lifting his hand, he pointed to various parts of Miss Americana’s body. Upon her tiara and upon her belt was emblazoned a bright red A. Her red gloves also each had a large blue A upon them.“I know well the meaning of the scarlet A’s,” Reverend Brewster said. “The azure ones I am not familiar with, perhaps they mean you only soiled your mouth or your posterior entrance? But regardless, woman, I am a man of God, but at some point surely one does have to ask, is even the Good Lord Himself going to give the tiniest of shits about just a few more?”Looking down, Miss Americana gasped as she stared at the bright red A upon her belt, and the blue ones

A heroine goes back in time to a sticky-fingered situation.By Mark V Sharp, in 2 parts. Listen to the ► Podcast at Steamy Stories.The current reigning Miss Americana is a college student who forces Professor Whirter to send her back to the First Thanksgiving; so she can help Flag Girl with a history assignment. She gets led before the elders of the colony, only for a distraught messenger to run in reporting that the Wampanoag party carrying the majority of the food has turned back. Having spotted Miss Americana, they have concluded the colony cannot be so hard up for food as they claim if it contains one as well-endowed as she is.In order to restore history, Miss Americana presents herself as a peace offering to restore Massasoit’s favor. She ends up being a feature of the event; from her place at the end of the long Thanksgiving table. For the entire duration of the famous feast, a seemingly endless succession of Wampanoag warriors indulge in her charms.Finally, after everyone has had their fill, she is left a sprawled devastated wreck upon the gutted feasting table. Alone at last, she gets warped safely back to the present, only to discover that her misadventure will have lasting and historic consequences for the interior of her womb.Miss Americana goes to the First Thanksgiving“Flag Girl has a school project due, Dr. Whirter,” Miss Americana said. “She’s flunking, so we need a guaranteed A. So I want you to send me back in time. If we can learn the true history of the First Thanksgiving, then with the report I’ll help her write there’s no way she can fail.”Professor Whirter shook his head. “Miss Americana!” he gasped. “The time machine is not a toy! You cannot use it for such purposes!”The mighty superheroine stood before him in his lab. She was resplendent in her defiant costume, which consisted chiefly of a patriotic American Flag bikini. A golden belt, the source of her powers, lay cinched tight about her buxom hips, emblazoned with a bright red A upon its buckle, at the center of her broad flat belly. She wore a star-spangled mask upon her face to protect her secret identity, with a matching A on her forehead. Two red gloves with blue A’s on the backs of her hands, and gleaming red boots, completed her ensemble.Her sidekick Flag Girl stood by her side, in a very similar but less ostentatious version of the same costume, and at least had the decency to blush. Behind Americana’s sculpted ass, the platform of the Professor’s newly-built time machine waited.Miss Americana’s expression darkened behind her mask. She was a proud woman and not used to being denied. “Professor,” she growled, “my, I mean, my good friend Brenda Wade’s money pays for this place. Do you really want me to put in a word with her about how, diligently, you use your funding?”The Professor’s blood ran cold, and he caved immediately. “Alright, alright,” he said, bowing his head. Obediently, he went to the control panel, and started twisting dials. Flag Girl followed, watching curiously over his shoulder. Smiling smugly at her easy victory, Miss Americana walked up onto the round steel platform of the time machine.“Ready?” Professor Whirter asked, as the machine started to hum.“Ready!” Miss Americana announced, proudly. A crackle of energy sounded, and a glow of light enveloped her. When it faded, she was gone.The wind stirred the woods near the Plymouth colony. It was autumn, and the leaves were red and orange and brown. There was a crackle of energy and a flash of light, and Miss Americana appeared. Sauntering up to the edge of the tree-line, she pulled down a branch and smirked.Before her, across a large tilled field covered in the remains of harvested wheat, lay a hill. Atop the hill she saw a cluster of rough-hewn houses overlooking a rocky harbor. A second adjacent hill nearby held a simple earthwork with a few cannon emplaced upon it.“Perfect,” she cooed.There came a rustling in the brush behind her. Two men emerged, one tall and one short. They wore black woolen clothing and broad-brimmed black hats. Each brandished a long flintlock musket.“Told you I heard a noise,” the tall Pilgrim said to the short one.“Heaven defend us!” the short Pilgrim said, eyes going wide, as he saw what had caused it.The two Pilgrims gaped in disbelief for several seconds at the stacked scantily-clad beauty that stood before them.“Hello,” Miss Americana said. She started to move towards them.But at that instant, the short Pilgrim snapped his musket up and pointed it at her. “Stay back, witch!” he said.His companion seemed less sure. “Are you sure she’s a witch?” he asked.“She’s a strange woman hanging out in the woods, what else could she be?” the short one asked.“Hmm,” the tall one said. He looked Americana up and down again. “Well, she has certainly cast a spell on my phallus so,”He suddenly snapped his musket up, and cocked back the flint. “Get on your knees and put your hands up, witch!” he said. “No speaking hexes, either!”Miss Americana sighed, and shook her head, as she looked down the barrels of the two Pilgrims’ long guns. Given the protections of her belt, she had absolutely nothing to fear from bullets. “You boys are making a big mistake,” she cooed at them, as she cracked her knuckles and prepared to use her superhuman might to subdue them. “Fortunately I can correct it,”But suddenly, a noise crackled in the earpiece of the communication system embedded in her earrings and choker.“Miss Americana!” Professor Whirter’s voice said, rising and falling from time distortion as he spoke to her from the viewing panel of his time machine. “You cannot harm anyone in this period!” he said. “Given their lack of medical care and poor nutrition, one punch could be deadly. And each of these men may have tens of thousands of descendants in our modern time, one of which just might be you! If you lay a finger upon them you might well erase yourself from history!”“Oh,” Miss Americana gulped. “Right,”She looked back and forth between the two men and their guns. She swallowed, but realized she truly had no choice. Getting summoned back immediately, in front of the two witnesses, could hardly disturb the time line much less.“On second thought,” she said, “I surrender.”She went down onto her knees before them, and put her hands up.The taller Pilgrim kept his gun on her, while the shorter Pilgrim came forward. He had a set of iron manacles he had brought on his patrol, in case they should happen upon a hostile person spying on the colony and have a chance to take him prisoner. While his partner covered him, he dragged Americana’s hands behind her curvy back and manacled them above her ass, having great difficulty keeping his eyes off the panty-swelling contours of her posterior as he did so. Then he put an iron collar on her, to which was attached a length of chain.“There,” he said, backing up. “The cold iron should keep the witch from casting any hexes upon us.”“If you say so,” Miss Americana said, standing back up. Due to her superior nutrition and super-human genetics, she stood a head taller than even the taller of them. The shorter Pilgrim’s head was level with her enormous breasts, a fact that despite his literally puritanical nature he seemed to find immensely affecting. “Now, please take me to your leaders so that I may work this misunderstanding out.”Eyeing her up and down, the taller one turned to his partner. “Let’s take her to the Elders,” he said. “Between them, the Reverend, the Governor, and Captain Standish will know what to do with her.”Miss Americana rolled her eyes. “That’s what I said, you oafs!” she said, the chains clanking as she shifted her bikini-clad body impatiently.Leading her by her new chain, the two Pilgrims marched Miss Americana out of the woods and up the hill towards the colony. As she approached, Miss Americana saw that a long table had been set up in the middle of the ring of houses. Although there were seats for over a hundred, only about forty men sat at it, and despite what should have been the impending festivities they looked nervous and emaciated. A short distance away upon the hill she noticed a chillingly extensive grave-yard, with nearly as many shallow and hastily-dug graves as she saw living people in the colony.A little ways away from the main table, a second table had been set up for the Elders of the community, though here too there were several empty seats. They sat only on one side, facing towards the rest of the community. Miss Americana was brought to stand before the Elders, while the rest of the male colonists gaped at her in disbelief from where they sat. Several women and children rushed out to the doors and windows of the houses where they were working preparing the day’s large meal and also stared in wonder at the strange woman being led through their midst, although their faces twisted in jealousy when they saw how their men were gaping at her.As she was marched forth, Miss Americana wracked her brain desperately, for once, for a non-violent solution to her problems. ‘Who would wear a bikini during this time period?’ she thought to herself. Then suddenly, with a gasp, she got an idea.“We caught this strangely-attired and exotically-shaped one snooping about in the north-west forest,” the tall pilgrim said.“We think she’s a witch,” the short one said. “Shall we put her under some rocks and crush her to find out?”Stepping forward dramatically, Miss Americana lifted her head high and addressed the elders of the colony directly.“I am not a witch!” she boldly declared. “I am an Englishwoman, like you! But I was captured by the Turks and kept in their harem. I escaped from the sultan’s palace, but was blown by a storm all the way to this shore!”'That ought to fool these simpletons,’ she thought to herself smugly, as she watched them process this.Before her, at the center of the table, the leading men of the colony sat, pondering her response. She vaguely recognized them, from their historical portraits: William Brewster, the chief spiritual leader of the colony; Myles Standish, the captain of the colonial militia; and William Bradford, the colony’s current Governor. They each stroked their beards, considering her.“Hmm,” Captain Standish said. “If what you say is true, and you are no witch, then you should be prepared to prove it so,” he said.“Prove it? And how should I do that?” Miss Americana asked, indignantly.“If you were a harem girl,” Captain Standish said, “then you know how to dance like one. So, show us.” He turned his head to the man next to him. “Do you permit this Reverend?” he asked.Beside him, Reverend Brewster shifted uncomfortably, as he allowed his holy gaze to sweep up and down Americana’s flesh. But then he nodded. “If it is necessary to prove whether she is in league with the Devil, then, as God wills it,” he said.Americana gasped. “H-how can you ask me that?” she said.Governor Bradford looked at the other two, then back to her, and smirked. “The Captain has given his orders and the Reverend has given his permission,” he told her. “So if your story is true then prove it.” He nodded up to the large table. “You can do it on there, if you would be so kind.”Miss Americana gasped. But then she lifted her head and nodded, haughtily.“Very well,” she said. She held up her wrists behind her back, the manacles clanking on them. “But I cannot dance in these!” she said.At a quickly-supplied nod from Captain Standish in his role as commander of the militia, the short pilgrim approached and unlocked Americana’s manacles. But they left the collar on her. Her chain still held at the far end by the tall pilgrim like a long leash, Miss Americana turned and, with as much grace and dignity as she could muster, marched up to the long table and ascended to stand atop it. Around her the common Pilgrims, male and female alike, gaped up in awe as she came to tower against the sky above them.Standing tall before the whole colony, Miss Americana lifted up her arms, and arched her body gracefully. “Prepare to see my skill, and know I speak the truth!” she said.And with that, she began to dance.“H-holy shit,” one Pilgrim gasped, gaping upwards in awe.“That’s blasphemy,” a second beside him murmured. “Also, god fucking damn,” he added, staring up as well.None of them had ever seen anything like it. Miss Americana did her best to imitate how she had seen strippers or slutty girls in night clubs dance, whenever she had ventured into those places as part of her crime-fighting duties. Lifting her arms up she shook her enormous cans in broad circles, making them slosh and bounce dramatically within the confines of her gargantuan yet overloaded bra. Going down low, she bounced her ass just above the table, while presenting an excellent view of her panty-clad crotch between her wide-spread thighs. Twirling about, she shook and shimmied her ass for them, showing off the grace and flexibility of her muscular legs at the same time she shook the contours of her enormous bubble-ass.Midway through her performance, there came a loud crackling, then a pilgrim suddenly came up holding a large wooden bowl.“Verily, my friends,” he said, “I was so distracted by the witch’s performance, I dropped the last of that 'maize’ stuff into the fire and, look what happened!”His large bowl was filled to the brim with popcorn. Passing it around, the Pilgrims munched eagerly as they watched Miss Americana, having become lost in her own perfectionism, continue to dance and dance seductively before them.A little later, munching a little popcorn of his own, Myles Standish leaned over and put his lips near Reverend Brewster’s ear.“Did the Lord really condone this, William?” he asked, chuckling softly.Reverend Brewster shook his head. “After so many deaths the colony certainly needed a boost of morale,” he said. “Clearly God sent us one. Also, shut up.” Taking some of Captain Standish’s popcorn, he munched on it as well as he watched Miss Americana, bent low at the waist, shake and shimmy her enormous breasts in such a way that he could like right down the tremendous cleavage between them.Suddenly, a distraught sentry came running into the midst of the colony, stopping only briefly, to gape at what he had been missing in wonder.“Governor Bradford, Governor Bradford!” he moaned, his eyes still darting over repeatedly to take in the dancing Queen of Justice in awe. “The Indians! They are not coming! They are turning back, and taking their food with them!”At this a great groan rose from the Pilgrims, even as they continued to stare at Miss Americana’s wiggling and grinding bubble-ass.“What?!” Governor Bradford gasped. “But our stores are almost depleted! Without that food, we’ll starve! Why have they turned back?!”The sentry nodded up to Miss Americana.“When the Sachem’s party came out of the woods, they saw the huge teats and fat ass on that one,” he said. “The Sachem said that if we had a woman of such bountiful proportions, we surely could not be starving, and had deceived him as to our lack of food,”At this, Miss Americana stopped dancing and gasped down in shock.“My ass is not fat!” she hissed, her face quivering in fury behind her mask. Reaching back she slapped her gloved hand against her ass repeatedly, turning so every member of the community got to see, showing off that though it was awesomely projecting and generously curved, every inch of her enormous bubble-ass was in fact taut and silky muscle. “Two hours a day on a Stairmaster doesn’t lead to fat!” she hissed.Reverend Brewster turned to Captain Standish, their veteran soldier and military expert. “What’s a stair-masterer?” he asked. “Some sort of Turkish siege engine?”Myles shrugged, puzzled.“Never mind that!” Governor Bradford said. He stood up, getting the community’s attention off Miss Americana. “This is a disaster! We have to find some way to make amends. If Massasoit breaks the treaty and stops giving us supplies, we are done for!”“Hmm,” said Captain Standish. “What we need is some sort of tribute to appease him, a peace offering, if you will.”“But the whole point is we have no food!” Reverend Brewster pointed out. “What sort of peace offering could we give?”“We could give them our guns, or the cannon,” Governor Bradford said.“And surrender our only military leverage?” Captain Standish scoffed. “I would sooner dump them in the sea!”“The Indians are yet heathens,” Reverend Brewster pointed out. “They do not follow Christian virtues. So what sort of 'peace offering’ might they be interested in?”For a short time, the Pilgrims looked at one another. Then, slowly, all eyes turned up to look at Miss Americana, and stared at her spectacular and well-displayed body meaningfully.Miss Americana stared back for a few seconds, still perched imperiously upon their table. Then, as she realized what they were all thinking, her jaw dropped.“No,” she whispered. “No, no, No!” Reaching up she folded her hands over her giant breasts, which given the quantity of her flesh on display, did little to reduce the quality of the goods for them to consider when evaluating potential tributes. “How, how can you even consider that?!” she hissed. “Aren’t you Puritans?! A Godly people?!”Reverend Brewster shook his head.“We are,” he affirmed. “But, woman, even God must recognize a lost cause at some point. Verily, I see from your attire that you have already committed adultery no less than four times!”Lifting his hand, he pointed to various parts of Miss Americana’s body. Upon her tiara and upon her belt was emblazoned a bright red A. Her red gloves also each had a large blue A upon them.“I know well the meaning of the scarlet A’s,” Reverend Brewster said. “The azure ones I am not familiar with, perhaps they mean you only soiled your mouth or your posterior entrance? But regardless, woman, I am a man of God, but at some point surely one does have to ask, is even the Good Lord Himself going to give the tiniest of shits about just a few more?”Looking down, Miss Americana gasped as she stared at the bright red A upon her belt, and the blue ones

Trump's acceptance speech for the Republican nomination for President ... GUEST Dr. Tracy McKenzie ... Professor of History and holds the Arthur F Holmes Chair of Faith & Learning at Wheaton College ... author of "We the Fallen People: The Founders and the Future of American Democracy,” “The First Thanksgiving: what the Real Story tell us about Loving God & Learning from History,” and “A Little Book for New Historians”. Why Every Church Member Matters ... GUEST Caleb Davis ... founding and lead pastor of True Life Church in Arvada, CO ... He blogs at Biblical Help and his own website pastorcaleb.org.See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Jack and Annie are looking for some more magic. This time, they are taken back to the FIRST Thanksgiving with the Pilgrims! What will they see? What will they learn? Join us as we find out! _______________________ ⁠⁠⁠⁠Subscribe to our Podcast!⁠⁠⁠⁠ _______________________ Thanks for being here! We're the Holtzem Family. We love our family, and we love Jesus. We're hoping to bring some of our personal favorite things as a family, and some of our humor to you in hopes that it makes you smile, and maybe gives you something you can connect with. Connect with us further at; ⁠⁠⁠The Holtzem Family on YouTube⁠⁠⁠  Recipes and more about us online at ⁠⁠⁠Our Wholesome House⁠ ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Beverly Holtzem Art on Etsy

Finally, Alvie was brought to justice!  Now, I know abandoning someone back in Ancient Pompeii before a volcano wipes out the entire town might sound cruel, but you gotta remember, this guy abandoned me on the Titanic...AND, his name's Alvie!  ALVIE!!  Anyway, even though we made our nemesis pay for his betrayal and we could've just gone home to watch iCarly, me and my future self still wanted to enjoy the very first Thanksgiving meal and also, make sweet, passionate and unselfish sex to the hot pilgrim.  And so, we returned to Plymouth Plantation!

In November of 1928, A.W. Tozer accepted a pastoral position at the Southside Alliance Church in Chicago, a move that launched a ministry career that would eventually impact thousands. A central theme of Tozer's work was recovering a sense of the holiness of God. In his book The Knowledge of the Holy, Tozer wrote,  The low view of God entertained almost universally among Christians is the cause of a hundred lesser evils everywhere among us. A whole new philosophy of the Christian life has resulted from this one basic error in our religious thinking.   Tozer's best-known quote is a fundamental premise of a truly Christian worldview: “What comes into our minds when we think about God is the most important thing about us.”  Years ago, Chuck Colson urged his friend, author and speaker Ken Boa, to write condensed, accessible introductions to the greatest works of literature and theology. Boa, one of the finest Christian thinkers of our generation, accepted the challenge.   In a Breakpoint commentary, Chuck commented on A.W. Tozer's The Knowledge of the Holy, and Dr. Ken Boa's introduction:  Dr. Ken Boa speaks of A.W. Tozer as a man who “understood the ways of God.” That understanding is amply demonstrated in Tozer's classic book The Knowledge of the Holy.   “This is really a meditative and a devotional approach to the attributes of God,” Boa says. Those include more attributes than we're used to thinking about all at once. For instance, Tozer discusses God's omniscience and omnipotence as well as His love and mercy. But Tozer doesn't just show us the reality of those attributes; he also shows how they work together to form a harmonious whole. They are not contradictory, but complementary.   But our view of God, Tozer argues, is often “distorted” or “diminished” because we have embraced the prevailing mindset of our culture and imposed that mindset upon Scripture. So, we find ourselves unable even to begin to comprehend concepts like His holiness, power, and majesty. (Keep in mind, by the way, that Tozer wrote this nearly 50 years ago. The man wasn't called a prophet for nothing.)  Tozer's desire was to expand our vision and thus our capacity to worship God rightly. If we fail to do this, Boa says, that's when our understanding of God becomes distorted, and we move away from Him. “Imperfect and ignoble thoughts about God,” Tozer believed, are responsible for all our errors in doctrine and in faith. Thus, he defines idolatry as “assuming that God is other than He is.”   When you look at it that way, you can see just how widespread idolatry has become in our day and how much havoc it has created within the Church. Boa connects this kind of thinking to the modern prosperity gospel, which tends to turn our prayers into “strategy sessions” rather than true communication with God. Paradoxically, Tozer acknowledges the “incomprehensibility” of God, even as he is helping us to better understand His attributes. When we draw closer to God, you see, we begin to understand just how much greater He is than anything we can grasp.   Our instinct is to make God into something “manageable” and “controllable.” That was the sin of the Garden—to be like God. But if you could do that, you wouldn't need Him. So instead of trying to manage or control God, we must surrender ourselves and place our trust in Him even though we can't fully understand Him. And when we do this, we are not groping in the dark, for as Tozer tells us, “[God] in condescending love has by revelation declared certain things to be true of Himself. These we call His attributes.” He has provided enough knowledge of these, Tozer says, “to satisfy our intellects and ravish our hearts.”   For more resources to live like a Christian in this cultural moment, go to breakpoint.org. 

Revisionist attempts to reinterpret the first Thanksgiving have muddled the history of Plymouth Colony and the Pilgrims. Some on the right call the historical events a “triumph of capitalism,” getting the chronology of events wrong. Voices on the left often accuse Thanksgiving of being a celebration of genocide against the Native Americans, citing the Mystic Massacre in the Pequot War, ignoring the context of that event, not least of which that it occurred 16 years after the celebration in Plymouth. Neither of these narratives accurately represents what actually occurred in Plymouth in the fall of 1621.  The Pilgrims were English Separatists who believed congregations should be independent, voluntary democratic institutions rather than part of the Church of England. In 1607 and 1608, they left England for the more tolerant Dutch Republic.  Life in the Netherlands, however, proved difficult. Some ran out of money and returned to England. Without further immigration from England, the congregation was in danger of collapsing. The Pilgrims were also unhappy with the libertinism of Dutch culture and worried that their children would grow up more Dutch than English.  After much discussion, they decided to try to establish a colony where they could worship and raise their families as they saw fit, and where they could spread the Gospel. In 1619, they received a patent to establish a colony in New England, north of the Virginia colony. In September of 1620, the Pilgrims, with other colonists, set sail on the Mayflower with 102 passengers, only 28 of whom were members of the congregation.   The Pilgrims debated whether it was safe to bring their wives. Most decided to do so, which accounts for the 13 adult women on board, three in their third trimester. There were also some younger women and children who joined the voyage. A baby who was born at sea was named Oceanus.  The Mayflower arrived in America in November after a difficult journey. A landing party sent to explore the land found artificial mounds that they excavated and discovered to be burial sites. In some, they found corn, which they took for planting before reburying the remains. They also found corn and beans in empty Native American homes, some of which they also took and paid for six months later when they met the owners.  Earlier English expeditions to the region had captured Native Americans and sold them as slaves or slaughtered them on their ships. Perhaps for this reason or because of the desecration of the graves, a Pilgrim landing party was attacked in December, though the colonists drove off the attackers.  Later that month, they found harbor at a place that was labeled “Plymouth” on their charts. They decided to winter there. The men went ashore to build houses, the first of which was used as a hospital. By the time spring came, only 47 of the colonists were still alive, and only 5 of the married women. Another would die in May of a broken heart after her husband died.  The Plymouth Colony only survived because of help from the Native Americans. The first contact came from Samoset, a minor chief from Maine who had learned English from fishermen who had set up a camp near his tribe. He then introduced them to Tisquantum, better known as Squanto. Squanto had been enslaved by English raiders but eventually was freed, became a Christian, and returned to his homeland. Unfortunately, his tribe, the Patuxets, were wiped out by an epidemic.  Squanto acted as both a translator and a mediator between the Pilgrims and Massasoit, the chief of the Wampanoag tribe. Massasoit established friendly relations with the Pilgrims and, with Squanto, taught them how to farm the “Three Sisters”—corn, beans, and squash. With their help, the remaining Pilgrims survived and had a successful harvest that fall.  The Pilgrims decided to hold a harvest festival, probably around Michaelmas (September 29) 1621, which was a traditional date for such celebrations in England. Massasoit and members of his tribe joined them. In all, there were about 50 English and 90 Wampanoags. The four surviving wives, together with children and servants, prepared and served food over the three-day celebration.  Although much European contact with Native Americans featured disease, genocide, prejudice, and abuse, that was not the case with the Pilgrims. Rather than falsely maligning that first Thanksgiving, we should look at it as a model of how things should have been and by God's grace one day will be.  This Breakpoint was co-authored by Dr. Glenn Sunshine. Listen to his interview with the Strong Women podcasters about the women of Plymouth or hear how Thanksgiving was declared a holiday. If you're a fan of Breakpoint, leave a review on your favorite podcast app. For more resources to live like a Christian in this cultural moment, go to colsoncenter.org.   This Breakpoint was originally published on 11.24.2022. 

The holiday shopping season kicks off this week with Black Friday, and American shoppers are expected to spend a record amount, particularly in online sales. Consumer spending keeps the U.S. economy humming, making up 70% of the country’s gross domestic product. But it wasn’t always this way. On the show today, Cornell economic historian Louis Hyman gives us a history lesson on how the American economy became dependent on the consumer, why that change has created serious environmental consequences, and whether there are alternatives to the consumer-driven economy we know today. Plus, what it all has to do with the Salem witch trials. Then, a federal appeals court decision could significantly weaken the Voting Rights Act. We’ll get into the economic implications of the ruling and how it could play out in the Supreme Court. Plus: Oh, how the mighty crypto kings fall. Later, we'll hear listener suggestions for signature state cocktails. And food journalist Francis Lam was wrong about what was on the menu at the first Thanksgiving. Here’s everything we talked about today: “Ringing in the holiday shopping season with low consumer sentiment” from Marketplace “A Brief History of Consumer Culture” from The MIT Press Reader “Frank Trentmann: How Humans Became ‘Consumers'” from The Atlantic “U.S. Economy Grew a Strong 4.9%, Driven by Consumer Spree That May Not Last” from The Wall Street Journal “Appeals court strikes down key tool used to enforce Voting Rights Act” from CNN Politics “Federal appeals court ruling threatens enforcement of the Voting Rights Act” from Politico “Binance CEO Changpeng Zhao Agrees to Step Down, Plead Guilty” from The Wall Street Journal “What Was Eaten at the First Thanksgiving?” from History We want to hear your answer to the Make Me Smart question. You can reach us at makemesmart@marketplace.org or leave us a voicemail at 508-U-B-SMART.