Podcasts about Massasoit

Keep the narrative flow going! Subscribe to skip ads, get bonus content, and enjoy access to the entire catalog of 500 episodes. His name was Metacom, a son of the Wampanoag chief Massasoit who had greeted the Pilgrims at Plymouth. Metacom would become known as King Philip, and the war that would carry his name was one of the bloodiest in American history. In 1675-76, Native peoples across southern New England battled English colonists and their Indian allies in genocidal violence. Massacres, torture, and enslavement were commonplace, yet King Philip's War is little known to most Americans today. Historian David Silverman is here to bring this American origin story to light. Further reading: The Chosen and the Damned: Native Americans and the Making of Race in the United States Support the podcast: https://historyasithappens.supercast.com/

The real historical Thanksgiving of 1621 was not a sentimental harvest festival but a fragile moment of diplomacy between two peoples facing fear, loss, and uncertainty. After a devastating winter that claimed half the Pilgrims' community, and following an epidemic that had wiped out much of the Wampanoag population, both groups found themselves in desperate need of allies. When the Pilgrims fired celebratory guns during their successful harvest, Massasoit and ninety Wampanoag men arrived prepared for possible conflict, only to discover it was a feast in progress. What followed was a cautious but genuine three-day gathering centered on food, negotiation, and the renewal of a mutual defense treaty that would hold for nearly fifty years. Far from a simple tale of harmony, the first Thanksgiving was a complex meeting shaped by hardship, diplomacy, and the human desire for peace in a dangerous world.Dr. Fred Clary, founder of Functional Analysis Chiropractic Technique and lifting/life coach/ gym-chalk covered philosopher talks about a little history.  

Make sure your hollowed out turkeys are hung by the fireplace so you can get presents from William Bradford or Massasoit or whoever does that holiday. Planters Academy will be opening soon for those of us who want to continue the tradition of our beautiful offspring being able to enjoy Nutter Butters and Reese's Pieces at school and yes we know how it sounds and yes not everyone will be let in but technically anyone can go and our rival school is run by the Pringles logo   https://www.patreon.com/posts/144493861

In this special Thanksgiving episode of 1819 News: The Podcast, host Bryan Dawson sits down with Col. John Eidsmoe—author, historian, and chairman of the Plymouth Rock Foundation—to explore the true, awe-inspiring story behind Plymouth Plantation, the Mayflower, and the first Thanksgiving. More than a history lesson, this conversation uncovers the spiritual DNA of America: courage, sacrifice, self-government, and unshakeable faith in God's providence. Dawson opens the episode by connecting the Pilgrims' story to his own family lineage, tracing his ancestry back to the Wampanoag chief who stood alongside the Pilgrims at that first Thanksgiving. Eidsmoe, joining the show dressed in full Pilgrim attire, begins unpacking the Pilgrims' rich written history—one of the most well-documented origins of any nation besides ancient Israel. He walks listeners through their persecution in England, their turbulent stay in the Netherlands, and the bold decision to cross the Atlantic for the sake of religious freedom and the advancement of the Christian faith. Together, Dawson and Eidsmoe trace the harrowing voyage of the Mayflower, the drafting of the Mayflower Compact, and the brutal first winter in which half the colony perished. Eidsmoe explains how God's providence appeared repeatedly—from Squanto's arrival, to the peaceful treaty with Massasoit, to the Pilgrims' first successful harvest and their now-legendary feast of thanksgiving to God. The episode also delves into the Pilgrims' early flirtation with socialism—forced upon them by investors—and how Gov. William Bradford recorded its utter failure and the colony's explosive success once private property and individual incentive were restored. Eidsmoe even shares the remarkable story of how Bradford's long-lost manuscript, History of Plymouth Plantation, was miraculously recovered centuries later. This Thanksgiving, Dawson invites listeners to look beyond food, family, and football and remember the faith, fortitude, and God-honoring vision of the men and women who risked everything to establish a Christian foothold in the New World. This powerful episode is a call to gratitude, to remembrance, and to reclaiming America's true heritage.

In this special Thanksgiving episode of 1819 News: The Podcast, host Bryan Dawson sits down with Col. John Eidsmoe—author, historian, and chairman of the Plymouth Rock Foundation—to explore the true, awe-inspiring story behind Plymouth Plantation, the Mayflower, and the first Thanksgiving. More than a history lesson, this conversation uncovers the spiritual DNA of America: courage, sacrifice, self-government, and unshakeable faith in God's providence. Dawson opens the episode by connecting the Pilgrims' story to his own family lineage, tracing his ancestry back to the Wampanoag chief who stood alongside the Pilgrims at that first Thanksgiving. Eidsmoe, joining the show dressed in full Pilgrim attire, begins unpacking the Pilgrims' rich written history—one of the most well-documented origins of any nation besides ancient Israel. He walks listeners through their persecution in England, their turbulent stay in the Netherlands, and the bold decision to cross the Atlantic for the sake of religious freedom and the advancement of the Christian faith. Together, Dawson and Eidsmoe trace the harrowing voyage of the Mayflower, the drafting of the Mayflower Compact, and the brutal first winter in which half the colony perished. Eidsmoe explains how God's providence appeared repeatedly—from Squanto's arrival, to the peaceful treaty with Massasoit, to the Pilgrims' first successful harvest and their now-legendary feast of thanksgiving to God. The episode also delves into the Pilgrims' early flirtation with socialism—forced upon them by investors—and how Gov. William Bradford recorded its utter failure and the colony's explosive success once private property and individual incentive were restored. Eidsmoe even shares the remarkable story of how Bradford's long-lost manuscript, History of Plymouth Plantation, was miraculously recovered centuries later. This Thanksgiving, Dawson invites listeners to look beyond food, family, and football and remember the faith, fortitude, and God-honoring vision of the men and women who risked everything to establish a Christian foothold in the New World. This powerful episode is a call to gratitude, to remembrance, and to reclaiming America's true heritage.

Every November we hear the cozy legend of the First Thanksgiving—Pilgrims, turkey, and a peaceful feast in the New World. But the real story behind Thanksgiving is much darker. Long before it became a holiday, the land around Plymouth was a plague-ravaged, haunted wilderness, where the Pilgrims saw the Devil in every tree… and the Wampanoag saw spirits in every swamp.This is the terrifying true story behind the celebration we remember every Thanksgiving.In this Thanksgiving horror history episode of Terrifying & True, we go back to 1620–1630, when the Mayflower arrived in a New England already emptied by a mysterious European plague. The Pilgrims believed God had “cleared” the land for them. The Wampanoag wondered if the strangers from across the sea carried a curse. As November winds howled and crops failed, both sides read every storm, comet, and sickness as a sign from the spirit world.We'll walk into Hockomock Swamp, the “place where spirits dwell”, where the Wampanoag said the powerful manitou Hobbamock gathered souls in the mist. We'll stand with the Pilgrims on a freezing night, hearing “hideous and great” shouts in the darkness and wondering if it's an attack—or a demon. We'll sit inside Massasoit's lodge as the Wampanoag sachem lies near death in 1623, while powwaws chant, English prayers rise, and a strange alliance is sealed when he survives.This is the side of Thanksgiving you don't hear about in school: secret midnight burials on Cole's Hill, raided cornfields, rumors that the English kept plague in barrels, and a fragile peace that led to that famous 1621 harvest feast—a celebration held under a sky both peoples believed was full of omens and spirits. The Pilgrims saw themselves as a chosen people in a howling wilderness. The Wampanoag lived with a new fear: that a foreign God might be stronger than their own.From these first Thanksgiving-era encounters grew a legacy of paranoia that reaches all the way to the Salem witch trials and King Philip's War. The Pilgrims' Thanksgiving miracle stories, the Wampanoag's spiritual world of Kiehtan and Hobbamock, and the brutal reality of disease and hunger combined into one of America's earliest haunted holiday tales. This year, as you carve the turkey, remember: the road to that “peaceful” feast was paved with ghost stories, curses, and fear.Inside this episode:The real first Thanksgiving: How a fragile truce, a desperate harvest, and a haunted landscape created the feast we still celebrate every November.Pilgrims in a howling wilderness: Why early settlers believed New England was a devil-haunted forest and read every disaster as God's judgment.Wampanoag spirits and Hobbamock: The Native cosmology of Kiehtan, Hobbamock, manitous, and powwaws—and why English colonists called it “witchcraft.”Plague, providence, and plague barrels: The 1616–1619 epidemic, empty villages, and rumors that the English stored disease as a weapon.Omens, comets, and curses: From strange lights in the sky to disturbed graves, how both sides believed the land around Plymouth was full of warnings.Miracle rain and a dying sachem: The 1623 fast and gentle rain, Massasoit's near-fatal illness, and the moments both peoples thought their gods had spoken.From feast to war: How this haunted decade laid the spiritual groundwork for Salem, King Philip's War, and centuries of Thanksgiving myths.If you're looking for a Thanksgiving episode that digs into the true horror behind the Pilgrims and the Wampanoag, this is your haunted holiday history—the dark story hiding behind the turkey and the pies.Support the show AND get delicious coffee for a creepy night in at 25% off using code “SPOOKY”https://savorista.com/discount/SPOOKY

The First Thanksgiving wasn't a cheerful myth—it was born from starvation, epidemic, and uneasy diplomacybetween the Wampanoag and the Pilgrims at Plymouth in 1620–1621. In this Terrifying & True deep-dive, we peel back comforting legend to confront the Great Dying, the stark winter that followed the Mayflower landfall, and the fragile accord brokered through Samoset, Squanto, and Massasoit. We unpack the mutual-defense treaty, the practical lifelines of corn, fish, and eels, the political subtext of the harvest feast, and the violence that erupted at Wessagusset—shattering illusions of lasting peace and exposing the cost paid by the people who were already here.Inside this episode:Before the feast: The Great Dying, empty villages, and a winter of hunger.First contact: Samoset's greeting, Squanto's lifesaving know-how, and Massasoit's calculus.Terms of survival: The treaty, visits, disarmament, and why both sides accepted the risk.The three-day “thanksgiving”: Hunting, politics, and grief at the same table.Wessagusset turns deadly: Tension, betrayal, and brutal spectacle on a palisade.Myth vs. memory: How a story of survival became a national legend—and what it leaves out.If you want true history—uncomfortable, meticulously told, and eerily human—this is the real story behind the holiday. We're telling that story tonight.

A conversation with American Indian scholars about Massasoit's attempt to make peace.

 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.

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.

November 26, 1970. In Plymouth, Massachusetts, on the 350th anniversary of the Pilgrims' arrival, protestors gather under a statue of Massasoit, the Wampanoag leader who had made peace with the Pilgrims, and partook in the legendary Thanksgiving meal. This protest was organized by Wamsutta Frank James, a Wampanoag activist who wanted to draw attention to the full story of Thanksgiving – a story of fear, violence, and oppression that spanned generations. America's reckoning with the truth of Thanksgiving, James argued, would empower indigenous people to fight for their equal rights. This protest – a National Day of Mourning – continues to this day, now led by James's granddaughter. So what is the true story of Thanksgiving? And why is it so important for us to remember? Special thanks to Kisha James, Paula Peters, and David Silverman, author of This Land Is Their Land: The Wampanoag Indians, Plymouth Colony, and the Troubled History of Thanksgiving. This episode originally aired November 22, 2021. To stay updated: historythisweekpodcast.com To learn more about listener data and our privacy practices visit: https://www.audacyinc.com/privacy-policy Learn more about your ad choices. Visit https://podcastchoices.com/adchoices

This week, in honor of Indigenous People's Day, scholars Rose Miron and Jean O'Brien discuss the power and importance of indigenous storytelling, activism, history, and memory; as well as Miron's book Indigenous Archival Activism: Mohican Interventions in Public History and Memory.This conversation originally took place May 19, 2024 and was recorded live at the American Writers Festival.AWM PODCAST NETWORK HOMEAbout Indigenous Archival Activism:Who has the right to represent Native history?The past several decades have seen a massive shift in debates over who owns and has the right to tell Native American history and stories. For centuries, non-Native actors have collected, stolen, sequestered, and gained value from Native stories and documents, human remains, and sacred objects. However, thanks to the work of Native activists, Native history is now increasingly being repatriated back to the control of tribes and communities. Indigenous Archival Activism takes readers into the heart of these debates by tracing one tribe's fifty-year fight to recover and rewrite their history.Rose Miron tells the story of the Stockbridge-Munsee Mohican Nation and their Historical Committee, a group of mostly Mohican women who have been collecting and reorganizing historical materials since 1968. She shows how their work is exemplary of how tribal archives can be used strategically to shift how Native history is accessed, represented, written and, most importantly, controlled. Based on a more than decade-long reciprocal relationship with the Stockbridge-Munsee Mohican Nation, Miron's research and writing is shaped primarily by materials found in the tribal archive and ongoing conversations and input from the Stockbridge-Munsee Historical Committee.As a non-Mohican, Miron is careful to consider her own positionality and reflects on what it means for non-Native researchers and institutions to build reciprocal relationships with Indigenous nations in the context of academia and public history, offering a model both for tribes undertaking their own reclamation projects and for scholars looking to work with tribes in ethical ways.DR. ROSE MIRON is the Director of the D'Arcy McNickle Center for American Indian and Indigenous Studies at the Newberry Library in Chicago and Affiliate Faculty in the Center for Native American and Indigenous Research at Northwestern University. Her research explores Indigenous public history and public memory within the Northeast and the Great Lakes regions. She holds a BA in History and a Ph.D. in American Studies from the University of Minnesota.JEAN O'BRIEN (citizen, White Earth Ojibwe Nation) is Regents Professor and McKnight Distinguished University Professor of History at University of Minnesota. O'Brien is a scholar of American Indian and Indigenous history. Her scholarship has been especially influential regarding New England's American Indian peoples in relation to European colonial settlement. O'Brien's works include: Dispossession by Degrees: Indian Land and Identity in Natick, Massachusetts, 1650-1790, in which she demonstrates the persistence of Indians in the face of market economies that first commodified, and then slowly alienated their lands; Firsting and Lasting: Writing Indians out of Existence in New England, which investigates the local history writing of New England towns, which laid down the templates for American narratives of Indian disappearance; Monumental Mobility: The Memory Work of Massasoit (with Lisa Blee) that analyzes the memory work surrounding monuments to the Indigenous leader who encountered the Pilgrims in Plymouth, Massachusetts; and four edited volumes, most recently Allotment Stories: Indigenous Land Relations Under Settler Siege (with Daniel Heath Justice). She is a co-founder and past president of the Native American and Indigenous Studies Association. She holds a Ph.D. from University of Chicago.

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

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

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

In this ongoing discussion of Biblical Principles of Government, Mike Winther talks about the ongoing battle over history. He begins with a tribute to King Massasoit and explains how the pilgrims bought land from the Native Americans. This tribute eventually evolved into a plaque commemorating the conflict between the pilgrims and the Native Americans, highlighting two different narratives. There is a battle over history. We learn about some interesting aspects of English and early American history from the pilgrims, legal scholars, and early church leaders. Mike emphasizes that in order to have liberty and freedom, these concepts must exist in the minds of the people. He then turns to America and the battle for heroes, starting with the unique characteristics of George Washington. This discussion provides a wonderful look into our history, all tying back to Biblical principles. You'll Learn: [00:40] The Mayflower II is a replica of the Mayflower. There is a statue of Massasoit . A symbol of people who held justice higher than their race.  [02:36] We don't evangelize a compromising truth or a compromising God. [03:02] Land was purchased by the pilgrims who understood property rights.  [04:08] National Day of Mourning, and Thanksgiving as a reminder of genocide.  [08:26] Pilgrims founded Harvard as a university to teach pastors and Christians and create a new level of leadership. [09:36] Mike explains how Charles I was a tyrant. [12:09] The brief that John Cooke helped create to justify sentencing Charles I. [14:13] The people wanted a king, and Charles II had a reign of terror unlike anything that his father had done. [15:10] The battle for heroes. George Washington was unique. [15:49] The French and Indian War. This was the French and the Indians against the colonists and the English. [21:01] Mike talks about George Washington's miraculous survival in the war. [28:14] Looking back and making historical figures heroes to suit our political agenda. [34:32] Our heroes matter. Selling ideas by selling our heroes. [35:17] Industrialization of the 1800s. A lot of the population was moving out west.  [36:05] In order to get the Transcontinental Railroad, the government created the Union Pacific and the Central Pacific Companies to build railroads.  [37:17] The greatest subsidy was the US Army which was used to clear the Indians from the land. [40:16] Whenever anybody tells you a project is too big for the private sector, don't believe it. [43:01] There's a lot of revisionist history out there. Both sides accuse the other side of revising history. Your Resources: Books to browse Biblical Principles of Government (1a) Biblical Principles of Government (1b) Biblical Principles of Government (2a) Biblical Principles of Government (2b) Biblical Principles of Government (3a) Biblical Principles of Government (3b) Biblical Principles of Government (4a) Biblical Principles of Government (4b) Biblical Principles of Government (5a) Biblical Principles of Government (5b) Biblical Principles of Government (6a) Biblical Principles of Government (6a) Biblical Principles of Government (7a) Biblical Principles of Government (7b) Biblical Principles of Government (8a) Biblical Principles of Government (8b) Biblical Principles of Government (9a) Mayflower II The Tyrannicide Brief: The Story of the Man Who Sent Charles I to the Scaffold Bulletproof George Washington Real Lincoln Lincoln Unmasked The Myth of the Robber Barons by Burt Folsom Crown and Covenant Trilogy

WE THE KIDS - S1L18 - How Did Chief Massasoit Show Kindness by WFYL 1180 AM

Have you ever wondered about the untold stories of the Pilgrims? How their faith fueled their relationships, and how their first prayer meeting laid the foundation for Christianity in America? Join us on WallBuilders as we journey through the unheard tales of the Pilgrims, their profound faith, and their remarkable bonds with the Native Americans. Immerse yourself in the fascinating chronicles of Massasoit, the chief of the Wampanoag tribe, and the pivotal peace treaty he signed with the Pilgrims. Feel your heartstrings pull as we recount the touching tale of Edward Winslow, who braved a 40-mile journey to nurse a plague-ridden Massasoit back to health, further solidifying their alliance. Journey with us through time, fifty years later, to the era of King Philip's War and the intricate ties it has with the narratives we've been sharing. Don't miss out on this opportunity to explore the rich, often overlooked, history that shaped America. Embark on this riveting voyage with us here on WallBuilders.Support the show

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. 

In this re-drop of a classic episode from late 2022, Harry and Rafe take up where they left off in Episode 164: the Pilgrims have arrived at Cape Cod, but what awaited them? The North American landscape was anything but a blank slate.  Countless local tribes were living on the continent and with them were their cultures, their customs, and their politics.  Throw in more than a century of Europeans interacting with the natives and a very recent epidemic that had completely wiped out some communities, and the Pilgrims were stepping into a world completely different, yet in some ways very similar, to the one they had left. Enter Massasoit and his tribe, the Pokanokets, who had been ravaged by disease and were under the thumb of neighboring sachems; they sought to regain their glory and alliance with the English might be just the thing that they needed.  Toss in Epenow and Squanto, and some misunderstandings and happenstance, and what comes out is a true story as intricate and complicated as any fiction. 

In this re-drop of a classic episode from late 2022, Harry and Rafe discuss this final third part of our series on the Pilgrims, covering interactions with the Native Americans, an alliance with Massasoit and the Pokanokets and the consequences of that treaty. Nathaniel Philbrick's book Mayflower is the basis for these episodes and provides generous insight and keen analysis to understanding the state of the world where the English Pilgrims encountered the Pokanokets and the other native New Englanders.

Most folks are as happy as they make up their minds to be.  -Abraham Lincoln   We set the last spring some twenty acres of Indian corn, and sowed some six acres of barley and peas, and according to the manner of the Indians, we manured our ground with herrings or rather shads, which we have in great abundance, and take with great ease at our doors.  Our corn did prove well, and God be praised, we had a good increase of Indian corn, and our barley indifferent good, but our peas not worth the gathering, for we feared they were too late sown, they came up very well, and blossomed, but the sun parched them in the blossom; our harvest being gotten in, our governor sent four men on fowling, that so we might after a more special manner rejoice together, after we had gathered the fruit of our labors; they four in one day killed as much fowl, as with a little help beside, served the company almost a week, at which time amongst other recreations, we exercised our arms, many of the Indians coming amongst us, and among the rest their greatest King Massasoit, with some ninety men, whom for three days we entertained and feasted, and they went out and killed five deer, which they brought to the plantation and bestowed on our governor, and upon the captain, and others.  And although it be not always so plentiful, as it was at this time with us, yet by the goodness of God, we are so far from want, that we often wish you partakers of our plenty. We have found the Indians very faithful in their covenant of peace with us; very loving and ready to pleasure us: we often go to them, and they come to us; some of us have been fifty miles by land in the country with them; the occasions and relations whereof you shall understand by our general and more full declaration of such things as are worth the noting, yea, it hath pleased God so to possess the Indians with a fear of us, and love unto us, that not only the greatest king amongst them called Massasoit, but also all the princes and peoples round about us, have either made suit unto us, or been glad of any occasion to make peace with us, so that seven of them at once have sent their messengers to us to that end, yea, an Fle at sea, which we never saw hath also together with the former yielded willingly to be under the protection, and subjects to our sovereign Lord King James, so that there is now great peace amongst the Indians themselves, which was not formerly, neither would have been but for us; and we for our parts walk as peaceably and safely in the wood, as in the highways in England.  -Edward Wilslow, 11 Dec 1621    It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.  -Theodore Roosevelt, 1910

According to modern retellings, the American story is one long tale of violence and oppression, with founders who should be universally condemned as hypocrites, thieves, and racists. Of course, our nation's history is, like all nations, about sinful and flawed people. However, in our modern attempts to deconstruct the past, it's easy to miss how remarkable the American experiment was.  In a Breakpoint commentary years ago, Chuck Colson described one especially significant part of our nation's history, the Mayflower Compact. Here's Chuck Colson.  In just a few weeks, Americans will celebrate Thanksgiving, a holiday that people of all faiths observe. But between stuffing the turkey and watching football, we ought to make sure our children and grandchildren understand the Christian roots of this holiday, which are often downplayed in school. The first step is to brush up on the details ourselves.   On September 6, 1620, the Mayflower set sail from England. Ten perilous weeks later, the Pilgrims arrived on the northern tip of Cape Cod. As my friend Barbara Rainey writes in her excellent book, Thanksgiving: A Time to Remember, “This was about sixty miles north of their intended destination at the mouth of the Hudson River.” Should they sail south, or stay put?   After much discussion and prayer, they decided to stay. But when the passengers learned of this, dissension broke out. The Pilgrims had a charter with a company that was effective only at the original landing site. As Rainey writes, “The bonded servants on board [who were not Pilgrims] argued that [the decision to stay] changed the terms of their work agreement.” The Pilgrims were afraid that these men would declare their independence and deplete the labor supply. Something had to be done to restore unity.   As the Mayflower's captain worked his way around the Cape, searching for a place to drop anchor, an intense debate ensued. By nightfall, the leaders had drafted an agreement, called the Mayflower Compact. Among its key clauses were these words: “Having undertaken for the glory of God and advancement of the Christian Faith … a voyage to plant the First Colony … [we] solemnly … in the presence of God and of one another, Covenant … ourselves together into a Civil Body Politic.”   As Rainey writes, the compact was a hedge against revolt, but it meant much more. The Pilgrims took it seriously; their Bible told them just how significant covenants were. In the Old Testament, God created covenants between Himself and His people, the Israelites. In the New Testament, God covenants with all who choose to follow Him through the life, sacrificial death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ.   As Rainey writes, the Pilgrims “journeyed to this new land to proclaim by their lives this message of redemption, the New Covenant, and the light of Christ. This covenant that God established with His people became their model for the Mayflower Compact as well as for the peace treaty they established with Massasoit and his people. They knew a God who keeps His word, and therefore they were faithful to keep their word, their promises to one another and to others.”  The Mayflower Compact became one of the most important documents in American history—and yet, its religious language may make some teachers reluctant to teach it. But that same language reveals the lengths to which the Pilgrims were willing to go to follow the Lord.  Ten years later and 40 miles to the north, John Winthrop would expound on the idea of covenant in his famous sermon, “A Model of Christian Charity.”   For we must consider that we shall be as a city upon a hill. The eyes of all people are upon us. So that if we shall deal falsely with our God in this work we have undertaken, and so cause Him to withdraw His present help from us, we shall be made a story and a by-word through the world.  “City on a hill” is among the least understood phrases in American history. Winthrop was not encouraging arrogance or claiming invincibility with this idea. Rather, he was issuing a warning. Whether in Winthrop's speech to the Massachusetts Bay colonists or the Plymouth Colony's Mayflower Compact, these men and women saw what they were doing through the deeply Christian lens of covenant.  This Thanksgiving, it's appropriate to thank God for our heritage, to remember the warnings of our nation's forebears, and to pray for renewal in the church and in our nation.   For more resources to live like a Christian in this cultural moment, go to breakpoint.org. 

Every elementary school kid in the US and Canada has been the told how 102 English/Dutch illegal immigrants snuck into America in 1620, under the noses of the Native American Border Patrol - with no immigration papers. Once discovered, the illegal aliens – who we today call ‘Pilgrims' - were forced to cut a deal with the ruling tribe(s) and were only allowed to remain in their tiny village, at a great cost to themselves. With our EZ Bake Oven time machine, we have sent our amazing co-host Anuradha back 400 hundred years to the first Thanksgiving celebration. She gets both sides of the story. She interviews Plymouth Colony Governor, William Bradford as well as the Chief of the ruling Wampanoag tribe, Massasoit. Anuradha asks the really tough questions: What was on the table for the first Thanksgiving? No turkey? No mashed potatoes? And, why were the unwelcome European colonists allowed to live? As a BONUS we add a replay of a 2021 piece where Columbus first comes to America – from the native American perspective. Enjoy! Happy Thanksgiving everyone.  

Every elementary school kid in the US and Canada has been the told how 102 English/Dutch illegal immigrants snuck into America in 1620, under the noses of the Native American Border Patrol - with no immigration papers. Once discovered, the illegal aliens – who we today call ‘Pilgrims' - were forced to cut a deal with the ruling tribe(s). With our EZ Bake Oven time machine, we have sent our amazing co-host Anuradha back 400 hundred years to the first Thanksgiving celebration. She gets both sides of the story. She interviews Plymouth Colony Governor, William Bradford as well as the Chief of the ruling Wampanoag tribe, Massasoit. She asks the really tough questions: What was on the table for the first Thanksgiving? Why no turkey and no mashed potatoes?? Also, why were the unwelcome and hugely outnumbered European colonists allowed to live in the first place? As a BONUS we add a replay of a 2021 piece where Columbus first comes to America – from the native American perspective. Enjoy! John Hoekstra is featured playing 2 roles. He also composes, preforms and produces our music. You Tube https://youtube.com/channel/UC2Gon6qb9ar07BP0hsNPXdA SoundCloud https://soundcloud.com/user-363005792

In this episode, Dr. Hettie V. Williams is in conversation with Drs. Rachel Jessica Daniel Director of the Center for Employee Enrichment and Development (CEED) at Massasoit Community College in Brockton, Massachusetts, and President of the Bay State National Council on Black American Affairs, and Carine Sauvignon Executive Dean for the Canton Campus at Massasoit Community College. Massasoit has one of the first Black Studies majors at a community college in the state of Massachusetts. This program came took a decade long struggle to get certified but given that Massasoit is one of the more diverse community colleges in the state the students helped to demand this change. The program is interdisciplinary in scope and includes courses on African American literature, history, music, and culture. Professors from several academic units teach for the program and Sauvignon is one of the architects of the curriculum along with a range of other faculty on the campus. Devlin and Sauvignon tell a detailed story of how the Black Studies program at their institution came into development. These women are lively and passionate about this two-year program in a time when Black Studies is under assault across the nation. Massachusetts has been a leader in this area with some of the earliest Black Studies programs in the nation appearing at schools such as Brandeis University in 1969. There are also plans to ensure that transfer agreements are in places with institutions such as the University of Massachusetts at Boston. For more information about this program at Massasoit click here Black Studies at Massasoit Community College       

In March 1621 a representative of the sachem Massasoit named Samoset visited Plymouth, which the Pilgrims had established on the ruins of a Wampanoag village called Patuxet. The excerpts included here are Bradford's story of Tisquantum or Squanto, a native who had been captured and sold into slavery as a boy, but after many years had made his way back to his home, only to discover that his people had all died of disease. Squanto had learned English while in Europe and England, so he was valuable to the Pilgrims as an interpreter and guide.

A crumbling monolith-like monument that looks more like it belongs with roman ruins than a Rhode Island swamp, is all that remains to remind us of one of the gravest injustices of King Philip's War. What was King Philip's War you ask? Yea I didn't know either, but it was an armed conflict in 1675–1676 between indigenous inhabitants of New England and the New England colonists along with their indigenous ‘allies'. The war was named for Metacom, the Wampanoag chief who adopted the name Philip because of the friendly relations between his father Massasoit and the Mayflower Pilgrims. The war continued in the most northern reaches of New England until the signing of the Treaty of Casco Bay on April 12, 1678. It's often considered a crucial battle, although a more accurate description of the events of that day would be massacre.   EVERYTHING TRUE CRIME GUYS:   https://linktr.ee/Truecrimeguysproductions Patreon.com/truecrimeguys Merch: truecrimeguys.threadless.com   Sources: https://thepublicsradio.org/article/site-of-great-swamp-massacre-returned-to-narragansett-indian-tribe?fbclid=IwAR3ATd11o2z3DopRMh2N0WT-FQijvJZUu-fyquCDENNeja9RIah197ckzAM&mc_cid=1952680b45&mc_eid=72718959ec https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Great_Swamp_Fight https://youtu.be/ignLtfcqQkg https://youtu.be/Fu9rSBFP_HI https://www.historynet.com/blood-and-betrayal-king-philips-war/?f    

Harry and Rafe discuss this final third part of our series on the Pilgrims, covering interactions with the Native Americans, an alliance with Massasoit and the Pokanokets and the consequences of that treaty.Nathaniel Philbrick's book Mayflower is the basis for these episodes and provides generous insight and keen analysis to understanding the state of the world where the English Pilgrims encountered the Pokanokets and the other native New Englanders.This final installment discusses the building of treaty, increasingly friendly interactions between the people, some accidents of fate, and the eventual Fall Harvest festival which has become the basis for our Thanksgiving ritual.

Harry and Rafe take up where they left off in Episode 111: the Pilgrims have arrived at Cape Cod, but what awaited them?The North American landscape was anything but a blank slate.  Countless local tribes were living on the continent and with them were their cultures, their customs, and their politics.  Throw in more than a century of Europeans interacting with the natives and a very recent epidemic that had completely wiped out some communities, and the Pilgrims were stepping into a world completely different, yet in some ways very similar, to the one they had left.Enter Massasoit and his tribe, the Pokanokets, who had been ravaged by disease and were under the thumb of neighboring sachems; they sought to regain their glory and alliance with the English might be just the thing that they needed.  Toss in Epenow and Squanto, and some misunderstandings and happenstance, and what comes out is a true story as intricate and complicated as any fiction.

This is an epilogue episode of Kistory, a history podcast for kids. The podcast is hosted by Emma Redden, co-host of Freedom Means. This series is an attempt at an honest history of Thanksgiving. Each episode is short is intended even for young children. Episode Seven includes Emma reflecting on name pronunciation.Pronunciation of Wampanoag & Massasoit.If you are interested in learning more about an indigenous organizing & decolonizing project visit LANDBACK and LANDBACK University. To listen to beautiful interviews with Native people talking about indigeneity, visit All My Relations Podcast. For a partial list books by Native authors visit Social Justice Books. This is an incredibly incomplete list, but hopefully meaningful as well.Emma, and her collaborator Grace Aldrich, are community educators and work with groups of teachers, parents and caregivers. If you are interested in working with us please contact us through our website or by sending us an email at thefullstoryschool@gmail.com.Please consider becoming a monthly supporter at www.thefullstoryschool.org/monthly-donors. It helps us reach more people if you share, follow or subscribe and leave us a review! Thank you.The music and sound design for this podcast is done by Echo Finch.

This week, as many get ready to celebrate Thanksgiving, I wanted to revisit the story of the Pilgrims and the first Thanksgiving that many of us learned as kids. Because, I found out as an adult that I didn't really learn the full story–I learned a mythologized version of it. And I learned that while I heard a lot about the Pilgrims landing at Plymouth, I didn't know as much about the Wampanoag people who were already in New England, many of whom were living in what is part of Rhode Island today. Episode Source MaterialImage 9 of Massasoit's town Sowams in Pokanoket, its history, legends and traditions,Massasoit's Illness, and How Winslow Cured Him - Account of Winslow visiting Massasoit Ousamequin Massasoit, Chief Who Signed Treaty With the Pilgrims, To Be Reburied | Smart News| Smithsonian MagazineSowams Heritage Area BrochureSowams Heritage Area Historical OverviewSowams Lives Four Centuries Later - coastalmags.comThis Once Was Called Sowams - Reporter TodayPokanoket booklet FINAL SMALL.pdfwith Ancient Records of Sowams and Parts Adjacent, illustrated. – Rhode Island History NavigatorSowams: with Ancient Records of Sowams and Parts Adjacent–Illustrated - Written by Thomas W Bicknell, 1908Burr's HillEarly History - Narragansett Indian Tribe. Mount Hope Farm To Celebrate 400 Years Since First Thanksgiving | Bristol, RI PatchAll the Facts About Thanksgiving | Newport, RI PatchProclamation - Thanksgiving Day - 1806, Rhode Island - WallBuildersFor Indigenous people, Thanksgiving represents a day of mourningWhite House Thanksgiving Turkeys in the Roaring '20sHow to Tell the Thanksgiving Story on Its 400th Anniversary | History| Smithsonian MagazineThis tribe helped the Pilgrims survive for their first Thanksgiving. They still regret it 400 years later.Thanksgiving's hidden past: Plymouth in 1621 wasn't close to being the first celebrationWampanoag HistoryTribal chief who signed treaty with Pilgrims to be reburiedPokanoket - WikipediaWampanoag - WikipediaHistory of the Pokanoket TribePokanoket is the name of the Massasoit's tribe, not “Wampanoag” – Sowams Heritage AreaPokanoket not Wampanoag in 17th century Sowams   June 5, 2020Warren's HistoryBurr's Hill Pokanoket Royal Burial Ground – Sowams Heritage AreaThe Myths of the Thanksgiving Story and the Lasting Damage They Imbue | History| Smithsonian MagazineThe true, dark history of Thanksgiving - Potawatomi.orgEverything You Learned About Thanksgiving Is Wrong - The New York TimesThis Land is Their LandCulture — Mashpee Wampanoag TribeIn 1621, the Wampanoag Tribe Had Its Own AgendaOf Patuxet - Colonial Society of MassachusettsThe History of the Pokanoket Tribal Diaspora

Melanie Trecek-King is an Associate Professor of Biology at Massasoit Community College in Massachusetts. Her passion for science education led her to create Thinking Is Power to provide accessible and engaging critical thinking information to the general public. In addition to her work in the classroom, Prof. Trecek-King is the Founder and Chair of Massasoit's Sustainable Landscaping Committee, which uses environmentally responsible landscaping practices to conserve natural resources, reduce and prevent pollution, benefit wildlife, and enhance ecosystem functioning.  Trecek-King has a Bachelor of Science in Biology and Chemistry and a Master of Arts in Ecology from the University of Nebraska at Omaha, where she studied prairie ecology, succession, the role of fire in ecosystems, and habitat restoration. ----------------------------------------- This podcast episode is sponsored by Fibion Inc. | The New Gold Standard for Sedentary Behaviour and Physical Activity Monitoring Learn more about Fibion: fibion.com/research --- Collect, store and manage SB and PA data easily and remotely - Discover new Fibion SENS Motion: https://sens.fibion.com/  

By fall 1622, the new settlers sent by Thomas Weston – except those who were sick and remained in the care of the Pilgrims -- left to settle in Wessagussett, twenty-two miles to the north of Plymouth at the site of today's Weymouth.  It was in fact a great location for a settlement with one important qualification:  It was decidedly in the territory of the Massachusetts tribe, and by no means unoccupied or abandoned as Patuxet had been.  This would turn out to be a catastrophic decision, and yet it would paradoxically lead to a more durable peace for the Pilgrims at Plymouth and the tribes following Massasoit at Pokanoket.  But only after the Pilgrims made gutsy decisions and acted boldly. Along the way Squanto would die under mysterious circumstances, and a miracle of healing would change everything. Twitter: @TheHistoryOfTh2 Facebook: The History of the Americans Podcast Selected references for this episode Nathaniel Philbrick, Mayflower: Voyage, Community, War John G. Turner, They Knew They Were Pilgrims: Plymouth Colony and the Contest for American Liberty Edward Winslow, Good News From New England William Bradford, Of Plymouth Plantation Trading Places ("I can see!")

It is the fall of 1621. After the show of force at Nemasket, the cementing of relations with Massasoit, and the three day feast we now regard as "the first Thanksgiving," the Pilgrims confront enemies within. The Pilgrims did not yet know it, but for the next year and a half they would battle perfidy, betrayal, and enemies within who would threaten them existentially.  The perfidy would come from Thomas Weston, the same investor who changed the terms of their deal at the last minute back in London, forcing them to sell critical supplies in order to make up for Weston's unfulfilled promises, and a new batch of settlers who would shortly arrive in Plymouth at Weston's behest. The betrayal would come, sad to say, from Tisquantum, who would play both sides against the middle and disrupt the alliance with Massasoit just when it was most important.  Before we do any of that, though, I talk about the topic of presentism, which became a social media kerfuffle in the last week or two following an opinion piece by Professor James Sweet, the current president of the American Historical Association, and his rapid apology after a backlash. Twitter: @TheHistoryOfTh2 Facebook: The History of the Americans Podcast Selected references for this episode James H. Sweet, "Is History History?" and appended apology. Lynn Hunt, "Against Presentism." [Commission earned on sales through the following links] Nathaniel Philbrick, Mayflower: Voyage, Community, War John G. Turner, They Knew They Were Pilgrims: Plymouth Colony and the Contest for American Liberty Nick Bunker, Making Haste From Babylon: The Mayflower Pilgrims and Their World: A New History William Bradford and Edward Winslow (presumed), Mourt's Relation: A Journal of the Pilgrims at Plymouth Edward Winslow, Good News From New England

In the spring of 1621, the Pilgrims have met Samoset and Tisquantum, and were learning from Squanto to feed themselves. This they would be able to do within one growing season, something the settlers at Jamestown took many years to accomplish. They had also signed a peace treaty with the grand sachem of the Wampanoag, Massasoit. Now they are learning that Massasoit was weaker than he postured, and that even some of his own sachems were planning to rebel, just as the Narragansetts to his west were increasing the pressure on him. From May to August 1621, the Pilgrim leaders would make decisions and take actions, all very much in the fog of pre-war, that would cement the peace with the tribes closest to them, and strengthen their ally Massasoit immeasurably. They did this without any loss of life, all while constructing their settlement, growing their own food, rebuilding their families, and worshiping their God. They concluded their miraculous year with a great three-day feast, in which they were joined by almost 100 Indian warriors. Even at that "first Thanksgiving" they might have been slaughtered at any time, but had so established themselves as measured and, it should be said, useful, that no trap was sprung, no ambush launched. Twitter: @TheHistoryOfTh2 Facebook: The History of the Americans Podcast Selected references for this episode Nathaniel Philbrick, Mayflower: Voyage, Community, War John G. Turner, They Knew They Were Pilgrims: Plymouth Colony and the Contest for American Liberty William Bradford and Edmund Winslow (presumed), Mourt's Relation: A Journal of the Pilgrims at Plymouth

"Welcome, Englishmen!" The Pilgrims had had been building houses and establishing defenses for Plymouth for three months before Samoset, an Abenaki sagamore representing the Wampanoag chief Massasoit, marched boldly into town. Until that moment, they had seen a few Indians watching them, but had made no contact. Now, Massasoit had to decide whether to seek a treaty with the Englishmen, or to fight them. Along the way we reconnect with Tisquantum, and tell one of the most famous stories in early English-American history with, of course, a couple of twists. Twitter: @TheHistoryOfTh2 Facebook: The History of the Americans Podcast Errata: Oops, at one point I said "ancestors" once when I meant "descendants." You'll figure it out... Selected references for this episode Nathaniel Philbrick, Mayflower: Voyage, Community, War John G. Turner, They Knew They Were Pilgrims: Plymouth Colony and the Contest for American Liberty William Bradford and Edmund Winslow (presumed), Mourt's Relation: A Journal of the Pilgrims at Plymouth Jonathan Mack, A Stranger Among Saints: Stephen Hopkins, The Man Who Survived Jamestown And Saved Plymouth Caleb H. Johnson, The Mayflower and her Passengers Lynn Ceci, "Fish Fertilizer: A Native North American Practice?", Science, April 4, 1975. The Charter of New England The Three Sisters (agriculture)

Lets head back to the North East as Megan and Steve take us on a journey to not another prison, house, or a building, but to a stretch of land covering most of the southeastern parts of Massachusetts. The Bridgewater Triangle! With history spanning long before recorded history, it is known as one of the largest, most haunted areas in the world! Is it a ghost, a UFO, Bigfoot, or maybe even a puckwudgie!! listen and and find out for yourself!!Do you have a story you'd like read or played on the show? or are you part of an investigation team that would like t come on to tell your story and share your experiences!? Or maybe you have a suggestion for the show? email us at fortheboos12@gmail.comFollow us on Twitter @fortheboosand on Instagram @fortheboos_podcastYou Can also find us on Facebook at For The B-oo'sand on YouTube at For The BoosRemember to Follow, Subscribe, and Rate us.....it really does help!For The B-oo's uses strong language and may not be suitable for everyone, listener discretion is advised.

Malta to Rome: Hospitality and ThankfulnessWe've reached the last chapter in Acts! Chapter 28. You'll find that on page 1114. I know some of you are thinking, “finally!” As I mentioned last week, rather than wait until January to finish Acts, we're going to wrap up next week. Then we'll do a short advent series.Last week, we considered chapter 27 in its entirety - the harrowing account of the shipwreck at sea. God delivered the apostle Paul and Luke. He delivered all 276 passengers, which included the soldiers and sailors. At the very end of the chapter, their ship ran aground on a reef. But before the ship broke apart, they either swam ashore or held on to pieces of wood.They were, of course, exhausted and soaking wet. It was the middle of November. I looked up the average temperature of Malta and in November, the highs would have been in the mid-60s Fahrenheit. With the storm and overcast skies, and the fact that it was morning, it was likely in the low to mid-50s. Not freezing, but when you are tired and wet, that's pretty chilly.That's where we left off.Acts 28:1-16PrayIntroductionOn the morning of September 11, 2001… there were about 4-5,000 airplanes in the sky over North America when the 9/11 attacks began. As you may know, all those planes were ordered to land at the closest airport. At the small international airport outside of Gander, Newfoundland… in Canada, 38 jetliners landed. On them were about 7000 passengers from over 100 different countries. At the time, Gander's population was only about 10,000 people. Quite overwhelming.Yet, an amazing story unfolded. The entire town came together to care for these stranded passengers. The took them in, fed them, and provided for them for several days! There weren't enough houses or hotels for all the passengers to stay, but the town set up cots in schools and churches and community centers. Interestingly, the bus drivers happened to be on strike that day, but they, of course, went back to work to help. New friendships were established. A couple met there and are now married. And as a thanks, the passengers raised college scholarship money for the children of Gander. As of 5 years ago, 2 million dollars have been raised. What a beautiful picture of hospitality and thankfulness. And it's very similar to the hospitality and thankfulness we find at the beginning of Acts 28.Despite the sinfulness of the human heart. Despite the eternal consequences of that sinfulness, God, in his mercy, displays his goodness in all humanity. We call that common grace. It means, in one way, that all humanity, Christians and non-Christians, have a sense of God's goodness. We are all created in God's image and reflect God in many ways. That image was fractured in the sinful fall of humanity … YET, God still displays at times… that common grace through the kindness and care of all people.That's what happened in the town of Gander, and that's what was happening throughout these verses. The hospitality and kindness was displayed, first, through the people of Malta, clearly non-Christians, as we'll see... But that hospitality and kindness was also on displayed by the Christians as Paul's journey continued to Rome.And if hospitality and kindness and thankfulness were on display by all people, how much more should we display hospitality and kindness to all people. Not only because of God's common grace to us, but also because God has given us his saving grace. In other words, out of hearts thankful for the salvation we have in Christ, we should even more display the love of God in our hospitality and thankfulness… all in the name of Christ.That's where we're headed today.Hospitality and Thankfulness on MaltaMalta, by the way, is a small island 60 miles south of Sicily. Sicily is the big island off the southwest coast of Italy. Malta was at one time ruled by Carthage, but Rome took over in 218 BC. That's 250 years prior to the shipwreck. The common practice was to leave the native people of the island in place, but control it through laws and leadership. So a local proconsul was assigned – sort of like a mayor. Given Rome's rule, some of the islanders would be conversant in Greek, the common language throughout the Mediterranean.So when Paul and the rest of the passengers arrived, they would have been able to communicate, at least through some of the locals who knew both Greek and their native language.And immediately, the people of Malta sprang into action. Notice Luke's word choice in verse 2. “the native people showed us unusual kindness” and “welcomed us all.” They built fires on the beach. They must have built multiple bonfires. There were, after all 276 people to warm up and dry off.And talk about springing into action. Paul jumped right in and started to gather sticks. That's just like we envision Paul, isn't it? No matter the occasion, he would help and serve. Always working hard. A model of a true servant. One time I asked my hard-working grandfather, “are you ever going to retire?” He responded, “did the apostle Paul ever retire?”So, Paul was gathering sticks and the people of Malta were helping to build fires, demonstrating their kindness. And next, a very interesting thing happened! As Paul was carrying a bundle of sticks, a viper suddenly sprang out of the pile. It “fastened on [Paul's] hand” as verse 3 tells us. The Greek word for viper is the word for a venomous snake. So the people fully expected Paul to swell up and maybe drop dead.Their first reaction was to think that Paul was a murderer. They knew he was a prisoner, so the viper biting him must mean that their local gods were angry. One of their local gods, named Justice, they thought had prevailed. Paul may have escaped the sea, but Justice would get the final word. So they thought.And so they waited. And they waited. Probably wide-eyed, glancing toward each other. Murmuring around the fires. But nothing happened. No, Paul just shook the thing off into the fire and went on! I think Luke, the author of Acts, who was there… I think he was amused by what happened. How the people of Malta decided that instead of being a murder, Paul must have been a god. They were very superstitious. Talk about from one extreme to another. From a murderer to a god in a matter of minutes.A similar misunderstanding occurred back in chapter 14. Only the opposite thing happened. Paul and Barnabas were in Lystra. They healed a man by the gate, and immediately the people thought they were gods. Do you remember that? Barnabas they called Zeus and Paul, Hermes, their local gods. But after the people of Lystra were convinced they weren't gods, instead they stoned Paul, leaving him for dead. That was cancel culture 101 – at first worshipping him, and then trying to kill him.Well here, it's the opposite. From a murderer to a god. We're not given any of the dialog between Paul and the people on Malta, but in Lystra, Paul and Barnabas tore their clothes when the people tried to worship them. Paul, undoubtedly sought to quickly correct their thinking.There's also something deeper going on in this snake encounter. Back in the Gospel of Luke, chapter 10, Jesus said to his disciples and the others he had sent out: “I have given you authority to tread on serpents and scorpions, and over all the power of the enemy, and nothing shall hurt you.” Paul was an apostle. He held a special role as the church went forth. As Luke highlighted this unique event, he was alluding back to Jesus' promise and was also further establishing Paul's authority as an apostle.The next few verses give us some insight into their time on Malta. By the way, which lasted 3 months. And that included a grand hospitality and welcoming by Malta's leader. Verses 7 and 8. “Publius” was either his name or title. That word has Latin roots and means “first.” He would have been appointed by the Romans. Either he was a Roman, himself, or a native leader that submitted to the Roman authority and allowed to lead. Publius opened his estate. He welcomed them, entertained them. Paul was there at least with Luke. Luke used the pronoun “us.” We don't know if the entire 276 people were with them, but we get the sense that there were many. The word “hospitably” is used. Again, we're talking about common grace kindness. Paul, Luke, and the others had been through that harrowing storm on the sea. They had little to eat. They were strangers on an unknown island. Yet Publius hosted them for three days.It's Thanksgiving weekend. This kindness and help should remind us of a very similar hisstory. A similar length journey on the open sea, similar time of year, through similar storms and a safe arrival. And a similar 3 days of hospitality and food. Let's go back just over 400 years to 1610s. • A group of faithful Christians were being persecuted in England for their beliefs. They desired to worship God according to the Bible, according to what the Scriptures taught, and not according to the civil magistrate. • These Puritans, as they were known, would not submit to King James. No, their king was Jesus. Their guidance for faith and worship was God's Word. Many were imprisoned for their beliefs. So, some fled. • And a particular group sought religious shelter in nearby Holland. But even there, they didn't have the freedoms they desired. They worried they would lose their culture and identity.• So this group, who we call today Pilgrims… boarded a ship, known as the Mayflower, and they set sail to the new world. Some of you know the story well. • The journey was 66 days. It was long and hard. In the middle of one storm, the mast of their ship cracked. Yet, they safely landed in New England. It was November 1620. • Without much time to build adequate shelters, the winter hit them hard. Sadly, half of the pilgrims died.• However, over the next few months, they befriended and made a peace treaty with a tribe of natives - the Wampanoag tribe. With their help, the Pilgrims learned how to plant corn, work the land, hunt, and fish. • And in the fall of 1621. In fact, November of 1621 – exactly 400 years ago this month. The Pilgrims and Wampanoag celebrated together for a 3-day feast. Sound familiar? 90 Wampanoag including chief Massasoit and the 54 remaining Pilgrims. A mix of cultures and languages and experiences and food, yet they came together. The Pilgrims gave thanks to the one true God for his provision. Thanking God for their new friends who so graciously helped them.On Malta, this three day event included Romans, natives from the island, Luke who was a Greek, and Paul with his Jewish roots. A mix of backgrounds and languages all coming together in a similar display of kindness, thankfulness, and hospitality.And as part of that event, Paul displayed his calling by God as an apostle. He healed Publius's father. It was another confirmation of Paul's role as apostle. You see, similar to the other healings in the book of Acts, this was an apostolic gift given in that time. As the Gospel began to go to the ends of the earth, the healings testified to the one true God. As you can imagine, word got out. Others from the island, who were sick, came to Paul. And Paul healed them as well.Over their three months on Malta, there was much giving and receiving… kindness and hospitality and healing and thankfulness for this God ordained time together. When Paul and the others set sail, the people, it says in verse 10, “honored them greatly.” They gave them provisions – whatever they needed for their journey.Now, we are not told about any conversions to Christ on the island, nor any conversations, or sermons that Paul gave. However, I want to make a case that there most likely were all of those. Gospel conversations, sermons, and conversion to Christ. Hear me out:• First, we do have historical records that within 250 years of the shipwreck, Christianity had spread all over the island. John Chrysostom, archbishop of Constantinople in the 4th century, wrote about Christianity on Malta. Chrysostom said that its roots went back to the apostle Paul's shipwreck. • That's not surprising. And here's my second argument: everywhere Paul went, he testified to the Gospel of Christ. He spoke of who Jesus was, the promises of God, why Jesus came, his death and resurrection, and the call to faith and repentance. That's who Paul was, that's what he did.• Third, apostolic healing in Acts affirmed the one true God. It pointed to him as the one and only, true God, and it testified to the Gospel. In other words, part of the apostolic healing ministry included Gospel witness. That's the reason God gave the apostles that gift. Malta was yet another culture, another Gospel stop on the “ends of the earth” journey in Acts.• And fourth and finally, I think it's very reasonable that the honor that the people showed Paul and the others in verse 10 was due to the Gospel. A deep thankfulness for the life transforming work of Christ that they brought to Malta.None of those points individually make a solid argument that saving grace came to Malta during Paul's time there. However, cumulatively, there's a strong indication that the Gospel took root as a result of Paul's ministry.And this leads to a principle for us. A takeaway from this first section: Receive common grace kindness and reciprocate with saving grace thankfulness. Again, common grace is God's work in and through all people – believers and unbelievers. To receive common grace kindness is to recognize that we all have needs at various times in our lives. And just as Paul and the other passengers received the hospitality and kindness from the Maltese people, so we should receive kindness and help from others when we are in need. • Maybe that's God's common grace work in the medical field. Receiving treatments from someone with the knowledge and skills to treat the mental and physical ailments we have. • Maybe that's receiving help when we've lost our job or run into some other kind of shipwreck in our lives. Sometimes our pride gets in the way, especially for guy. “I don't need your help. I can do it myself.” But, no, we all need help at various times in our lives.So the first part is humbly receiving kindness. And the second part is reciprocating – returning the favor with saving grace thankfulness. Saving grace is God's work of salvation in Christ in the hearts and minds of people. And God uses our words in that work. So, when we experience the kindness of others, the most blessed thank you gift in return is showing them Christ. Revealing the saving hope of God for them. We don't have the apostolic healing gifts that Paul had, but we can offer the gift of faith – faith in Christ who accomplished salvation on the cross.Receive common grace kindness and reciprocate with saving grace thankfulness.Final Journey to RomeWell, the journey continued. And so did the hospitality and thankfulness. They departed Malta on new ship. Their first stop was at a port on the eastern side of Sicily, named Syracuse. From there, they sailed to the tip of mainland Italy, Rhegium. This time, the weather was in their favor. The winds came from the south, and in just over a day, they cruised along the western coast of Italy about 180 miles. And they arrived in the city of Puteoli. It's there that they met other believers. Christians. Verse 14. This time, the Christians were the ones displaying hospitality. They welcomed Paul and the others and hosted them for 7 days. Another respite on the journey. From there, they travelled to Three Taverns – which was a place only about 33 miles from Rome. This time, word had gotten out and more believers came from Rome and greeted Paul.These encounters with other believers were a great encouragement to Paul. Verse 15 says that Paul “thanked God and took courage.” Part of that was certainly their care and hospitality. But in addition to that, Paul was being blessed through the church in Italy. The thing is, he didn't have direct involvement in bringing the Gospel there. Yes, Paul had written to the church in Rome 3-4 years earlier. He even knew several believers there, but Paul had never been to Italy, at least after his conversion. But the work of spreading the Gospel and establishing new churches had been continuing. Other disciples and apostles, like John and Peter and Barnabas, were also participating in the work. Churches were sending out other missionaries to other parts of the world, and they planted new churches. It's no wonder Paul was greatly encouraged. What a tremendous blessing to experience God's work continuing to go forth.So finally, Paul arrived in Rome… with a community to care and provide for him. Even the Roman soldier displayed kindness to Paul in allowing him to stay in a home. Rome at last.Well, if the first 10 verses point us to reciprocating common grace kindness with saving grace thankfulness. Then these last 6 verses point us to a second principle: Give and receive hospitality and thankfulness with one anotherThis principle is about the church. Paul's time with the Christians at Puteoli went both ways. Besides Paul receiving their hospitality, what an encouragement for them to be with Paul. And did you note, Paul was with them seven days. That means they also worshiped together!When we exercise hospitality and thankfulness to one another in Christ, the body of Christ, the church is built up. It's strengthened for the work to which God has called her. Our relationships with one another are deepened. Our love and care for one another is displayed to the watching world. When we receive and give to one another, we're exercising the covenant community blessings as the church… serving and loving and helping and caring for one another all in the name of Christ.Let me take just a minute and extend the principle one level further. Even though these verses don't demonstrate the hospitality of the church to the community around them. That's the next logical level of hospitality, one, in fact, that the church in Rome was known for. Exercising that hospitality and kindness to those outside of the body of Christ. Gospel Hospitality as it's been recently coined by author and speaker Rosaria Butterfield. In the name of Christ, it's welcoming those around you into your home and through acts of kindness. Loving and caring for neighbors and through that speaking of God's truth and grace in Christ. Butterfield herself, experienced a radical conversion through the ministry of that kind of hospitality. She writes this in her book, The Gospel Comes with a Housekey “Our post-Christian neighbors,” meaning our neighbors that don't have any Christian influence or background, “Our post-Christian neighbors need to hear and see and taste and feel authentic Christianity, hospitality spreading from every Christian home that includes neighbors in prayer, food, friendship, childcare, dog walking, and all the daily matters upon which friendships are built.” And through our authentic Gospel-centered hospitality in the name of Christ, God will be at work in Christ.So, Give and receive hospitality and thankfulness with one another in the church… and with those around you in the name of Christ.ConclusionIn summary… from Malta to Rome (and Gander and Plymoth!). Kindness, hospitality, and thankfulness. In Malta, a people believing in a false God named Justice, to experiencing the healing ministry of the one true God. Even without knowing God, they exercised common grace kindness and hospitality which more than likely led to experiencing the saving grace ministry of Christ. And on the journey to Rome, more hospitality, this time from the Christian community. It led to thankfulness and encouragement in Christ.May we be a people giving and receiving kindness, hospitality, and thankfulness, all because of the grace we've been given in Christ.

In Autumn of 1621, a group of Pilgrims from the Mayflower voyage and Wampanoag men, led by their sachem Massasoit, ate a feast together. The existence of that meal, which held little importance to either the Pilgrims or the Wampanoag, is the basis of the Thanksgiving myth. The myth, re-told in school Thanksgiving pageants and TV shows, is not accurate and is harmful to Native people, especially to the Wampanoag.  In 1970, the Commonwealth of Massachusetts planned a banquet to celebrate the 350th anniversary of the landing of the Pilgrims. They asked an Aquinnah Wampanoag man, Frank James, also known as Wamsutta, to speak at the banquet. However, when they learned what he was planning to say, the true history, they forbade his speech. Frank James would not give a speech that they rewrote, and instead he planned the first National Day of Mourning on Cole's Hill in Plymouth. Fifty one years later the United American Indians of New England still meet at noon on Cole's Hill on the US Thanksgiving Holiday to remember the genocide of Native people and the theft of Native lands and erasure of Native culture. Joining me to help us learn more about the Wampanoag and the dangers of the Thanksgiving myth is Kisha James, enrolled Aquinnah Wampanoag, one of the organizers of the National Day of Mourning, and granddaughter of Frank James. Our theme song is Frogs Legs Rag, composed by James Scott and performed by Kevin MacLeod, licensed under Creative Commons. The episode image is “Massasoit and His Warriors,” 1857. Photograph in the LIbrary of Congress. Buy Indigenous: Kisha's thread of Indigenous businesses Information about the The Indian Arts and Crafts Act of 1990 Suggested Organization for Donations: North American Indian Center of Boston United American Indians of New England Lakota Kidz   Selected Sources: “Wampanoag History,” Wampanoag Tribe of Gay Head (Aquinnah) “The Myths of the Thanksgiving Story and the Lasting Damage They Imbue” by Claire Bugos, Smithsonian Magazine, November 26, 2019 1621: A New Look at Thanksgiving by Catherine Grace This Land Is Their Land: The Wampanoag Indians, Plymouth Colony, and the Troubled History of Thanksgiving by David J. Silverman  “Everything You Learned About Thanksgiving Is Wrong By Maya Salam, The New York Times, Nov. 21, 2017 “History of King Philip's War,” by Rebecca Beatrice Books, History of Massachusetts Blog, May 31, 2017. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Squanto's hard times help him on an unusual mission to the Pilgrims.

SUMMARY On the last episode of Behind the Tour (Episode #23), we joined Dr. Marshall Foster for a short podcast recorded live at the National Monument to the Forefathers in Plymouth, Massachusetts. On this episode, host Aaron Cronk is joined by ACTS education program leader (EPL) Lisa Strong. Lisa takes listeners on a virtual walking tour of the historic waterfront and downtown of Plymouth.  Numerous quotes from the early Pilgrims are shared as well as discussions of numerous sites in the Plymouth area that honor the early forefathers and their fortitude to leave England and Holland and come to the new world and establish a lasting nation that was built on honoring God and His precepts. May your heart be encouraged as you recall the sacrifices made by those before us who had a vision for the future and for future generations with a matrix and plan that would teach us how to prosper as we follow God.     LINK: One of American Christian Tours education programs that includes a visit to historic Plymouth: Historic Massachusetts | ACTS (acts-tours.com) KEY WORDS: American Christian Tours, ACTS, Behind the Tour; Plymouth, Massachusetts; Pilgrims; Plymouth Rock; Mayflower II; Massasoit; Plymouth Burial Ground; Jenney Grist Mill; Pilgrim Mother Statue;  Forefathers Monument

Where does Thanksgiving really come from? Especially the food? The modern meal we eat is nothing like the original meal and the reasons for the Thanksgiving holiday (including the observed day) are Lost. History is always more complex and interesting than we think. In this episode we attempt to reconstruct the Plymouth dinner and the winding path to our own holiday meal. Sources and Notes BRADFORDS HISTORY OF PLIMOTH PLANTATION (faculty.gordon.edu) Recipes from a 17th century kitchen by Donald R Daly (fortedwards.org) "Our harvest being gotten in, our governor sent four men on fowling, that so we might after a special manner rejoice together, after we had gathered the fruits of our labors; they four in one day killed as much fowl, as with a little help beside, served the Company almost a week, at which time amongst other Recreations, we exercised our Arms, many of the Indians coming amongst us, and amongst the rest their greatest king Massasoit, with some ninety men, whom for three days we entertained and feasted, and they went out and killed five Deer" Letter from Edward Winslow (history.com) "...Now therefore I do recommend and assign Thursday the 26th day of November next to be devoted by the People of these States to the service of that great and glorious Being... That we may then all unite in rendering unto him our sincere and humble thanks..." Thanksgiving Proclamation of 1789 (mountvernon.org) The Real Story of The First Thanksgiving (epicurious.com) "But Roosevelt was president for a long time, long enough for another five-Thursday November to roll around in 1939. Once again, some business leaders asked if the date for the holiday could be a week earlier to give people more time to shop for Christmas." Why We Celebrate Thanksgiving On The 4th Thursday Of November (npr.org) "Amidst a raging Civil War, President Abraham Lincoln issued a “Proclamation of Thanksgiving” on October 3, 1863, 74 years to the day after President George Washington issued his first presidential Thanksgiving proclamation...The concept for a national Thanksgiving celebrated annually came from Sarah Josepha Hale, the editor of the Godey's Lady's Book magazine. Hale pointed out in a letter to Lincoln only a week before the proclamation was made official that the public had been manifesting increasing interest in one national holiday." How President Lincoln Created Thanksgiving (forbes.com) Renaissance (history.com) A Call for Repentance (67owls.com) The Origins of the Mysterious Green Bean Casserole (history.com) A Colonial Thanksgiving Menu Inspired By the Foods the Pilgrims Ate (marthastewart.com) Music Courtesy of freemusicarchive.org instagram.com/lostmassachusetts --- Send in a voice message: https://anchor.fm/lostmass/message Support this podcast: https://anchor.fm/lostmass/support

Installed at Plymouth, Massachusetts, in 1921 to commemorate the tercentenary of the landing of the Pilgrims, Cyrus Dallin's statue Massasoit was intended to memorialize the Pokanoket Massasoit (leader) as a welcoming diplomat and participant in the mythical first Thanksgiving. But after the statue's unveiling, Massasoit began to move and proliferate in ways one would not expect of generally stationary monuments tethered to place. The plaster model was donated to the artist's home state of Utah and prominently displayed in the state capitol; half a century later, it was caught up in a surprising case of fraud in the fine arts market. Versions of the statue now stand on Brigham Young University's campus; at an urban intersection in Kansas City, Missouri; and in countless homes around the world in the form of souvenir statuettes. As Lisa Blee, Associate Professor of History at Wake Forest University, and Jean M. O'Brien, Distinguished McKnight University Professor of History at the University of Minnesota, show in Monumental Mobility: The Memory Work of Massasoit (The University of North Carolina Press, 2019), the surprising story of this monumental statue reveals much about the process of creating, commodifying, and reinforcing the historical memory of Indigenous people. Dallin's statue, set alongside the historical memory of the actual Massasoit and his mythic collaboration with the Pilgrims, shows otherwise hidden dimensions of American memorial culture: an elasticity of historical imagination, a tight-knit relationship between consumption and commemoration, and the twin impulses to sanitize and grapple with the meaning of settler-colonialism. Ryan Tripp is adjunct history faculty for the College of Online and Continuing Education at Southern New Hampshire University.