Miss Americana goes to the First Thanksgiving

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 signalled 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 penis 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 pussy that day - modestly-sized penis, 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 vigour 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 penis 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 womens' 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.

"Ooh!" 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 pussy-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 vigour. 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 pussy, 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 pussy, 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 pussy, 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. "Wh-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.

"Wh- 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... G-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 pussy 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 pussy, 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 penis, 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 Patuxet 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 pussy squeezing tight around his penis 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.

*Actual Historical Fact. No, not joking.

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 Patuxet 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), WW2 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.