Nigel Anderson hummed Yankee Doodle under his breath as he walked into his office at the Greenwood Historical Society. Although he himself was an English expat, the Fourth of July was his favorite time of year, and plans for the city’s annual Revolutionary War re-enactment were well underway. As the town’s only Brit, Nigel had played the English commanding officer ever since he’d arrived on a student visa several years ago. After being surprised with a lucrative local job opportunity, he’d made his immigration to the States permanent, settling in and taking a position with the historical society as a hobby.
He frowned as he entered his office, finding a young woman waiting in it with her sneakered feet kicked up on his desk. She was a brunette, slender, and with a certain energy about her even at first glance. He sighed as he saw the t-shirt she wore, “STOP CENSORING LIBERTY LASS!” hastily scrawled in sharpie across the white fabric.
“You must be Miss Abigail Sweet,” Nigel said with a sigh, sitting down at his desk across from her. He looked at her feet on his desk with distaste until, with a scowl, the girl leaned forward, setting them on the floor again.
“That’s me,” Abigail said, “and you must be Nigel, the perfidious Englishman trying to censor and erase Liberty Lass!”
“Yes, perfidious, that’s me,” Nigel deadpanned, “look my dear, I’ve read all the letters you’ve sent, and as much as this town loves the legend of Liberty Lass I’m afraid it has no place in the annual Revolutionary War re-enactment!”
“Legend!” Abigail balked, “Liberty Lass is real no-fooling history!”
“It’s folklore, miss Sweet,” Nigel said sternly, “I really only came by the office to pick up a few things, so if you wouldn’t mind-“
“You’ve probably never even heard the story!” Abigail said, slamming her fist on the table, “it’s not fair to throw out Greenwood’s greatest hero just because she doesn’t fit your boring sanitized history books! What makes her story so unbelievable?”
“Well, she’s variously ten, fifty, and a hundred feet tall depending on who tells the tale,” Nigel chuckled.
“Well duh, she could change sizes,” Abigail said dismissively.
“Oh, yes, of course,” Nigel muttered, “silly me, I must have forgotten.”
“You really haven’t heard the story!” Abigail said in awe, “Y-You’ve got to let me tell it to you, from the beginning!”
“I really don’t think-“
“Oh, come on!” Abigail moaned, “just listen to the story one time before saying we can’t have Liberty Lass in the re-enactment, then I’ll leave you alone!”
Nigel sighed, if nothing else she’s certainly passionate about the legend… It was endearing in a way. With a chuckle he leaned back in his chair. “All right then, tell me the tale of Liberty Lass!”
Abigail all but squealed with excitement, “Well the year was 1776, the people of Greenwood, Massachusetts were aflame with thoughts of patriotism and revolution…”
…
“Annie,” her father called, “Finish up feeding those chickens and bring a barrel of whiskey up from the cellar, everyone’s almost here for the cookout!”
“Coming Pa!” Annie shouted, standing up to her full height as she waved to the incoming stream of visitors on horseback. At six feet tall and eighteen years old she was the star of the county, a brunette with waving long hair, a body strong from farm labor, and a heart full of love for her country… and perhaps some for Paul Tremaine, the handsome young man from the farm over. Her heart fluttered as she saw him joining the other dozens of guests riding to her father’s farm.
“Paul!” She called, throwing the last of the chicken feed and sprinting across the farm to greet him.
“Annie!” he called excitedly, leaping from his horse and embracing her. He grunted as she lifted him off the ground, she was a hair taller than he was, and stronger too, he was sure. The rich earthy smell of her sweat, well earned from a day of labor, filled his nostrils as she twirled him around like a doll, his legs flailing.
“This coat,” Annie said excitedly, setting him down and running a hand down the blue fabric, “does this mean…”
“That’s right Annie, I’ve joined the Continental Army,” he said with a grin, “I’m going to report tomorrow to march under General Washington!”
“Oh Paul,” she said, hugging him close with a force that caused him to grunt with exertion, “I’m so proud of you, but I’ll worry so…”
“I’ll be back after the war’s won, and our country is free!” he promised with a smile, “but tonight… let us enjoy grilled meats, warm fires, and good beer!”
“God bless America!” she cried excitedly.
Several hours later as the sun drew low in the sky, Annie’s father, Richard, was preparing the burgers on a large long charcoal grill, and as Annie and Paul talked with the other members of the community, their stomachs began growling in anticipation of that most American of meals.
…
Nigel sighed, kneading his temples, “Hamburgers didn’t become part of the American palette until the influx of German immigrants in-“
“They were eating burgers,” Abigail growled.
Nigel rolled his eyes, but gestured for her to continue. I suppose this isn’t a story people love for the historical accuracy anyways, he thought as the girl picked up where she’d left off.
…
As the community readied plates and Annie’s father prepared the meal, they heard the hoofbeats of approaching horses. With horror the gathered members of the community saw the red coats of the approaching local British Garrison, a tall man rising at the front with a cruel grimace on his face.
General Greywithers hated the colonials and their patriotism, their love of freedom offended his British soul and every day he prayed to King George that he would be allowed to destroy their fledgling country.
“What have we here?” Greywithers laughed wickedly, his rotten British teeth causing the front row of onlooks to reel back as the smell wafted over them, “A gathering of traitors to the crown?” he drew his sword, and his men dismounted, readying their guns. “Scatter this rabble!” he called.
With evil laughs the Redcoats ran forward, tipping the grill over and tossing all the half-cooked burgers into the dirt. With a malicious cackle General Greywithers trampled over the meat with his horse, causing the onlookers to wail in despair. Gunshots rang out as the redcoats ran through the party, tossing dirt into the potato salad, chasing screaming women, and adding U’s to any sign they could find.
…
“I’m sorry, you’re saying that the local garrison commander attacked their barbecue for… what purpose exactly?” Nigel asked.
“He wanted revenge for the Boston Tea Party,” Abigail explained, “we threw what he loved in the harbor, so he wanted to throw what Americans loved in the dirt.”
…
Annie ran through the chaos, dodging cackling and grasping British soldiers as she looked for her beloved, “Paul!” she called, “Paul, where are you!?”
“Oh what have we here?” Greywithers called, grabbing the young blue coated man, “A would be patriot? You’ll see the gallows rebel scum!”
“Run Annie!” Paul shouted.
And in that moment Annie felt something welling within her, a pride and righteous anger that filled her chest and flowed through her with each heartbeat.
“Let him go!” she roared.
“By Henry’s Wives,” Greywithers whispered, watching as the girl shot upwards, crossing seven feet, eight feet, there was a loud rip as her clothing tore apart, leaving her in nothing but her smallclothes as the amazon reached the terrified general.
“A-Annie?” Paul stammered in a hushed voice as she stood over the pair, now at least fifteen feet in height.
“O-Open fire!” the general shouted, pointing at her.
Musket shots rang out, and Annie cried out in pain, rubbing her shoulder where the lead shot smacked into her skin, feeling like horsefly bites as she rubbed the red welts tenderly. With a growl she turned to face the soldiers, and as the Englishmen ran she thundered after them, her steps shaking the earth as she easily closed the distance.
“Give me those!” she shouted, plucking the guns from their grasps. The men fought her, trying to keep a hold on their weapons, but they didn’t even come up to Annie’s hips, and disarming them was no more difficult than pulling weeds. A few more gunshots rang out, and she slapped her ass out of reflex, yelping as another pair of bullets bounced off her exposed cheeks. “O-Okay, you asked for it!” she sneered, turning on the next group of soldiers.
“RETREAT!” one of them called, and as quickly as they’d come the redcoats were in full flight. The people at the cookout cheered, and Annie put her hands on her hips and gave a triumphant smirk as they ran.
“Stand and fight!” Greywithers called angrily, “for king and country! W-We have nothing to fear but fear it-“ the shadow of the now Amazonian Annie fell over him, blocking out the sun, and he gulped nervously.
“Let him go!” Annie demanded, pointing at Paul.
Greywithers yelped in fear, releasing the young patriot as he ran for his horse, “Curse you Americans and your freedom!” he howled, leaping into the saddle and galloping away, leaving trails of dust behind him.
The people cheered, gathering around the now towering and imposing young woman, who breathed a sigh of relief. Paul ran up, meaning to hug her, but barely reaching her hips the best he could do was to embrace her leg.
“H-How did you do this?” Paul asked as the crowd finally quieted down.
“I don’t know!” Annie said excitedly, “I was just so angry at those redcoats… I just got big somehow!”
Annie’s father cleared his throat, “Uh, Darling, you may need to sleep in the barn tonight, until this er… resolves.”
Annie just laughed, “Oh come now father, surely I’m not that big!”
…
“Suck it in!” Paul shouted, grunting as he shoved his shoulder with all of his might against Annie’s ample bottom.
“She’s not going to fit!” one of the fieldhands called from her other side, pushing equally hard as they tried to help force Annie through the farmhouse’s front door.
Paul’s eyes went wide as the massive pale derriere, barely contained by the stretched cotton panties, began backing up towards him. The other farmhand shouted in surprise and ran, but Paul was spellbound, unable to bring himself to move as the soft mound of flesh came backwards, pushing him to the ground and pinning him beneath Annie’s now immense weight.
“It’s no use,” she huffed, sitting backwards and gazing at the door, “The barn it is… Paul, will you stay with me?” She looked around a moment, “Paul!?”
The muffled shouting from below startled her, and she looked down and squeaked in horror. She leapt up, letting the dazed man breathe as he looked up at her, a dazed and dreamy expression on his face.
“I’m sorry!” she said nervously.
“Don’t be,” he said with a dreamy smile.
…
The barn was surprisingly cozy, and once she’d pushed a large enough pile of hay around to make herself a makeshift mattress, the now towering girl collapsed onto it with a huff, thinking over the days events. She looked down at herself with a frown, if nothing else the clothing situation needed to be resolved, her modesty wasn’t so great that she would fall to pieces at being seen in her smallclothes by the community, but being seen naked…
“Annie?” Paul opened the barn door, holding a lantern in hand as he peered into the darkened interior.
“I’m here!” she called, beckoning him in.
“So er… what will you do now?” He asked, coming to sit next to the towering farmgirl.
“I suppose being big will help around the farm,” she mused with a smirk, “though I’ll expect seconds at dinner now… I’m sure I’ll manage, and it’ll keep those redcoat bastards away for sure!”
“Indeed!” Paul said with a small smile. He chuckled nervously, “You know… before everything that happened, I’d fancied that you and I might…” he cleared his throat, “well, know each other, as a man and a woman do.”
Annie just giggled overhead, reaching down and running her long powerful fingers through his hair, “We could still do that Paul…”
He gulped, “Uh… how would that… that is to say-“
Annie’s hand, now almost as wide as his torso, roughly shoved him to the hay, cutting off his inquiries. She shifted herself up, slowly removing the stretched and weathered brassier, tossing it away and letting a pair of breasts the size of a miller’s pumpkins tumble free.
“Like what you see?” Annie asked, standing up and letting her head nearly touch the barn’s ceiling as she hooked her thumb around her panties. They simply ripped at the slightest touch, flying off her as the fabric, already frayed by her sudden growth, could take no more. Annie’s body was supple and firm, with a trimmed tuft of hair just above her womanhood, one she ran her fingers through as she teasingly played with herself, letting the young man below her get a glimpse of the glistening pinkness inside as she stepped over him like an arching cathedral door.
“Y-You’re beautiful,” he stammered.
“Even when I’m big?” she giggled.
“Moreso,” he rasped.
She felt her heart flutter, and slowly lowered herself down to her knees, spreading her thighs on either side of his head as her womanhood’s fragrant aroma wafted down to the stunned Paul, her legs like solid pillars on either side of him as he saw her body continue to descend.
He grunted as her weight came down on him in full, bringing her wet slit against his face and grinding into it, wetting his nose and lips with the musky sweet scent of her juices as she moaned overhead. It was like he was spice in a mortar and pestle, the resistance slowly pounded out of him as the towering amazon of a woman rode his face.
Instinctively his tongue darted out, licking at her as she continued to treat his face like a saddle on a summer day. His motions didn’t go unnoticed, and a shivering tremor went up through the massive thighs that imprisoned him as more of the giant girl’s weight came down, causing him to sputter for breath.
“Don’t stop now!” Annie begged, grinding against him hard enough to earn a muffled groan.
Paul’s tongue surged forward again, and as he found the nestled bud at the top of her womanhood the gasping moans became a scream of pleasure. Annie’s climax coated his face in the sticky juices as he eagerly licked, feeling himself growing lightheaded as the towering titaness bucked against him in the throes of orgasm.
“Oh say can you see,” Annie muttered, blinking as the stars in her vision disappeared. The world was stretching suddenly, and she swayed on top of Paul as she watched the ceiling drift farther away. Her eyes went wide as she realized she was getting smaller, and a moment later she was panting on top of Paul at her old size, looking down between her legs at a man who, while covered in her cum, was no longer struggling to breath under her weight.
“A-Annie!” he stammered, “You’re-“
“Small again,” she said excitedly, “Well… smaller,” she giggled, leaning down to ruffle his hair, “it looks like all I need to turn back to my normal size is to… well, you know.” She rolled off him, giggling all the while, “Luckily I have a handsome man to help me with that part!”
“D-Do you think you could become… big again?” Paul asked nervously, licking his lips and tasting the remnants of Annie’s orgasm.
“Only one way to find out,” Annie said eagerly, “I’m going with you when you march out tomorrow!”
“WHAT!?” Paul said, sitting upright, “But Annie, it could be dangerous, you can’t-“
“If I have this power, I want to use it to liberate our country from the wicked King George!” Annie said firmly, “when we’re not fighting the British, I’ll pretend to be a normal camp cook and washing woman, but when the battle begins?” She grinned, “I’ll teach them what happens to tyrants!”
…
“A uh… very… colorful, description of Liberty Lass’s origins,” Nigel said, his face red.
“Yeah, it’s kind of a risqué origin story,” Abigail said with a shrug and a wink, “but that’s how it’s told!” She reached down into a bag at her side, withdrawing an old leatherbound book that made Nigel furrow his brow.
“That looks old,” he commented, noting the leatherwork.
“Yeah, it’s a collection of Liberty Lass stories from the Civil War era,” Abigail explained.
“I had no idea the legend went back so far,” Nigel said, curiously taking the book from her. My god, this looks… authentic, he thought as he thumbed through the pages. His blush returned as he stared at a woodcut printing of the intimate scene in the barn Abigail had just described for him. And whence Liberty Lass reaches a ladie’s pleasure, she returns to her normal size, he read, fighting a chuckle.
“This is… interesting,” he admitted, “I don’t know where you got this volume, but the historical society would be very interested in documenting it. Still, that’s not exactly enough to include Liberty Lass in our Revolutionary War re-enactment.”
“But-“ she began.
“I’d love to talk more about this after the holiday,” Nigel said as he stood up from his desk, “really, I would, maybe we can include something next year.”
Abigail huffed angrily as Nigel smiled and held the door for her. She fumed a moment, but then grabbed her bag and followed him out of the historical society office. She watched him walk towards his car, rubbing her chin as she tried to think of how to salvage the situation.
…
Nigel pushed his cart through the grocery store, in this part of the country all the shops would be closed over the holiday weekend, and he was restocking several essentials. He sighed happily as he rolled into the tea aisle, then froze, his eyes going wide as he took in the empty shelves.
“Looking for something?” Abigail called with a grin.
He whirled around, “Bloody hell,” he muttered under his breath, seeing that every box of tea in the store was sitting the young woman’s cart.
“Now listen up Limey,” she taunted, “we’re going to go back to your place, I’ll order us food, and then I’m going to finish telling you the story of Liberty Lass, or else!”
“Or else what!?” he said, struggling to keep a stiff upper lip.
“Or else I’ll take all this tea,” she gestured to the cart, “and dump it in the pond out back!”
“You wouldn’t dare!” he gasped, horrified.
She blinked a moment, fighting a giggle, “A-Are you serious Nigel? Of course I would, I’m fighting the urge to do it right now!”
Walked right into that one, he thought bitterly, “Fine… just… put some of the tea back, okay?”
…
Perhaps a half hour later they were at Nigel’s small home, a box of warm pizza between them as the tea whistled in the kettle. Abigail had a smug grin on her face as Nigel scowled, getting up to get the finished beverage.
“Now where were we?” she began, “Oh yes, so Liberty Lass followed Paul to join the continental army…”
…
Life on the campaign trail was rough for the two young lovers, Annie was up at the crack of dawn to prepare meals and preparing the washing, and Paul was sent to drill with the regulars as the army marched. Both had even caught a glimpse of General Washington himself as he’d inspected the ranks, and while the going was tough, neither wavered for a minute in their dedication to the fight for freedom.
“This is some of the best camp food I’ve ever had,” Paul said, smiling across the small cookfire at Annie, who blushed.
“I do the best with what I have,” she said with a smile.
The two were interrupted by a warning bugle blowing. Around them men looked to one another in surprise, grabbing their muskets and sprinting off to form ranks. Horses whinnied, and men began shouting orders, unfurling the flag.
“The British!” Paul said in a hushed tone, “the commander must have spotted them!”
“Go,” Annie said, looking around, “I’ll join the battle when I… If I can do it again!”
“Yes, of course,” Paul sighed. Without warning he pulled her into a kiss, locking lips with her. He parted a moment later, grinning as he tipped his tricorner hat at her and sprinted off to join his unit.
…
General Greywithers laughed wickedly as he led his column of English soldiers, “Gather up all of the puppies and kittens from these colonials,” he ordered as the men marched through the center of town, “We’re going to use them for target practice!”
“Even the cute ones guvnuh?” one of the redcoats asked behind him.
“Especially the cute ones,” The British commander sneered.
“We’ve sighted the colonials!” one of the scouts called, riding his horse back into the center of town and waving his sword excitedly.
“Excellent,” Greywithers laughed, “tally ho lads, it’s time for bloodshed!” The British all laughed and cheered as they readied themselves for battle. As the American rows of infantry marched into sight across the field he scowled, drawing his sword, “I hate how brave and handsome they are,” he muttered angrily.
…
“Oh now really,” Nigel said, brow furrowed in frustration, “The British Commander hated Americans because-“
“They were so brave and handsome, yes,” Abigail said, smirking.
They’d moved to the couch after finishing dinner, and Abigail was curled up almost uncomfortably close to him as the pair shared a bottle of wine. Nigel was suddenly very aware that he was in his home alone with a beautiful member of the opposite sex.
Abigail seemed to notice his discomfort, and giggled, “What’s the matter limey? You don’t have a lot of girls over to discuss history?”
“Er, no,” he said, a little flustered, “though I’d hardly call this history! Folklore perhaps-“
He grunted as Abigail shifted, planting her feet in his lap, cutting him off. She was wearing a simple pair of white cotton socks, but the slightly ripe smell of sweat reached his nose as she wiggled her toes playfully.
“A foot rub would be nice,” she said, sipping her wine, “I’ve been on them all day…”
Surprising himself Nigel reached down and began slowly massaging the girl’s feet through her socks. She sighed happily, leaning back against the couch and sipping the wine. He had to admit, she looked cute like this…
“Anyway,” she continued, “as the British and Americans did battle, Annie snuck to the sidelines, waiting for her moment.”
…
The cannons barked, the shells howling as they soared through the skies, throwing up dirt and grass around the approaching colonial army as they marched in time to drums and flutes. Around the edges of the battle the sharp crack of pistols rang out. Smoke rose from the city center as the British regulars advanced across the field towards the yankees in their sharp blue, and the union jack and the stars and stripes flew valiantly over their respective armies.
Annie hid in a copse of bushes, glancing out at the British and licking her lips nervously as she fidgeted. A large tent fabric was wrapped tightly in the pack across her back, ready to be wrapped around her in makeshift clothing once she was bigger.
If I can get bigger again, she thought nervously. The smell of gunpowder was starting to reach her, and she worried for Paul.
“What do we ‘ave ‘ere?” a cockney accent called out.
She whirled around to see a trio of British scouts dismounting their horses, “I-I’m just a washerwoman,” she said nervously, “j-just trying to stay out of the way!”
“You got a loicense for washerwoman work?” the commander barked.
“I say we string ‘er up as a spy!” one of the redcoats jeered.
Annie gulped, then smiled, “Yes, I’m a spy, and I regret only that I have but one life to give for my country!”
The familiar tingle spread through her body, and her clothing suddenly felt tight against her skin as euphoria swept her. She laughed as the sound of ripping clothing tore through the air, and the panicked cries of the three British scouts rose over the nearby battlefield as her head topped the trees, the buildings of town, and kept going higher!
“W-Woah,” she stammered, trying to keep her balance as her growth continued. The bushes she’d hidden behind were trampled underfoot, mere twigs under her rapidly growing body.
“S-She’s a monster!” one of the English squealed, stumbling over his comrade as he ran for the horse.
Oh god, she realized, I’ve got to be nearly a hundred feet tall… She towered over the battlefield, a looming colossus that caught the attention of both battling armies, bringing the din of gunfire and cannonshot to an uneasy quiet as the gathered soldiers looked up in awe at the gigantic woman, her brown hair shimmering slightly in the noonday sun.
She glanced uselessly down at the tent fabric she’d brought to conceal herself, Not nearly enough now, she thought with a laugh. I guess I should just make the best of it!
She put her hands on her hips, turning to face the battlefield and giving them a good look at her massive chest, each breast the size of farmhouse. There were a few booms as cannons fired at her, and she giggled as the shells burst against her, tickling her slightly and causing her ample chest to heave and giggle.
“H-Hey! Quit it!” she laughed.
“STOP!” Paul shouted, running towards the American cannoneers, “She’s with us!”
“That’s right!” Annie boomed, grinning down at the British, “I’m fighting, for FREEDOM!”
“Dear god,” Greywithers shouted, “The Americans are now fighting for the right to go nude!? How uncivilized!”
“No!” Annie’s voice thundered, “My clothes just uh… don’t grow with me. Now, do you surrender?”
“Never!” Greywithers called, rallying his men, “We will fight you on the beaches, we will fight you on the…” he trailed off as the ground shook and Annie’s shadow blocked out the sun. “Oh bollocks,” he muttered as her foot lifted up.
“Don’t tread on me!” she shouted triumphantly, bringing her bare foot down.
Greywithers grunted, pushed into the soft mud by Annie’s foot as she giggled overhead, the vinegary smell of her feet penetrating his nostrils and soiling his immaculate officer’s uniform. The girl playfully ground her foot back and forth, never pressing down hard enough to crush him like the bug he was to her, simply dirtying him further with the mix of mud and grime.
The soldiers panicked, firing their muskets at her ankle, causing nothing more than the slightest tickle as their commander was toyed with by her toes. Annie just laughed, tossing her hair over her shoulder as she enjoyed the sight of the great enemy leader squirming feebly beneath her sole.
“Okay Tories,” she called down, “if you guys don’t surrender right now, I’m going to pop your general like a grape, then I’m going to keep on going down the chain of command until you guys give up.”
The redcoats all looked at each other, then one by one threw down their muskets, raising their arms into the air.
…
“And this is just what it smelled like!” Abigail giggled, pushing her socked foot into Nigel’s face.
“S-Stop it!” he stammered over her laughter. The girl’s socks were stale, and she playfully pinched his nose between her toes as he tried to fight her off.
She stared at him a moment, a knowing look passing between them as her other foot gently moved to his crotch, “If you wanted to be totally authentic, you could take that sock off,” Abigail taunted.
Nigel sighed, “Y-You’re just trying to goad me into-“
“Admitting you love the idea of a giant American girl stomping the British out of you?” she asked with a smile.
“Now really!” he protested, “t-the story is… interesting, but-“
“Take that sock off Limey,” she ordered, “Now.”
Nigel gulped, letting his fingers curl around the fabric, slowly pulling it off Abigail’s foot. He was greeted by a big toenail painted a deep blue, with white stars over it, while the rest of her toes sported red and white striped decals.
“Now kiss it,” she said softly. He did, and she laughed, arcing her head back gleefully as she enjoyed the way he worshipped her toes. “Now, the British commander was in a very similar situation to you,” Abigail continued, “forced to kiss an American girl’s sweaty feet…”
…
“Kiss them!” Annie ordered, grinning as the surrendering commander placed his lips on her toes, “That’s it! Now tell me you believe in taxation WITH representation!”
“Please, we’ve surrendered!” Greywithers called, “this is just… barbaric!”
“I hear pleas, but I don’t hear kissing!” Annie called playfully.
“Annie!” Paul called, running up to her, “I uh… think we can accept his surrender now!”
Annie sighed, lifting her foot up, “Very well,” she muttered.
“Great scott,” An American general called, running up to Paul’s side, “Lass, w-who are you?”
“I’m…” she thought a moment, I don’t want them going back to harass Ma and Pa at home… “I’m Liberty Lass!” she cried triumphantly, “the spirit of the revolution!”
The gathered Americans cheered, firing gunshots into the air as they celebrated their new hero.
…
“Wow,” Nigel breathed, panting in bed as he laid his head back on his pillow.
“I know right?” Abigail giggled, sidling up to him, her naked body pressing against his, “it really is an inspiring tale!”
Nigel blinked, looking at the madwoman he’d just made love to, “Not that!” he stammered, “Y-You! Us, what we just-“
“Oh yeah,” Abigail giggled, “You were good too, don’t tell anyone at the Liberty Lass fan club, but I really get off to the British accent.”
“Blimey,” he muttered.
“Oh yeah, that’s the stuff,” she said, squeezing him close. She giggled and nibbled his ear, causing him to start, “So,” she whispered, “you want to hear the rest of the story?”
“I’ve come this far,” Nigel muttered.
…
The tale of Liberty Lass quickly spread through the colonies, igniting patriotic fervor and becoming a symbol and rallying cry to the burgeoning republic. Talk of Liberty Lass was on the lips of every patriot from the southern states all the way up through Vermont. As she defeated regiment after regiment of British soldiers, the tale eventually found its way across the Atlantic.
Against the black English skies the tower of London rose, a pillar of darkness assailed by the rains of the gloomy island. In the highest room King George’s hoary claw grasped the letter telling of the latest exploits of liberty lass, trembling with rage as the withered monarch hissed.
“This Liberty Lass, he muttered,” pulling his dark robe around himself as the guards stood by, “she thinks her patriotism will save her? Bah!” King George cackled as lightning cracked the sky, “She doesn’t know the power of the British side…”
“Your majesty,” Lord Frederick North said slowly, stepping forward, “Perhaps the time has come to discuss concessions to some of the colonial complaints, I’ve drafted up papers on something I call the Commonwealth-“
“Commonwealth!?” King George rasped angrily. “You have failed me for the last time North!”
Lord North’s eyes went wide, “No your Majesty, I’ve ever been a faithful servant to the crown, I AAAHHH!”
He screamed in pain as lightning arced from King George’s fingertips, frying him alive while his agonized cries filled the tower of London, mixing with the mad laughter of the monarch himself. The crackling energy ceased a moment later, leaving only a charred skeleton of the former prime minister.
“Clean up this rubbish,” King George ordered his guards, gesturing dismissively. He grinned, revealing his yellowed rotted teeth beneath his black robe, “I have heard of the Colonials and their plans to sign a “Declaration of Independence… they believe that its power will undo me, cast me back into the void!” He laughed, “I will go personally to see to it that no such document sees the light of day!”
“Yes M’Lord,” one of the palace guards said, “what are your orders?”
“Ready Big Ben,” he ordered, his yellow eyes gleaming from beneath his shadowed robe. “Soon they will witness the firepower of this full armed and operational clock tower!”
…
“The characterization of King George seems rather, derivative,” Nigel commented. His gaze fell down to the small tuft of short cropped hair over the slit that was just inches from his face, and Annie giggled as her legs tightened on either side of him.
“It can’t be derivative, I don’t know what that means,” Abigail replied.
“It means- MMFFF!”
He was cut off as Abigail shoved his head into her crotch, “You do your job while I tell you what happened next,” she moaned, writhing in pleasure as he took her instructions to heart and began lapping eagerly at her womanhood.
…
Annie walked into the small cottage, Paul at her side. It was dim, with the blinds drawn, a sewing loom sat in one corner, along with piles of thread.
“M-Miss Ross?” Paul called.
“I am she,” a woman’s voice called, stepping out of the shadows. “Betsy Ross, the great seamstress…”
Paul gulped nervously. She was a noble looking woman, with an imperious gaze that took them in neutrally. Many flags hung behind her, some with the red, white, and blue of the colonists, others with designs more alien. With a huff she turned to one wall, gesturing for them to follow her.
“I have sewn this perfect garment for Liberty Lass,” Betsy Ross said softly, lifting a star spangled brassier and panty bottom up, offering them to Annie.
“B-But I uh…” Annie cleared her throat, “I grow really big, you know that, right?”
“They will grow with you,” Betsy said dismissively, “and bear the standard of our new nation.”
“It’s uh… rather revealing,” Paul muttered, looking down at the underwear set.
“It’s better than going naked, no?” Betsy Ross laughed. She turned to the wall, grabbing a tricorner hat from a hook and handing it to Paul. “This will grow to fit too, if she has the patriotism to fuel it.”
“I do!” Annie said excitedly, “I love these! Thank you, Miss Ross!”
“We all serve as we can,” the great seamstress said, bowing with a small smile.
…
Paul stood at attention, mixed with the rest of the continental army as they stood guard outside the Pennsylvania statehouse, waiting as the great men and philosophers debated the questions of the day. It was July 4, 1776, and every soldier was on edge, ready for British trickery or ambush.
Annie waited in a tavern across the street from the great hall, sipping a Samuel Adams beer fretfully, her new Liberty Lass attire concealed beneath her otherwise normal clothing. She tipped her tricorner hat as the barkeep brought her a refill.
…
“And it’s agreed,” Ben Franklin called, silencing the din of the founding fathers around the sacred document, “With these penstrokes we forever signify our Independence from the wickedness of England!”
“Objection!” Francis Lewis of New York called, “This is our last chance to hide a treasure map in it!”
Groans rang out, and Franklin banged his gavel, “Overruled!” he called.
Cheers rang out, and the assembled dignitaries lined up to sign the great proclamation. John Hancock readied his large pen, eagerly hopping back and forth as the Declaration was passed around.
*BONG*
The sound echoed out over the Philadelphia harbor and through the city, catching the attention of the citizens and giving them pause.
*BONG, BONG, BONG*
Down at the harbor front soldiers shouted in fear, and hardened sailors turned to run as the massive mechanical monstrosity rose out of the water.
“Yessss!” King George hissed, cranking the control levers of the monstrous machine, “It’s TIME Americans! HAHAHAHA!”
The gigantic clock faced robot heaved itself out of the water, the gears clanking and the black smoke of the coal fired engine billowing into the sky as the grand masterpiece of the British war machine stomped it’s way into Philadelphia, destroying taverns, houses, and shops while the Mad King cackled wickedly.
…
Annie heard the chaos, and with a growl she started towards the tavern door. She was met by Paul, white faced and gripping her shoulders.
“Annie,” he rasped, “It’s King George, he’s created some kind of monsterpiece! Even you can’t beat it, we have to flee-“
She sighed and placed a finger over his lips, “Shh…” she muttered. “So long as you believe in me, I can be whatever we need!” she said with a smile.
“Uhh…” he gulped, “that thing is over three hundred feet tall Annie, even you couldn’t-“
“I could,” she said with a grin.
Paul fidgeted a moment, listening to the bongs of the approaching war machine, then sighed.
“I believe in you Annie,” he said softly.
“That’s all I need,” she whispered back, kissing him on the cheek. Without another word she ran out into the panicked streets.
…
“AHAHA!” King George cackled, working the levers on the Big Ben robot, “You Americans don’t have a loicense for this tavern!” The robot smashed a granite foot through a nearby drinking establishment, “Or this Library!” His greedy eyes focused on the state hall, where the founding fathers were preparing to sign the Declaration of Independence, a document which would cause him to wither to dust… “AND YOU CERTAINLY DON’T HAVE A LOICENSE FOR DECLARING INDEPENDENCE!” He roared, stomping the great clock towards the beating heart of Democracy.
A guitar chord rang out from somewhere, and the tyrannical monarch paused, listening as “America, Fuck Yeah,” drifted softly over the panicking city.
“WHO DARES CHALLENGE ENGLAND!?” He roared, causing his immense automaton to roar in response, brandishing missiles and a roaring flamethrower that jetted across the buildings.
He gasped in horror as a woman in a star spangled bikini seemed to rise out of the buildings, hands on her hips and a tricorner hate on her head, and most of all defiant grin on her lips as she came face to face with the mad Monarch in his machine of death.
“That would be America,” she roared, spinning a haymaker and slamming into the giant machine’s clockface as the colonists cheered.
…
“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Nigel rasped, “King George fought her with a bloody transformer!?”
“It was more of a Gundam,” Abigail replied, cracking her whip as she grinned at the Englishman, tied to the bed with towels at all four bedposts. She walked around it, letting him get a good view of her black leather corset as she climbed on top of him. “I’m almost done,” she said with a giggle, letting him see the American flag pin on the breastcup of the molded outfit. “If you let me finish, you’re going to finish a lot of times.”
Nigel gulped, “F-For king and country?” he said weakly, smiling.
“For Freedom,” Abigail corrected, leaning over him and fingering the whip. “You ready to pledge allegiance to the flag?”
“Yes ma’am,” he gulped.
…
The battle raged over the city, Liberty Lass landing blow after blow against the steam powered English monstrosity as the founding fathers lined up to sign the declaration.
“Let Freedom Ring!” Annie shouted, slugging the clockface so hard that the bell bonged out in response.
“You’re no Iron Lady!” King George shouted, flicking a switch and sending a volley of missiles into Annie’s face, causing her to cry out in pain and stumble back. King George gave a wicked laugh as his robot gripped Liberty Lass by the wrists, pinning her down and crushing a row of buildings beneath the pair as they wrestled.
“I-I can’t win!” Annie cried, struggling and gritting her teeth. “He’s too strong!”
Paul watched from the ground as people ran and screamed, I’ve got to do something, he thought, panicking. The Gigantic timekeeping war machine was far too big for his musket, or anything he could hope to do, Annie, he realized, I’ve got to inspire her somehow! With a battle cry of freedom, he sprinted towards the statehouse.
“We’re nearly done!” John Hancock shouted as he sprinted up the staircase, “Hurry, we’ve got to finish signing this!”
Outside the battle raged, King George and Big Ben battered Liberty Lass, bruising her and knocking her across the colonial cityscape of Old Philadelphia.
“It’s no use,” King George cackled, “An entire legion of my best troops is closing in!” The smoking machine turned, the clock hands clicking ominously as it gestured to the horizon, a line of red appeared, thousands of British troops playing fife and drum as they wheeled cannons into position over the smoking ruins of Philadelphia.
“No!” Annie whispered in horror.
“Your rebellion ends here!” King George laughed. With a final shove he pushed Liberty Lass to the ground.
…
“Mister Hancock!” Paul shouted, catching the signers attention, “how much more time do you need?”
“Just a minute or so,” he called back.
Paul nodded, gritting his teeth as he ran up the spiral stairs to the Philadelphia statehouse belltower. I’ve got to inspire Annie, he thought, it’s the only way she can beat that thing out there!
He cocked his musket, firing it at the lumbering mechanism. A single *ding* rang out as his lead feebly bounced off the side of Big Ben. King George laughed, turning the massive machine towards the lone patriot left defending the statehouse.
“And who are you musketman, to defy England?” he roared.
“P-Paul!” he shouted, stuffing the ramrod down the barrel with shaking hands.
King George just laughed, working the levers and bringing the massive engine down towards the final obstacle in the path of British domination of the continent. Buildings crumbled before him, and smoke rose behind the robotic harbinger of Anglican fury as Paul looked on in despair.
Annie, you can do this, he thought, lowering his musket and looking to the bell behind him. With a shout he hurtled the butt of his weapon against the iron.
*Clang*
“GIVE ME LIBERTY!” he shouted, striking it again.
*CLANG*
“OR GIVE ME”
*CLANG*
“DEATH!”
With a final scream he struck the bell for the final time, causing the wrought iron to split up the side, cracking the Liberty Bell forevermore.
“Then Liberty you shall have!” Annie cried, leaping to her feet and lunging at the charging robot. The people of the ruined city cheered as she gripped Big Ben, hurtling the robotic terror backwards over her head in a suplex motion that caused King George to cry out in pain.,
“Y-You can’t win!” King George shouted, turning knobs and pushing levers as he righted his machine, “The Sun Never Sets on the British Empire, I’ll bring more ships, more redcoats, more AUSTRALIANS if I have to! I’ll-“
He was cut off as Annie’s fist collided with the clock face, shattering the hour hand and causing King George’s machine to stumble backwards. The people cheered once again as Annie stretched her arms wide and tackled the rampaging robot, slamming it to the ground and crushing another row of buildings beneath the two as they wrestled against each other.
Annie grunted in pain as the machine clenched steel claws around her throat, rolling on top of her, “You’re going to pay so many taxes for this!” King George howled, “stamp taxes, tea taxes, TV taxes, tax taxes! A tax on your cheesburgers-“
Suddenly the wicked monarch went silent, for deep within Philadelphia state hall John Hancock had scrawled the final initials on the Declaration of Independence.
“No,” King George whispered as cracks of light began to appear over Big Ben, “NO, THIS IS IMPOSSIBLE!” The sound of crumbling stone and splintering timbers filled the air as the mad king screamed in one final burst of pain as he turned to ash, blown away on the western wind as his machine crumbled to dust, the streets of Old Philadelphia shaking as English power broke forever.
Outside the city a great chasm emerged, swallowing up the fleeing redcoats, now thrown into disarray without their dark master. George Washington looked at the scene, a tear in his eye as the colonials hugged each other and cheered.
…
“That is by far the most ridiculous telling of the signing of the Declaration of Independence I have ever heard,” Nigel muttered as Abigail placed a plate of beans, toast, cooked tomatoes, and sausage in front of him.
“Fun though, right?” Abigail said, winking at him as she fried bacon in his skillet.
He scowled as he watched how she walked around his kitchen in a bathrobe, his bathrobe, cooking him a full English breakfast as though she hadn’t spent the entire night riding him like an abused derby horse. As he scooped the first forkful of eggs into his mouth, his temper cooled, if nothing else the girl was an excellent cook.
“So,” Abigail asked with a smile, sitting across from him, “Liberty Lass, can we do a quick acknowledgement or something at the re-enactment?”
“I suppose so,” Nigel muttered, “if it matters that much to the people of the town.”
Abigail squealed in excitement, hugging him close and inadvertently driving his face deep into the bathrobe’s exposed cleavage. He blushed as she separated from him, grinning eagerly.
“You won’t regret it, I’ll be there wearing my costume, you won’t be able to miss me!”
“Er… of course,” Nigel said with a smile.
…
Nigel adjusted his hat, looking down at his red British officer’s uniform as the other volunteers all joked and laughed while forming their ranks. The Fourth of July re-enactment had drawn a good crowd as always, and across the field in front of city hall the Yankee side was readying up their own replica muskets.
Where are you Abigail? He wondered, looking over the crowd. He sighed, he’d intended for her to give a short speech about the legend of Liberty Lass, but he couldn’t hold the proceedings off any longer.
“Advance!” he called, readying the mock redcoats in formation as the two sides started towards each other.
The first two volleys of fake musket fire went as usual, the volunteers playfully and dramatically dropping, clutching their chests and imitating grievous wounds. The cannons roared, the paper shells spraying confetti over the soldiers as the crowd cheered.
Suddenly there was a rhythmic rumbling in the distance. Nigel’s eyes went wide as he saw the tricorner hat appearing over the treeptops, followed by Abigail’s grinning face as she strutted onto the battlefield, looming at one hundred feet tall.
“IT’S LIBERTY LASS!” someone shouted. The crowd went absolutely wild as the gigantic woman walked through the battlefield, waving with a smile. She was wearing a star spangled bikini and bottoms, just like she’d described to him in the story, complete with a massive parking lot sized tricorner hat that blocked out the sun as the hundred foot woman reached the British ranks.
“Holy shit Nigel,” one of the volunteers said excitedly, “you really went all out on the special effects this year!”
“S-Special effects,” he stammered, looking up at the enormous giggling patriot, “R-Right.”
“Now we all know what Liberty Lass did to the British commander, right?” Abigail called playfully.
“DON’T TREAD ON ME!” the crowd roared as one.
“It looks like this is your curtain call General,” the volunteer laughed as the other redcoats stepped back from him.
“W-Wait,” Nigel stammered, “T-This isn’t-“
“STOMP HIM,” the crowd roared, “STOMP HIM, STOMP HIM!”
He looked up in shock and horror at Abigail as the flutes began to play “Yankee Doodle” loudly while the colonial forces advanced. She just gave him a wry smile and lifted her bare foot over him, wiggling her toes as she readied herself to re-enact one of Liberty Lass’s most famous feats.
Her foot was dirty, coated in sweat and dirt from stomping around the town fairgrounds at giant size, and Nigel could taste every bit of dirt, every drop of salty sweat, as she pressed down on him, crushing him into the mud. The wind was knocked from his lungs, and for a moment he thought for sure he would die there, under the giant American girl’s sole, but she stopped just short of crushing him, simply twisting her heel and grinding him slowly into the soft July mud.
“WE LOVE YOU LIBERTY LASS!” someone shouted, and the advancing American re-enactors cheered wildly as she waved, keeping the British “general” pinned beneath her sole.
“You guys are the real heroes,” she called with a grin, lifting her foot off the dazed Nigel. She leaned down, scooping him gently out of the mud and smirking at his disheveled uniform.
“A-Abigail?” he stammered weakly.
“It’s okay,” she said with a wink, “All part of the show!”
He felt slightly reassured, but he felt his heart pick up again as she tucked him between her massive breasts, the sweat brought on by the midsummer heat coating him and plastering his hair to the side of his head. He watched miserably as his own hat fluttered off his head, drifting to the ground below. A moment later Abigail crushed it into the mud without realizing it as she turned to face the crowd again.
“I’m taking this British general to George Washington!” she called, “You boys clean up!”
The volunteer soldiers and the crowd cheered as she stomped her way off the battlefield, and the cracks of black powder blanks echoed behind them as Liberty Lass carried her prisoner off to the fairgrounds parking lot.
…
Nigel watched the fireworks burst into the dark sky, the cheers and choruses of a faraway band playing from somewhere across the town’s large fishing pond. He was still tucked in Abigail’s breasts of course, the star spangled bikini cups flanking either side of him as he sighed and took in the spectacle.
“So…” he began, “How does this all work?”
Abigail shrugged, “the female descendants of the original Liberty Lass all have this power, and we can shrink anyone who touches us when we get smaller again, if we want,” she giggled, tapping the top of his head.
“Of course,” he muttered, looking at the now gigantic trees around them.
“Hey, everyone loved it,” she said softly, “you’ve organized the best historical re-enactment in this town’s history!”
“I suppose,” he said with a small smile, “I’m… sorry for not believing.”
Abigail just laughed, “Well, a lot of what I told you was bullshit, but like all good history the truth is in there somewhere.”
“Indeed,” Nigel laughed. He paused a moment, watching a trio of red, white, and blue firecrackers burst in the night sky, “Y-You can grow me back, right?”
“Duh,” Abigail said dismissively, “Like I’d have shrunk my favorite Brit if I couldn’t grow him back…”
“Your favorite Brit?” he asked curiously.
“Well unless Harry Potter feels like moving here, yeah,” she said with a laugh. “Hey,” she said suddenly, “you know this town had a battle during the War of 1812 too? We could re-enact it next!”
Nigel swallowed nervously, “D-Did Liberty Lass fight in that war too?”
“She was called Liberty MILF then,” Abigail said casually, “and her daughter was the new Liberty Lass.” She gasped excitedly, “Hey, my mom only lives like an hour away, do you want to-“
“We’ll talk,” Nigel said quickly, blinking as he tried to imagine that spectacle. “Let’s just enjoy the fireworks.
The pair watched as the finale started, settling into a contented silence as the summer air filled with the rich gunpowder scent of burst fireworks.