Sophia
Theresa Maria da Quiroz
A
Fictional Short Story
By Izzy Ess, MD, of Spirituality
Sophia Theresa
Maria da Quiroz, born and raised in Lisbon, Portugal, from June 21, 2001. She was the first child of Juan Valencia and
Maria da Quiroz, who eventually had a family of six children, five boys and one
girl. They lived in a semi-wealthy
neighbourhood, in a big stone house, with a protected court yard, the whole
property completely fenced in by a stone wall with a huge oak door at the
entrance. In the years gone by, the moat
and bridge had been replaced with trees and bushes and some brightly coloured
flower gardens, lilies predominating. Coming after Sophia, in quick succession, were
Juan, Pedro, Mario, Jorje and Carlo.
Maria was unfortunate to have placenta previa which was not discovered
until the breech birth of Carlo. She had
a severe hemorrhage which could not be stemmed before she went into shock and
had a major cerebral stroke which left her paralysed. She remained with hemiplegia and hemianopia,
wheel chair bound and severely dysphasic.
Luckily, Juan
Valencia, a CEO, and part owner of a publishing company, which manufactured
lovely bibles, translated into many languages, which ranged in size from tiny,
pocket versions to huge, illustrated tomes, and many other written and
illustrated booklets and other religiously oriented articles, including
crucifixes and prayer beads, was able to hire two live-in nuns and nurses, for
the care and feeding of his wife and family, housework, laundry and cleaning,
who could assist Juan’s spinster sister, Sophia Theresa, who came to live in
the large mansion that was his heritage, passed down through several
generations of the wealthy, da Quiroz family.
Other employees included stable boys for 15 horses and a huge stable,
plus a small pasture for the horses and a moderate-sized, riding, oval
track. The property also included a
moderately sized wooded area that partially surrounded the back aspect of the
property for about 10 acres. The house
was on the main road leading into Lisbon.
The Atlantic Ocean was not too far away, inasmuch as Lisbon was an ocean
port, historically for many centuries, of Iberia.
Until her
mother died, Sophia Theresa Maria was a happy child. She had a moody disposition but was never sad
for long. She liked to laugh and dance
and entertain her doting parents with her antics, encouraged all the way. She felt that she was the superior child and
ruled over her five brothers with authority and creativity. She liked, especially, the bathing rituals
that each day found her and her brothers in a beautifully tiled Roman-style
bath with brass spigots and a central fountain featuring a spouting statue of
Fatima, the one who saw the vision of the Holy Mother Maria in Lourdes. Often, her mother and her father joined the
children in the beautiful bath with warm and soapy, perfumed and bubbly
water. These were happy, joyous, even
spiritually rewarding experiences that Sophia was to cherish in her memories
for many years.
There was a
feeling of togetherness and security throughout the early years. It was pretty well accepted that Sophia would
become a nun. Her place at the Convent
of Fatima, in Lourdes, was to be her destiny as soon as she matured. Mature, she did, and blossomed into a
beautiful teenager with dark brownish black hair on her head and elsewhere,
dark black-brown eyes and long eye-lashes.
It was not a problem for her, her parents, her aunt the two employed young
nuns, and her siblings when her breast buds grew and presented proudly on her
lovely chest. Neither was it a problem
when her underarm and pubic hair grew in, accentuating her attractive
femininity.
In the daily
bath, her aunt and both the nuns were naked with the her brothers and
herself. They splashed and laughed,
delighting in their youth and vigour.
Their beauty was astonishing.
Everyone admired Sophia and her new appearance, almost like a goddess or
an earth-bound Angel of the Lord. Her
father’s presence, naked, in the daily bathing happiness, accentuated that His
Very Own Angel had been sent to them for inspiration for the Love of Jesus, God
and the Holy Spirit. Standing naked
right beside the Fatima statue was a wonderful sight to see, a living angel
side-by-side with a marble one. The nuns
recorded much of their activities in the Roman bath with tiny cell phones. Some of the movies managed to go viral on the
European and Asian internets. Much of it
was censured by the censors, but enough got through for one of the nuns to have
a huge audience whenever she put her movies of Sophia on the net before the
censors could erase them. Standard
colour and black and white photographs sold widely all over the world. Sophia side-by-side with the marble Fatima,
seemed to catch the many viewers, and owners, of the movies and photos, with
intense surprise, some aghast and others thrilled. A bland reaction was impossible for any man
or woman. Sophia had become a stunning
woman, in appearance and in spirit. Her
father’s company secretly published photos of her naked self. The photos captured the femininity and
spirituality with ease. Sophia and
Fatima became a secret best seller. The
living and the marble beauties captured by the photographs found their way into
many wallets and into many family rooms around the world.
Sophia was only
slightly aware of her fame and the effect she had on many people. Her father started asking her for private
exhibitions. In his master bedroom, she
disrobed for him, gladly and enthusiastically.
She danced and sang and played the tambourines, guitars and castanets
he’d hung up on his walls. He got
undressed and sat upon his throne-like, antique, Portuguese upholstered
chair. He was an accomplished guitarist
and played flamenco melodies for Sophia to dance to. She found some lacy veils and did a dance
that she imagined Salome had done for il Baptisto, Santo Juan, just before he
was lured behind a curtain for his fatal beheading. Juan da Quiroz did not hesitate to grow his
manhood, showing it to Sophia. She’d
seem the smaller versions in her brothers and had laughed. She sat on her daddy’s lap and put the huge
throbbing thing between her legs and rubbed her thighs around it, bouncing with
her derriere upon his lap. She felt
excitement in her groin. Juan reached
around and rubbed her hard clitoris with his strong and knowing fingers. She experienced a rush of pleasurable
feelings and a climax where she gushed some juices on her father’s lap. Her father had her kneel before him and asked
her to kiss and lick his throbbing erection.
He climaxed and shot a wad of juicy, sticky stuff right down her
throat. She liked the taste and
swallowed all of it, without a single choking.
Her father stroked her hair and head and held her head tightly to his
groin. She continued licking and
extracting all he had to give. His penis
softened for a few moments and she lay her head upon it with loving tenderness. She took it in her lovely hands and stroked
it. She liked that she aroused his
penis, once again. He moved her head and
stood. He motioned her to lay her head
upon the upholstered chair and lift her lovely bottom. Carefully, he pushed his member into her up
to the hilt. She wiggled her derriere to
assist the penetration and was thrilled by having taken in his large erection. Slowly, he began to thrust and she assisted
by some counter-thrusting. Her
pleasurable feelings intensified.
Several times she gushed her juices at him. Some ran down her legs and down his thighs. She felt his penile head get larger and begin
to throb and squirt. She instinctively
squeezed hard and thrust rhythmically as her father screamed. She climaxed intensely and screamed with her
father. Slowly, he withdrew his
weapon. Sophia kneeled before him and
licked it clean, drawing more sticky stuff up and into her mouth. He petted her head and handsome hair and held
her breasts and nipples, tenderly. He
asked her to sit in his throne and spread her legs. She complied.
Juan Valencia kneeled before her, hands outstretched upon her breasts
and nipples. He lowered his head to her
groin and excited Sophia with his licking of her private parts. Sophia petted his balding head,
lovingly. She experienced wave after
wave of pleasure and climaxed continuously for several minutes. Juan grunted and hummed as he drank up all
the fluids she produced for him. They
started laughing as she started grunting and humming an old folk song about Don
Quixote tilting at windmills. Juan stood
showing his renewed strong erection. She
took it in her mouth and hummed some more as he gave all he had left to give
her and she swallowed all he gave her.
He drew her up. They stood
together tightly hugging, humming and smiling.
He led her to his bed with silken sheets and lay her down. He lay beside her and they hugged some more
until they fell asleep. The nuns who
found them dead asleep, entwined and enjoined, covered them with a silk sheet
and tucked them in. Then they dropped
their habits and their underwear and lay on either side of the sleeping couple,
making a kind of group hug. The nuns
dozed off. Sophia’s aunt found them
peacefully asleep, disrobed and joined them.
Her brothers followed suit and spent the rest of the afternoon in bed
together, as a happy family, asleep, entwined and enjoined.
The family
looked sheepishly at each other as they arose about fivish. They seemed to get the same idea,
simultaneously. Auntie and the nuns
rushed off to get it started. The Roman
bath is where they all headed. They
joined the marble Fatima and splashed and laughed until sixish when they
toweled off their naked bodies and got dressed for their usual evening snack
and wine, sausages, cheese and fresh fruits.
Sophia Theresa
Maria’s pregnancy was not a surprise, especially because she sought out all her
brothers and would teach them privately what she had learned about their bodies
and the pleasure they could bring. Even
the youngest, Carlos, who had hardly any pubic hair, participated, as did the
nuns and the aunt. Pedro, Mario and
Jorje were, in fact, already experienced after a few episodes, each with each
of the nuns. The baths were still the
centre point, both early morning and early evening, but took on extra
activities of orgiastic pleasures, along with the usual splashing, singing and
humming. Sophia became the accepted
leader of the gang of revelers. The aunt
was seemingly the greatest benefactor of the newer versions of the daily
baths. Sophia commanded them like a CEO
would organize a board meeting, or a mother would organize a pleasant picnic
for her family.
In her mind,
Sophia was fairly certain that the father of her growing fetus was her father,
but she wasn’t sure. In her mind, she
thought of herself as the Virgin Mary, after being infused with the Spirit of
God by Gabriel, the Angel who had also master-minded Elizabeth’s pregnancy that
gave birth to Santo Juan Baptisto, slightly older than the Saviour Jesus. Her belief that she was somehow destined to
be the Virgin Mother of a Second Jesus, Saviour of us all, became a fact in her
mind. Her family was worried that she’d
lost her mind, but she was resolute and acted otherwise quite normally. In fact, she continued to be the pleasurable
focus for everyone who joined her, naked, in the daily baths. Her brothers and her auntie and her father
adored her and worshipped her as if she was the Virgin Mary.
An outsider,
like myself, would have thought the entire family had gone insane. My name is Isaac Herrera. I was sent by my newspaper, Le Monde en Santo
Domingo, of the Dominican Republic, publishing from the island shared with
Haiti, Hispanola, in French and Spanish, English and Chinese, as well as
Portuguese. I received permission by the
CEO, head of the family, Juan Valencia da Quiroz, to write a story about his
great daughter, Sophia Theresa Maria, whose secret pictures and movies had been
sensations in many places, including the Dominican Republic. I was born in Santo Domingo and took
Journalism classes at the University of Miami, in Florida, USA. I returned to my home town and my family,
including my wife and two children, at that time, after getting my English
Master’s Degree. I could have gone on to
my Doctorate, but I missed my family and home town, too much. I did have the fantasy that I would get my
doctorate when I was older and richer and could take my family to a University
town in the USA or Great Britain, or even Canada, all of whom offered fine
education, and a friendly environment, for becoming a doctoral candidate in
English.
I had no idea
what the truth of Sophia’s story was.
I’ve written this with a fairly high level of confidence of the truth of
the facts of Sophia’s home life and her upbringing, her thoughts and her
behaviours, her fantasies and her fears.
Her family was consistent in the facts I have outlined for you. Sophia did not hesitate to tell me about her
sensational and dramatic deflowering and impregnation that she enjoyed with her
dad. Though he gave permission for the
story, her dad did not want to grant a direct and quotable interview. The auntie was great and very consistently
confirmed Sophia’s version of her impregnation and her fantasies. The youngest brother, Carlos, was the
happiest and most talkative, matching and confirming Sophia’s
recollections. And, the most dramatic
offering were the photographs they allowed.
Carlos Herrera, my brother, had accompanied me as the photographer. Already established was my brother’s
reputation for artistic photographs, some of which were in international
magazines and newspapers, around the world.
His exhibitions drew eager crowds to see his photographs of nude men and
women who were already famous, like movie stars and politicians. His photographs of the young Hilton, the
mature Streisand and the young male singer of Stratford, Ontario, sold for very
high prices.
My brother’s
photographs of the da Quiroz family in their beautiful Roman bath, were
spectacular. The advanced pregnancy made
it extremely interesting. Carlos
captured the spirit of Fatima’s marble fountain and Sophia’s imminent
deliverance with tremendous artistry, in colour and black and white. Especially, the black and white photographs
with stunning shadows and spiritual expressions on Sophia’s face and pregnant
body, were outstanding. My brother and I
were sure he would win a major prize, even the Pulitzer, for one of them.
It was the
session with Sophia in her father’s master bedroom that was the most dramatic. She sat, nude, in the throne-like upholstered
antique chair, quietly describing what went on, when she smiled sweetly and
offered a demonstration. She instructed
me to get undressed and assume the positions that her father had taught
her. I felt like I was in a living dream. Sophia showed me how to kneel in front of her
while she spread her legs and let me lick her swollen private parts. Her juices were voluminous, hot and very
tasty as she hummed and grunted and showed her pleasure with my licking. I declare, it wasn’t difficult at all. It felt natural and even spiritual to be in
the intimate presence of a woman who was about to give birth to the Second
Jesus. She stood and bent over the
chair, presenting her groin to me so that I could stand and penetrate her Holy
Receptacle, which was extremely lubricated.
Her juices squirted down our legs.
I admit it, dear readers, I enjoyed it immensely, giving her everything
I had saved up during my trip to Lisbon.
My brother recorded all of it, of course.
Suddenly,
Sophia screamed and gushed a gallon of sticky, hot liquid, with tinges of
blood, all over the chair, me, herself and the floor. Her auntie and the nuns came running. Aunt Sophia asked me to step back and
retrieved a towel from the bathroom for me to clean myself. She helped Sophia to the bed and propped her
up with many pillows. The nuns were instructed
to bring a lot of towels. The
experienced aunt introduced her fingers into Sophia’s vagina and determined
that the cervix was slightly dilated and that everyone had time. My brother and I carried the naked Sophia to
the Roman bath. The water was quite warm
and bubbly. Sophia Theresa Maria
smiled. “He’s coming!” she said in a
course whisper. “My Little Jesus is
coming!”
The entire
family had been summoned to the big event.
“Ave Maria,” sung by the Mormon Tabernacle Choir, was softly played on
the CD player speakers, repeatedly. Most
of the family disrobed and got into the bath with Sophia. Her auntie midwife was soothing and
reassuring. She had witnessed a French
underwater birth, several times in the past years and was glowing about its advantages. Senor da Quiroz quietly thanked me for
bringing on delivery. Efficiently, my
brother expertly recorded everything with his favourite Canon SLR digital
camera for stills and movies. To ensure
that everything was recorded, he asked me to use a Nikon SLR to do what he was
doing with his Canon.
Jesus da Quiroz
swam to the surface of the bath and spit up mouthfuls and lungfuls of
liquid. Then he started crying. He was wrapped in swaddling clothes and
rested on a marble bench at the side of the bath. Sophia began profusely bleeding and went into
shock and died before medical treatment could save her. The paramedics did their best to resuscitate
her, but it was too late. All of us
observers were dumb-struck. As we
recovered, all of us cried, big tears streaming down our faces. A coroner arrived and ordered Sophia’s body
to be taken downtown for an autopsy to determine the cause of death. He was promised stories and pictures that my
brother and I could provide to help him put the facts of Sophia’s death
together. The coroner interviewed
Sophia’s aunt and then left with the ambulance transporting the body to a
hospital in downtown Lisbon.
The autopsy
report described a ruptured uterus due to a small defect in anatomy near the
cervix. The trauma was the normal
stretching by the head of Jesus as it pushed to get into the vagina and out
into the bath water. Jesus was very
healthy and had a wonderful smile for everyone that looked at him. His young uncles kept him occupied while the
nuns and the aunt made plans for bottle feeding, unless they could find a wet
nurse. They did, in fact, locate a nun
who had just delivered and given up for adoption her baby girl. She was thrilled to be able to give her milk
for Jesus da Quiroz. Jesus, of course, was
delighted to drink from Elizabeth’s breasts and nipples. He thrived.
The aunt, and now the three nuns, took good care of the Second Jesus,
while the father and his sons were ever present to receive the glad tidings,
when they came. All of the good news was
that Jesus was healthy and growing at a little faster rate than most
newborns. He slept and peed, pooped and
gurgled, sucked his nurse’s breasts and waved his arms and legs with vigour.
I followed the
da Quiroz family, unofficially, for many years, even after my family and I
moved to Ann Arbour, Michigan, USA, so that I could pursue my Doctorate in
English, Spanish, Chinese and Journalism.
The father died of apoplexy at age 66 and the many sons took over his religiously
oriented publishing company in Lisbon.
Jesus turned out to be a superstar in Soccer and was recruited by an
English team and then a Spanish team. He
wasn’t very religious but his life was satisfactory, with a happy marriage and
six children, all healthy soccer fans and players. Sophia’s aunt and the three nuns still live
in the family home in a suburb of Lisbon.
Sophia’s brothers all have their own families and homes, all with Roman
baths and statues of naked Fatimas.
I’ve discussed
my sexual experience with Sophia, with my wife, a student of Psychology. She has often made remarks which reflect her
knowledge of Freudian Psychoanalysis. I
find the remarks interesting but I cannot forget the intense sexual and
spiritual experience that I had with the magnificent Sophia. I’ve dreamt about the drama of that moment
when she started labour. I don’t think
I’ll ever forget it, nor stop dreaming about it, for the rest of my life. My brother has had similar flashbacks of less
intensity. His wife, who has a lot less
insight than mine, gets angry when he talks about it, so he never does, to her.
THE END
© izzy sommers, md., retired
Welland, Canada
July 16, 2013
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