In this blasphemous tale, Mary, the so-called Virgin, ditches the divine plan and gets down and dirty with a pair of hung donkeys in the dusty shithole of Nazareth. Forget halos and hymns, this is raw, sweaty, donkey-fucking chaos. Big Dick and Bigger Dick turn Mary’s world upside down, one brutal thrust at a time, as she flips off God, Joseph, and every sanctimonious asshole in her path. A miracle? Sure, if miracles come with hooves and a shit-ton of cum. Pure, unfiltered sacrilege for the sickest of minds.
The sun blazed over the dusty plains of Nazareth, a shithole town where nothing ever happened unless you counted the occasional goat-fucking scandal. Mary, the so-called Virgin, wasn’t feeling so virginal today. She’d been cooped up in her shitty little hut, sweating her tits off, while Joseph was out doing fuck-knows-what with his carpenter tools. Probably jerking off into a pile of sawdust, the useless prick. She was bored, horny, and ready to stir some shit up. Little did she know, the universe—or some twisted-ass version of it—was about to deliver.
Out back, behind the crumbling mud wall of her house, a couple of donkeys were braying like they owned the place. Big, dumb beasts with cocks swinging like pendulums, just grazing and shitting wherever they pleased. Mary peeked out the window, her dark eyes narrowing. She’d heard the rumors—whispers from the dirtier corners of the village about women who’d gotten freaky with the livestock. She’d always laughed it off, called them filthy sluts under her breath. But today? Today, something snapped. Maybe it was the heat, maybe it was the fact that God hadn’t sent her a decent orgasm in years. Whatever it was, she was done waiting for divine intervention.
She stepped outside, her robe clinging to her sweaty skin, and sized up the donkeys. There were two of them— mangy, gray bastards with matted fur and eyes that looked dumber than a bag of hammers. The bigger one, with a cock that looked like it could knock down a wall, brayed at her, showing off yellow teeth. “Fuck it,” she muttered, kicking off her sandals. “If God’s not gonna give me a sign, I’ll make my own.”
Mary didn’t waste time. She grabbed a rope from the shed, tied it around the big donkey’s neck, and dragged him over to a shady spot under a scraggly olive tree. The beast didn’t resist—probably too stupid to care. She hiked up her robe, exposing thighs that hadn’t seen action since Joseph’s limp-dick attempts at foreplay, and bent over a low stone wall. The donkey just stood there, snorting, until she gave its flank a hard slap. “Come on, you dumb fuck, let’s see what you’ve got.”
The first thrust was a shock—rough, clumsy, and way bigger than anything she’d ever imagined. The donkey didn’t give a shit about romance; it just plowed in, braying like it was possessed. Mary gasped, gripping the wall, her nails digging into the stone. “Holy fucking shit,” she hissed, half in pain, half in some twisted kind of ecstasy. The beast’s rhythm was all over the place, slamming into her with no regard for finesse, but damn if it didn’t hit every spot she didn’t even know she had.
Dust kicked up around them, the air thick with the stench of sweat and animal musk. The second donkey wandered over, curious or maybe just jealous, its own massive dick swinging like a battering ram. Mary, lost in the chaos of the first one, barely noticed until it started nosing at her face. “Oh, you want in too, huh?” she snarled, grabbing its head and shoving it down. She was in too deep now—might as well go full fucking degenerate.
What followed was a scene straight out of some depraved fever dream. The first donkey kept pounding away, its hooves scraping the dirt, while the second one got creative. Mary, half-mad with the sheer insanity of it all, twisted herself around, letting the second beast shove its cock wherever it could fit. She was a mess—sweat-soaked, cursing like a sailor, and laughing hysterically as the donkeys took turns wrecking her. “Take that, you sanctimonious pricks!” she screamed, imagining the looks on the priests’ faces if they could see her now.
The whole ordeal lasted longer than she expected. Donkeys, it turns out, don’t fuck around when it comes to stamina. By the time the first one finished, leaving her dripping and dazed, the second was still going strong. She collapsed against the wall, legs shaking, as it unloaded with a bray that echoed across the goddamn desert. Mary slid to the ground, panting, her robe torn to shreds, and stared up at the sky. “Well, God,” she wheezed, “if that wasn’t a miracle, I don’t know what the fuck is.”
Word spread fast in a town like Nazareth. By sundown, the neighbors were whispering, the kids were giggling, and the old hags were clutching their prayer beads like they could ward off the scandal. Joseph came home, took one look at Mary sprawled out in the yard with donkey spunk all over her, and just walked away. “I’m done,” he muttered, grabbing his hammer and fucking off to Jerusalem or wherever. Mary didn’t care. She’d found something better than his sorry ass—a new kind of salvation, one that didn’t come with sermons or guilt trips.
The donkeys became her crew after that. She named them—Big Dick and Bigger Dick—and kept them close, feeding them the best scraps she could scrounge. Every few days, when the mood struck, she’d drag one or both of them out back and let them have at her. It wasn’t just about the sex anymore—it was about power, rebellion, flipping the bird to every sanctimonious asshole who’d ever told her to keep her legs closed and her head bowed.
Months later, when she started showing, the village lost its collective shit. “A miracle!” the idiots cried, assuming it was some divine baby. Mary just smirked, rubbing her belly. “Yeah, a miracle,” she’d say, winking at Big Dick as he chewed on a weed. She didn’t bother correcting them—let them think what they wanted. The truth was way too fucked up for their tiny minds to handle.
And so, the legend of Mary, the donkey-fucking mother of Jesus, took root. The Bible wouldn’t tell you this version—too raw, too dirty, too real. But out there in the desert, where the sand hid all kinds of sins, Mary lived her truth. She didn’t need angels or prophecies. She had her donkeys, her guts, and a fuck-you attitude that’d make Satan himself proud.