The hotness of the Annunciation

This Sunday, the fourth Sunday of Advent, many churches, including mine, will remember Mary, the mother of Jesus of Nazareth. Specifically, we'll read and think about the event called the Annunciation: the sending of the angel Gabriel to Nazareth to tell Mary she would bear God's son, and call him Jesus. 

I'm going to do this as tastefully as I can, and it's not my intention to shock you, but I want to write about how incredibly hot the Annunciation is.

From the Gospel according to Luke:

And Mary said, "Behold the handmaid of the Lord; be it unto me according to thy word."

From a medieval antiphon called Alma redemptoris, traditionally sung during Advent, Christmastide, and Epiphanytide:

Gracious mother of our redeemer
forever abiding heaven's gateway…

In my darkest, most difficult struggles with my submissive sexual orientation, when I thought I must go to Hell at last, there to be burned with unquenchable fire, because I could not stop wanting to submit and to be punished for my wickedness and at last fully enjoyed by a power greater than I, I looked to the Annunciation and thought, There is hope. Mary submitted, and received, as I wish to submit and to receive.

The whips and paddles and firm hands in discipline I got from the monastics.

Holy Advent to you, dear reader.

Here's a little excerpt from Assigned a Daddy that to me embodies some of the same ideas, though
your mileage may well vary. It's from early in the story, when Mike makes his "annunciation" to Darla of what she can expect in the Daddy's Naughty Little Girl program.

“You don’t wear a bra, sweetheart?” Her perfect little breasts were even more pert than her bottom, if that was possible, with sweet brown nipples just about the size of a quarter. 

She looked at him bashfully. “No, daddy. My breasts are so small I don’t need one.” She hesitated, as if trying to decide whether to say something. Then she said, in an even more little-girlish tone, “Do I?” 

“No, sweetheart, you don’t. And you certainly won’t wear one with your pinafore. Go ahead and take your jeans off, now. Leave your panties on for a moment so daddy can see what kind of panties you wear.” 

Darla chewed the inside of her cheek for a moment. “I’m not wearing panties, daddy,” she confessed. 

“Darla!” Mike said, genuinely—if slightly—shocked. “Don’t you know better than that? Little girls who don’t wear their panties need to learn some important lessons about taking care of their bodies.” 

“I packed all the clean ones in my bag before I got dressed, and I didn’t want to take any of them out.” Her mouth twisted adorably to the side. 

“Well, since you weren’t in my custody when you got dressed, I can’t spank you for it—plus you’ve got one coming anyway for the disobedience—but we’ll discuss this at tomorrow’s inspection. I can promise you that if you go without your underwear while you’re with me, whether you’re wearing grownup clothes or little-girl clothes, you’ll have trouble sitting down for a day or two.” 

“What about at night?” she asked, obviously curious all of a sudden. 

“No panties under your nighty, of course,” Mike said. “But I need to tell you right away that I believe naughty little girls shouldn’t touch their pussies unless their daddies give them permission, as a reward for good behavior.”