the certification of the Princess’s body before an international audience

Now Sir Anthony says, “We must inquire now into your physical condition.  We know you endured various punishments for a long time.  Were you adequately fed, and all that?”

“Yes, the food was tolerable.  I did not want to eat meat but I had to.  They kept my hair short and clipped my nails.  I had to sleep on a hard bench without blankets.  I was exercised, made to run about ten kilometers a day, around the town, followed by soldiers in a truck.  And I was bathed, after a fashion.”

“After a fashion?”

“Every morning they hosed me down in the town square and scrubbed me with long-handled brushes.  And dried me off with rough towels.  The guards were nice to me, personally.  Cruelty was only something they were assigned to do.”

There is a pause, during which everyone wonders what it was in her pampered upbringing that gave her the strength to endure such a long ordeal of deprivation and torture.  Then Sir Anthony says, “And now for the examination.”  He rings a buzzer.  “Please send in Dr. Crowninshield.”

Her body is her country’s throne; it is unspoken but assumed that in the present situation its healthy state should be certified in front of an international audience.  She gets off the cushion, stands up straight, extends her arms and legs, turning all the way around so that every (unscarred) bit of her can be viewed.  Her nipples look normal, if larger than before, after all the abuse that they were subjected to.  She shows them the palms of her hands, the soles of her feet.  Now she sits on the table and her reflexes are checked, her ears with the otoscope, her mouth is opened to check her teeth.  Then she lies back onto the cold marble table, bends her knees, and spreads her legs, very wide so as to accommodate the heads of the men looking in.  She reaches in to spread her vaginal lips so that they can see no damage to her outer vulva or the clitoris, no redness, no abrasions.  Now the Doctor comes forward to insert the speculum.  As she looks up at the ceiling, expressionless, the Doctor invites all to look inside at the interior of the royal vagina, healthy with no signs of trauma, the royal cervix unbruised.  She turns around and gets up on all fours.  She spreads her buttocks and shows them her anus, a tight asterisk in a ring of brown skin, in exactly the same condition as if it had not been penetrated by increasingly large dildos, electrodes delivering (noninjurious) electric shocks, cold soda enemas or tabasco sauce, or perhaps female tongues.  The speculum pries her open in this different place and the formally-dressed observers from eight countries look inside at the undamaged royal bowel, cleaned and irrigated with the enema Lakshmi gave her an hour ago.  She grunts softly as she relaxes her internal muscles, looking down at the table, to give them a better view.  The Doctor shines a penlight in and they can see all the way in to where her rectum diverts to her sigmoid colon.

Given the nature of some of the punishments, impairment of her sexual functioning -- relevant to marriageability -- is naturally a concern.  She gets up on the edge of the table, upright on wide spread knees, as Lakshmi kneels in front of her as if in worship and practices her old specialty, licking the royal clitoris and vulva.  As she faces them they are relieved to witness the welcome signs of arousal -- the gasps, the flushed face, the stiffening nipples, the pungent scent of female musk -- escalating up to climax within five minutes.  Mr. LaPorte is given the honor of verification, leaning back and inserting a lubricated finger into the anus, nodding to everyone when he feels the contractions, of which there are nine.  Her initial moans are smothered and quiet but then, perhaps to give them further proof, she cries out with the last few jolts.