The Pope is Ill

Quite seriously and all the doctors are puzzled.
Specialists are called in and eventually one admits that he knows the problem and more importantly how to cure it.
How?
The specialist won't say but agrees to speak in private to the Pope.
"The problem is sex."
"What" says the Pope "This cannot be, I am celibate, I've never had sex"
"Precisely" says the specialist "Pressures have built up, hormones, energies that must be released, You must have sex"
"But I cannot, I am the Pope"
"If you don't you will die. Think of all the good works that will die with you. You owe it to your people to save yourself.
"Hmmmm" murmurs the Pope. "If you put it that way, I must make the sacrifice. Can you arrange it for me?
I have conditions."
"Okay" says the specialist, this I can arrange. What conditions?
This must be totally private, only you and me can know.
"Agreed but the woman will know"
"She must be blind so she cannot recognise me.
And deaf so she cannot hear my chains of office or anyone refer to me.
And dumb, so if she does find out she cannot tell anyone."
"I think I can arrange that" says the specialist.
"I shall start looking immediately"
"There are more conditions" says the Pope.
"What are they?"

"She must have thigh length leather boots, a whip, handcuffs and big t*ts"

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The Pope is Ill