The Twelve Dancing Penises by Anel Viz

The Twelve Dancing Penises

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Once upon a time there lived a king who was so potent and perpetually horny that the queen, his wife, bore him twelve sons, none of them multiple births, one right after the other in the space of seventeen short years (though they seemed very long to her), after which she keeled over and died of exhaustion, her only regret in leaving this world being that she had never managed to produce a single daughter. The king had any number of bastard sons and daughters, but he did not recognize them. He sent their mothers away as soon as he discovered they were pregnant, usually within two or three months of making them his mistress, and their children all grew up in obscurity far away from the palace.

The king’s legitimate sons, the twelve princes, all slept in one large, long room in the palace that looked rather like an army hospital ward, their twelve single beds lined up in two facing rows of six pushed up against the wall. At the time this story takes place they ranged in age from fifteen to thirty-two, but they all followed the same regimen and had the same bedtime, nine o’clock sharp. Their reveille sounded at seven in the morning, giving them ten hours of sleep a night, which should have been more than enough for any healthy young adult or teenager, but in spite of that every morning it was almost impossible to wake them and get them moving, and they came down to breakfast yawning, bleary-eyed and dragging their tired asses behind them.

When this had gone on for some time the king grew worried, and he summoned the best physicians in the land to examine his sons and determine the cause of their unnatural fatigue. They took their medical histories and subjected the princes to a battery of tests and quickly determined that not one of them was anemic or harbored some asymptomatic infection or suffered from an immune deficiency condition. Moreover, when they isolated each of them in turn from his brothers and taped electrodes to his skull and hooked him up to a machine that would monitor his sleep patterns, they could find no irregularities, and the test subject would awake refreshed after a good night’s rest, while the other eleven showed up for their medical tests the next morning as sleep deprived as ever.

The doctors concluded that the princes were not getting enough sleep, it was as simple as that. Whatever they were up to in that room of theirs from nine in the evening to seven the next morning, sleep was clearly not on the agenda.

The king posted spies outside their bedroom to listen to what transpired behind their closed door and report back to him. If they stayed awake all night or for most of it, surely they must make some noise. The next day the spies swore that they had heard nothing, not so much as a snore, but anyone could see that in all probability the princes hadn’t slept a wink. The king therefore ordered the spies to check in on them every hour on the hour and see what they were up to, but when they went to open the princes’ door an hour after they retired they found it bolted from the inside, and it remained bolted all night long, so they could no more open it at six in the morning than they could at ten the evening before, yet when reveille sounded an hour later it opened right away.

“Something very unwholesome must go on in that room at night if healthy young lads come out of it so completely washed out the next morning,” thought the king. “Whatever it is, it must happen in their room, for there’s no way in or out except by this door, and the windows are barred and I’ve stationed guards beneath them. I mean to get to the bottom of this!”

The king then ordered a thirteenth bed brought into the sleepless princes’ sleeping chamber and forthwith issued the following proclamation:

By order of His Majesty the King:

Whereas their Royal Highnesses the twelve Princes wake every morning unrefreshed and listless and have not the energy to face the new day, and the royal Physicians have determined that their Highnesses are in perfect health and can find no physical cause for this condition unless they do not go right to sleep at night as is expected of them,

Be it known that His Majesty calls upon all male citizens between the ages of eighteen and fifty to step forth and volunteer to spend a night with the Princes in their bedchamber that he may witness firsthand what prevents them from getting a good night’s rest.

Whosoever shall discover the cause of the princes’ morning fatigue and can attest to what they do at night, His Majesty shall adopt that person and ennoble him and make him an heir along with the legitimate Princes of the blood, and he shall take his place among them according to his age in the succession to the throne,

But whosoever shall try and fail shall be placed in the hands the torturers in His Majesty’s S&M Dungeon, who will whip his butt and pierce his dick in the style of Prince Albert, after which they will tattoo the words “I Blew It” on a conspicuous or sensitive part of his body as His Majesty shall determine, and he shall be sent into exile and leave the kingdom forthwith, and if he be found within our borders after thirty days have passed, he shall be brought back to the palace and castrated.

An old woman stood in the public square and watched them post the notice. “Those sexist pigs!” she said to the young woman beside her. “Why do the volunteers have to be male? Do they think we women are too dumb to figure things out?”

“It’s just a question of propriety, Granny. What woman would risk spending the night locked up in a room alone with twelve lusty young men? It would ruin her reputation, and the princes would surely molest her.”

The old woman just gave her a disgusted look and snorted, “Hah!”

Before long a few hundred hopeful men presented themselves at the palace to try their luck. The chief minister gave them each a number and informed them that all would take his turn in the princes’ bedchamber on a first come, first served basis until the mystery was cleared up.

When the door had closed behind them and the first of the princes’ sleepover buddies was getting ready for bed, the king’s eldest son came up to him and asked, “Do you like to suck cock?”

“Who doesn’t?” replied the unsuspecting man.

“Then suck me off,” the prince told him, and he pulled out his large, beautifully-formed, erect penis and waggled it in the man’s face, who promptly went down on him and sucked him dry and swallowed every last drop of his delicious cum. The man barely had time to lick his lips before he felt an enormous weariness come over him, and he sank back on his pillow and fell asleep without even taking off his shoes.

When the bedchamber door opened at seven the next morning, the princes responded to reveille with yawns and groans, and the man who was supposed to watch over them snored right through it. He was rudely dragged into the king’s presence, where, standing before him in crumpled clothes, his teeth unbrushed and his hair uncombed, he admitted that he could not account for the princes’ actions between nine o’clock the night before and seven o’clock that morning. The king ordered him off to the S&M Dungeon to have his ass whipped, his dick pierced and “I blew it” tattooed on the right side of his neck right under his chin. Then they chased him from the country and he went into exile.

When the princes’ door was closed the next night, the king’s second son approached their guest and asked him, “Do you suck cock?”

“Who doesn’t?” replied the man.

“Then suck me off,” the prince said, and pulled out a tool no less fine than his brother’s, which he waggled in the man’s face. The poor sucker (actually, he gave an excellent blowjob) went down on him and sucked him dry and swallowed every last drop of his delicious cum. Then an inexplicable weariness overcame him too, and he fell into a deep sleep before he could get undressed.

When the servants found him loudly snoring the next morning, they hauled him before the king, who, when he heard that the man had slept through the night and had nothing to tell him, ordered him off to the S&M Dungeon to suffer the same fate the first man had, except that his tattoo was written on his forehead.

The next day was a bank holiday, when the princes would be allowed to sleep in until ten, so no one was sent to sleep in their room that night, but the following night the same thing happened, except that it was the turn of the king’s third son to get a blowjob and the no more successful man got his tattoo on the tender skin where the thigh connects to the abdomen.

And so it went on, until eleven princes had received blowjobs and eleven worthy citizens had been whipped, pierced, tattooed and sent into exile. Then the king decided that the punishment for failure was not drastic enough to ensure that the volunteers would take their job seriously, and ordered that henceforth all those who failed would be castrated. In doing so he accomplished nothing but to scare away all the remaining volunteers, who immediately disappeared into the woodwork, much to disgust of the youngest prince, who thought it unfair that he should be the only one to miss out on a blowjob.

When a week had gone by without a single volunteer to pass the night in the princes’ bedchamber, the king’s oldest son said to his father, “You may as well have that extra bed taken out of our room. No one would be willing to risk his nuts to find out what we do at night.”

“Not so hasty!” said the king. “I just know we’ll get to the bottom of this sooner or later. I can feel it in my bones.” But the days went by and still no one came to try his luck.

Our story now moves to a distant part of the kingdom, just a mile or two from the border, where a very good-looking thirty-five-year-old man named Lucky lived in a small cottage with his aging mother.

Late in the evening exactly twenty-nine days after the last unfortunate man had been whipped and pierced and tattooed for sleeping through the night, a weary traveler showed up at their door and asked to be taken in.

“We refuse our hospitality to nobody,” said Lucky. “A hearty welcome to you! Come in and share our supper and rest your weary bones. Why not stay with us a few days to build up your strength before moving on? You look awful!”

“I don’t dare,” replied the traveler. “I mean to leave the kingdom tomorrow at dawn.”

“Leave the kingdom? Whatever for?”

The traveler turn around, pulled down his britches and showed him the words “I blew it!” prominently tattooed on his ass in bright red letters. “Come and get a load of this, Ma!” Lucky called out.

An old woman came hobbling out of the house. She shook her head sadly. “What on earth is going on in this kingdom?” she asked. “You’re the eleventh tattooed person who’s come by this month.” And the man told them the whole sad story.

“I mean to find out if I can succeed,” declared Lucky. “I’m older than any of the princes, which would put me first in line for the throne. What do I have to lose? I’ve always wanted a tattoo.”

“You want one of these too?” the man asked, and he showed them his Prince Albert.

“Well, not really, but it’s worth a shot.”

“It would only be justice,” his mother said, “for the throne is rightfully yours.”

“What?” Lucky exclaimed, looking very surprised. “How so?”

“You are the king’s eldest son,” she told him. “Not legitimate, of course, but the king seduced me thirty-six years ago, and I lived as his kept woman until he found out I was pregnant and sent me packing.”

“Then I shall certainly claim what is rightfully mine!”

“Beware!” the traveler said. “You haven’t heard everything yet. The king has changed the rules and added castration to the punishments for failing. You’d end up a tattooed eunuch with a Prince Albert.”

“Fate works in strange ways,” said Lucky’s mother, “and justice always triumphs in the end. Tell us exactly what transpired in the princes’ bedroom that night, and we’ll put our heads together and see if we can’t come up with a plan.”

“There’s not much to tell. Right at the beginning the king’s next-to-youngest son asked me for a blowjob. He had such a handsome cock that I couldn’t resist. He shot his load, I swallowed it, and I fell asleep and didn’t wake up until the servants came and shook me in the morning. That’s about it.”

“You’ve said a lot,” Lucky observed. “Now I know not to suck any of their cocks.”

“No,” his mother corrected him, “quite the opposite. It is absolutely essential that you give one of them a blowjob. If you don’t, they’ll know you’ve been warned and they’ll be on their guard and may not do whatever it is they do they leaves them so tired in the morning, but you must take care not to swallow any cum. Instead you must pretend to swallow it and then pretend to fall asleep immediately. Then watch what they do, but make sure to keep your eyes almost completely closed. Peer at them through between your eyelashes.”

“That sounds like good advice,” said the traveler. “I wish my parents were half as supportive as you.”

“But that’s not all,” the old woman went on. “It’s very possible that they do whatever it is they do in some place other than their room. You will have to follow them.”

“That can’t be,” said the traveler. “The bedchamber door is the only way in or out.”

“If they can drug a fellow with their cum, then they can get out of a closed room,” she answered him.

“That makes sense.”

“What doesn’t make sense is how I can follow them without them seeing me,” Lucky pointed out. “Should I pretend to sleepwalk or something?”

“No, that won’t work,” said his mother. “I’ll give you a magic thong that makes whoever wears it invisible. Put it on as soon as they leave (that is, assuming they do leave) and then hurry after them.”

“It sounds like we’re all set,” said Lucky.

“I don’t see how you can possibly fail,” said the traveler.

“No,” Lucky’s mother went on, “you will need proof to corroborate your story. Take your digital camera with you.”

“The king is getting old,” said the traveler, “and if you succeed – and I think it very likely you will – you will soon be king of this realm. May I be the first to crave a boon of our future monarch?”

“Ask me anything and I will grant it.”

“When you are king, will you rescind the old king’s sentence of exile so the eleven of us may return to our friends and families and lovers?”

“I would have done that anyway,” said Lucky.

The extra bed in the princes’ chamber had lain empty for over a month when Lucky arrived at the palace and offered his services to king. He swore he would find out all the princes’ nighttime activities and give a full account of them or suffer the consequences, on one condition.

“Name your condition,” said the king.

“That you not send me into exile, sire. My mother is very old and could not survive without my help and support. Isn’t castration punishment enough?”

“No, it isn’t, but I’ll grant your request anyway.”

So word went forth throughout the land that a stranger had arrived who would sleep in the same room as the princes in order to discover how they passed the night. Except for the king, all who had seen him remarked on the startling resemblance he bore to the royal family.

“What a pity that a man as handsome as we are should be tortured and branded and castrated,” the king’s oldest son told his brothers, “but there's no avoiding it.”

As soon as they closed the door behind them that night the king’s youngest son came up to Lucky and said, “Do you suck cock?”

“Who doesn’t?”

“Then suck me off.”

“I’d love to,” Lucky told him, “but you’re obviously underage. Why I must be twenty years older than you! I will not allow this story to violate the rules of A-Gay-Story-Group.”

“He’s right about that,” the oldest prince said. “He’ll just have to suck my cock instead.”

“That’s not fair!” the youngest prince snapped.

“Life isn’t fair,” his brother observed. Then he opened his pants and took out his dick, and Lucky blew him. However, he heeded his mother’s warning and only pretended to swallow. Then he acted as if a tremendous weariness had come over him and fell back on the bed, closed his eyes and made snoring noises.

The eldest prince bent over the pretend sleeper and listened to his regular, though none too soft, breathing, tickled him (luckily, Lucky was not ticklish) and shook him, but he didn’t stir. “Out like a light,” said the prince. “It works like a charm every time. It’s safe to go now. Bolt the door.”

The youngest prince went and drew the bolt. Then all twelve quickly stripped off their clothes and one by one, starting with the eldest, each took his turn in front of a full-length mirror and stood there buck naked, preening and flexing his muscles and giggling. “Can you imagine if he saw us now!” one of them said. In truth, at any other time Lucky would have sat up wide-eyed in bed to take in the scene, but under the circumstances he didn’t. Besides, it would have been unseemly, not to mention perverted, for him to do so. After all, they were his brothers.

Their hanging dicks wagging freely between their legs, the princes hurried to a small trunk in the corner of the room and took out twelve brightly colored, iridescent, very skimpy g-strings, each a different color of the rainbow. (It is only the definitions we get from our culture and its language that prevent us from discerning more than seven colors in the spectrum.) They put them on and went and stood before the eldest prince’s bed. He clapped his hands three times and it sank into the floor, revealing a rectangular hole the exact size of the bed. One after the other they stepped into it and out of Lucky’s field of vision.

When the last of them had disappeared down the hole, the bed rose back into place, leaving no trace of the secret passageway. Lucky quickly got up and spat out the spooge into a little paper cup he found on the floor by his bed. Then he changed into his thong, thinking how much his dick was like his brothers’, and went over to the bed and clapped three times in the exact rhythm the oldest prince had used. It sank into the floor. He saw a narrow staircase leading down into the earth. He entered in behind them, and the bed closed above him leaving him in total darkness.

He descended the stone steps in silence, groping his way after his brothers, whose merry voices echoed from a short distance ahead of him until he heard a door creak open and them slam, and their voices became muffled and the echoes ceased. The stairwell curved to the right and a few steps beyond he bumped into a heavy wooden door, hurting his nose, which started to bleed. “Shit!” he yelled. Then he remembered that he must take care no to be heard, and quickly clapped a hand on his mouth. He opened the door as quietly as he could, but it still creaked. He found himself in a much wider corridor, with brightly burning torches fixed into the wall at regular intervals. His brothers were continuing on their way, barely a few dozen yards ahead of him.

As he gently closed the door behind him, he heard the youngest prince say, “Stop everyone! I think we’re being followed.”

“What makes you think that?” asked the eldest prince.

“I distinctly heard someone yell “Shit!” and the door at the bottom of the staircase creak on its hinges.”

“You’re hallucinating,” said his one of his brothers.

“That’s what you get for beating off all the time,” added another.

“I wouldn’t have to if you guys would let me get a blowjob. But I’m going to have a look just in case.”

Lucky had already closed half the distance between them and had to squeeze up against the wall to allow his brother to get by without brushing up against him. The youngest prince had only gone a couple of paces beyond Lucky when he came to a stop and gasped, “Look! There are drops of blood on the floor! That proves we’re being followed.”

“Do you see anyone?” his eldest brother called out to him.

“No.”

“Then it must be my blood,” one of the others said. “I scraped my elbow on the wall on the way down.”

The youngest prince went back to his brothers with Lucky tiptoeing behind him, firmly pinching his nostrils between two fingers. He now walked among the others, careful not to make a sound, but he was not careful enough. He trod on the heel of the youngest prince, who was walking right in front of him.

“There’s someone here!” the boy cried out. “I can’t see him, but I know he’s there. I just felt someone step on my foot.”

“Boy, are you ever nervous tonight,” said the eldest. “You’re just imagining things.”

They continued on their way down the corridor. It seemed to go on for over a mile. Now they could hear music playing not too far ahead of them. Suddenly remembering his mother’s advice, Lucky took out his digital camera and took a picture. The youngest prince had said nothing since his brother’s rebuke, but now he said, “Am I the only one who saw that flash? Someone’s here with us, I tell you.”

“That must have come from the dance floor, ” the eldest brother told him. “We’re almost there. Go back up to bed if you’re scared. If you want to come clubbing with us, you’re going to have to shut up and stop bothering us with your insecurities.”

Just then Lucky sneezed loudly. “You must have heard that!” the youngest prince insisted.

“That must have been someone on the dance floor,” said the eldest. “Look, there it is right ahead of us.”

They came to a large double doors. A burly man stood in front of them, the bouncer. He carefully checked everyone’s ID, which they kept tucked in their g-strings. “I’m still sure this is fake,” he grumbled when the youngest prince flashed his card. “You don’t look over eighteen to me. What the hell. I’ve let you in before, and we never got in trouble for it.” He collected all the IDs and stamped their forearms in an ink that would only show up under black light to show they’d paid to get in. (They hadn’t, but everyone there was required to show his stamp on request. Lucky looked at the youngest prince’s stamp and saw the words “I Blew It”, which was the name of the disco.) Then the bouncer swung open the doors, and the twelve brothers with the invisible stamp and a thirteenth invisible brother with no stamp stepped into a large disco hall, filled with blaring music, strobe lights, and half-naked, sweaty male bodies.

The princes ran to a raised platform in the center of the club, jumped up onto it and started dancing. The DJ turned up the volume and the music became deafening. A cheer went up from the crowd. “The princes are here! Now the fun begins! Come on, everyone. Let’s party!”

The throng pressed round the platform where the princes went prancing around lifting their knees and shaking their booties to the Bee Gees’ “Staying Alive”. Lucky thought the tune was a good omen. Now he could take all the pictures he wanted. No one noticed the flashes because of the strobes. They couldn’t see him either, though, and kept bumping into him, and he stepped on quite a few toes, which once or twice almost led to fight between two dudes who expected an apology. The princes paid no attention to what the others were doing, but kept on dancing and dancing. Every so often some guy would jump up onto the stage and tuck some banknotes into one of their g-strings and get a big hug in return.

Eventually they needed a break. The music didn’t stop blaring, but they went over to the bar and ordered drinks. The youngest prince pouted that they wouldn’t serve him alcohol, but he was hot and thirsty, so he settled for a coke. Lucky was thirsty too, but he knew he had to stay sober to survive, so he took a few swigs of his youngest brother’s coke when he wasn’t looking, and also surrepticiously took the bills out of his g-string and tucked them into his magic thong, just to see if he could upset him even more. Big brothers are like that.

“What the hell?” said the startled boy when he turned back to his beverage. “Someone’s gone and almost finished off my soft drink! Hey, just a second! What happened to my money?”

“Still at it?” asked the eldest prince. “Are you sure that coke wasn’t spiked?”

Then the DJ put on “Dancing Queen” and they rushed back to the platform.

They kept it up all night. The DJ played “YMCA” and “Macho Man” several times because those were the princes’ absolute favorites. The last time he played “Macho Man” the princes ripped off their thongs and sent their twelve rock-hard, dancing penises spinning in circles. The crowd went wild. Lucky went to snap a picture, surely the clincher of all the proof he had collected, but the batteries had died and he could not get the camera to work. Oh well, he had several dozen shots of them dancing, and that ought to be enough.

By six in the morning the princes were all ragged out and got ready to go back home to bed. Lucky hurried out ahead of them to take his place in bed and pretend to be sleeping before they got there. When he got to the top of the stairs he clapped three times, but nothing happened. He had no idea how to get the bed to move and the secret entrance to open from the inside. He could hear the princes in the corridor below. They were almost at the door. He would be found out.

Then the door creaked open on its hinges and the princes voices came echoing up the stairs from beyond the bend: “Macho, macho man! Macho, macho man!” and the secret door opened in front of him. He jumped through, ripped off his thong and tossed it into the darkness to make the entrance shut behind him. Then he scrambled into his clothes, lay down on the bed and pretended to snore.

“Why was the entrance closed when we got to it?” asked the youngest when the princes had come back into the room. “Why did we have to sing ‘Macho Man’ a second time?”

“Don’t worry about it,” answered the eldest. “See? The guy is sleeping like a log. We got away with it again. Now go unbolt the door, get undressed and try and get some sleep. We only have about fifteen minutes until reveille.”

The servants arrived shortly afterwards and woke an exhausted Lucky, who had managed to fall asleep in the few minutes since the princes got back. As they were leading him off into the king’s presence, the oldest of the princes asked, “Would you do us one favor before your audience with His Majesty our father? Pull down your pants and let us see your dick. We want to see what you look like before he has your nuts cut off.”

“Oh, I think you’ll have plenty more chances to check me out,” Lucky told them.

Before the king and all his court assembled (except for the twelve princes, who were understandably too sluggish in getting washed and dressed that morning to go with him), Lucky told his story. “Their Highnesses go disco dancing.” A murmur of shocked surprise rose from all those present. “One of them claps his hands three times and one of the beds sinks into the ground revealing the entrance to an underground passageway that leads to a discotheque. There the twelve princes dance on a raised platform and all the men slip banknotes in their g-strings.”

“All the men? Are there no women present?” asked the king.

“None that I saw.”

“Summon the princes immediately! Let’s hear what they have to say for themselves.”

The princes came into the hall expecting to hear Lucky sentenced to whipping, piercing, tattooing and castration. Instead they heard him give a blow by blow account of everything they had done the night before. (Well, not really. He left out the part about the blowjob.)

“Well, what do have to say for yourselves?” the king asked them.

“That the man made the whole thing up,” his eldest son brazenly answered. “What proof does he have?”

“What proof do you have?” the king asked Lucky.

“I took pictures with my digital camera. I can show them to you in the viewfinder.”

“No. Give your camera to the royal geek squad and they’ll print up eight-by-tens. It will only take a couple of minutes.”

All the courtiers and ladies-in-waiting oohed and aaahed and eyes widened as the enlargements passed from hand to hand. (To be perfectly honest, not all the courtiers oohed and aaahed. Some snickered, but not too loud because their Highnesses were present.) “This is truly appalling,” said the king.

Many of the princes, including the youngest, blushed and hung their head in shame, but others, the eldest among them, kept their composure and denied everything. “He must have doctored the photos,” he asserted.

“How could I have done that? They came straight from the camera.”

“Then you doctored them in advance and transferred them to your camera before you came here.”

“Now I only wish my batteries hadn’t died and I got to snap that last picture. A little before morning they all ripped off their g-strings, Your Majesty, and danced around buck naked in front of everybody. All the men cheered when their erections bounced up and down and spun around in circles like twelve dancing penises. Just see how almost all your sons say nothing and hang their heads in shame! They know they’ve been found out.”

“Of course we’re embarrassed! Who wouldn’t be to hear such stories circulated about him? And why should you have succeeded where eleven others failed? Can you explain that?”

“You know very well why. I wasn’t going to tell this part out of consideration for you, but you leave me no choice. Your Majesty, when you send a man to sleep in their room your sons ask him for a blowjob, and their cum acts as a narcotic and immediately puts him to sleep. I had been warned not to swallow, and only held it in my mouth.”

“This is outrageous! Who ever heard of drugging someone’s spunk?” exclaimed the prince. “Could anyone ever imagine such insolence? How dare you slander the sons of your king? I can understand your wanting to save your nuts, but did you have to make up a story that humiliates us? I think you should exile him anyway, father, after he’s castrated, in spite of the promise you made.”

“That I certainly shall do,” said the king, “unless he can offer further proof.”

“Here are the banknotes I pickpocketed – I mean, pickthonged – from your youngest son. I had intended to give them back, but if their Highnesses deny they’re rightfully his I shall certainly keep them.”

“That’s absurd,” said the king’s eldest. “Why should we have to dance for our money, father? You give us a princely allowance. He could have got that money from anywhere. There’s plenty of it in circulation around the kingdom.”

“You’ll have to do better than that,” the king told Lucky.

Lucky now regretted that he had not pinched the coke glass with the youngest prince’s fingerprints. He had not expected such stubbornness. “Come with me to their chamber and I’ll show you the trunk where they keep their thongs and the secret entrance to the discotheque.”

The whole court crowded into the princes’ room to see Lucky vindicate himself or be shown up as a liar and slanderer. The princes, however, had already sent their g-strings off to the laundry and the bed remained in place when Lucky clapped three times. Just to make sure, he stopped at the foot of each bed and clapped three times twelve times, but the discotheque was closed during the day and the underground entrance locked.

Now he was starting to get worried, and it showed on him face. “Let me try one more thing,” he said, and started singing: “Macho, macho man.”

“Take him to the S&M Dungeon and give him triple the number of lashes, and put a stud under his dick head and another through his perineum in addition to the Prince Albert, and instead of tattooing “I Blew It” on his body, write “I Insulted Their Royal Highnesses” on his forehead and in both armpits and both buttocks and in both sides of his cleft and around each nipple and on the shaft of his dick, and then make his castration as slow and painful as possible!”

Just in the nick of time, Lucky noticed the paper cup on the floor beside his bed. “That cup!” he cried. “That’s where I spat the prince’s spooge! Have it tested for DNA. That will give irrefutable proof that I’m telling the truth.”

The king then ordered the cup and its contents brought to the crime lab for testing, and everyone went back to the great hall to await the results. The evidence that came back from the crime lab was damning, but still the eldest prince stood his ground. “That only proves he gave me a blowjob,” he told his father. “In no way can my semen in a paper be construed as proof that we go disco dancing.”

“That is true,” said the king, “but combined with the circumstantial evidence – the photos, the banknotes, your brothers’ reaction – I’d say that the gentleman has proved his story beyond a reasonable doubt and I’m inclined to believe him.” (I should add that the rest of the court had thought that just the proof provided by the photos was more than sufficient.)

“There’s more, Your Majesty,” the forensic expert began.

“He’s right,” Lucky cut in. “The bouncer stamped all their forearms with the name of the disco when they went in. It shows up under black light.”

A black light was brought into the great hall and one by one the princes had to hold out their forearms under it. Now all the eldest prince’s lies came to light, for there, clear as day, were the words “I Blew It” stamped on all twelve arms.

“I’m closing down that discotheque!” the king roared. “I want the floor of that bedchamber cemented over right now, and I’m changing their bedtime to eight o’clock!”

“As I was saying, that’s not all, Your Majesty,” the forensic expert repeated. “We found the DNA of two men in that cup, one belonging to the prince and the other to someone closely related to Your Majesty.”

“That’s my DNA,” said Lucky, “from my saliva.”

“And how are you related to me?” asked the king.

An old woman stepped forward from the crowd, Lucky’s mother. “Do you remember me?” she asked.

“Is that you, Mary Ann? How old you’ve grown! Then is this gentleman our son?”

“That he is, Your Majesty, and you’re no spring chicken yourself, by the way.”

“Then I don’t even need to adopt him. It’s enough to recognize him. Why, I don’t even need to do that. We’ve already conducted a paternity test. That makes him my eldest and first in line for the throne. Better him than this pathological liar over here.”

“Don’t worry,” Lucky whispered to his brother. “I’ll reopen the disco as soon as I get to be king.”

“I sure hope that happens soon,” said the now next-to-eldest prince. “Not getting to be king is bad enough, but this eight o’clock bedtime sucks.”

In fact, in less than a month the old monarch passed away. The country went into mourning for three days. Then the people forgot their sorrow and went and celebrated King Lucky’s coronation on a lavish scale. In particular, no one could remember the festivities ever having included disco dancing. As his first official act, King Lucky reopened “I Blew It” and had the cement on the floor of the princes’ bedchamber broken up. As his second, he lowered the legal age to sixteen. Every night he went out dancing with his brothers and came back so tired that as his third official act he declared that henceforth all government business would commence at three in the afternoon.

Posted: 01/25/08