It's Dinner and a Show, Then

As you step down from the stairs and work your way through the crowd back to your seat by the fire, you can't help but notice the knowing chuckles that crop up here and there, a few men looking as if they wanted to give you a good-natured elbow before decisively deciding against it. And the barmaids, fucking hell. Half of them shoot looks of undisguised jealousy upstairs where your fling still naps, and the other half level looks of undisguised lust at your shirtless body. Your bulge twitches massively again, prompting you to snatch up your previously abandoned cloak and throw it over your shoulders, growling down at your junk. "Let's take a break, alright?"

THRROOOBBB

You shake your head, taking a very dry swallow as you attempt to muster the resolve to ignore your superhuman genitals and their strong opinions about when it's Time to Fuck. "Guh...look, let's at least get some drinks first, right? Another round like that and you'll spit out a pint of sawdust and then fall off."

You get the distinct impression that your dick disagrees, but decide that the absence of another brain-melting throb means you're getting the green light. This is fucking beyond the pale; when you woke up this morning you were hoping you wouldn't have to put in an application at Denny's. Now you're trying to convince your elephant-sized cock and balls to leave it at just one fucked barmaid, for now. You're going to figure this....whatever this is out, but first you need more of that shitty beer.

You plant the huge mug down on the bar, the little innkeeper scurrying as quickly as possible to fill it up. It is so weird being so tall. What are you, six seven? Six ten? Taller? Do they even use measurements like that here? You vaguely recall hearing once that measurements used to be all about the size of some part of the king; maybe here you're actually, like twenty one King Dicks tall. You idly pick up the now-full mug, draining it in a single continuous pull then setting it down to be filled again by the wide-eyed host. Wait, he's saying something. You lift the mug again, quirking an eyebrow down at the cowed man. "Hold on. What were you saying?"

He wet his lips nervously, attempting an utterly uncomfortable chuckle. "S-sorry my lord; always been a quiet talker. Won't happen again, I swea-"

You raise a hand, waving it in what you hope is a comforting manner as your brow beetles together and you swallow your mouthful of dirt beer. Is everyone going to be reacting to you with either utter terror or helpless lust? Because that's gonna get old real quick. "Hey, it's alright, it's alright. You don't have to...look, we're all friends here, right?"

Not really a great effort, by your estimation. But it seems to do the trick, the innkeeper instantly letting out a breath and giving you a bit of a rueful grin. "Right, ah, sorry my lord. We get a lot of, ah...it's just usually, they don't..."

Woof. "I'm sure it's fine. Weren't you saying something before?"

He nods quickly, starting to refill your mug for a third time. "Right, of course. Your valet arrived while you were, ah...yes. You were waiting, I understand?"

A valet? Oh, that's like a butler or something, right? Like a butler mixed with a squire? Or whatever? That actually sounds pretty awesome; maybe he can explain what the fuck is going on and what the fuck you're supposed to be doing. You nod thankfully to the man, raising a finger and giving it a spin to ask where your valet has gotten off to. The innkeeper grins and points over to your chair by the fire. Huh, sneaky kind of guy, then. Well, whatever! Giving the little innkeeper a thankful nod, you turn and head back towards the fire to meet this valet of yours.