Carla enjoyed playing hostess, she's a good cook with attractive curves. The smart, pretty, petite brunette with smooth olive skin had worked in London. Then she came into some money. A distant aunt and a surprising windfall, the unexpected bequest impacted her somewhat unsatisfactory life. She quit her job and boyfriend, putting every penny towards her mortgage on a country Bed and Breakfast. A tiny inn with nice floral and vegetable gardens, she ran it with housekeeping help from a local woman. She was happy, it was all working as planned, and then the Covid came.

She had to let the housekeeper go, income was down. The pandemic slowly simmered, month after month, and folks stopped leaving home. She felt lucky to have any guests at all. After a year, in despair, she feared the virus would leave her homeless. Then a peculiar gentleman arrived for the weekend. He's tall and arrived with a posh-looking lady. Although he appears to be about thirty-nine years old, his passport says he is forty-six. Drake Smith, the name changed with some effort years ago. While he used to be David, his long hair, scholarly glasses, and affection for old-fashioned clothes remained.

The weekend must have been satisfactory because every weekend afterward, Drake arrived. Always with a lady and often a different lady, and he brought friends. He brought a growing group of friends. Almost equally peculiar in dress and manner, the younger men and women arrived dressed in costume. Some subtle, some elaborate- costumes of a medieval or fantasy theme. The use of string to fasten a shirt or blouse indicates it's medieval, she thought with private mockery.

Restrictions during The Covid technically forbade the small gatherings at Carla's small inn, yet there they were. The young players seemed to favor wearing masks in complement to their costume and Carla needed the income. No one is around to see them, no harm done.

Charismatic and dominant, Drake leads the weekly group, which gathers to play an elaborate board game. The game involves imagination, saying nonsensical verbs, the rolling of dice, and much shouting. “We open the door,” is repeated often. Arriving hours before the others, Drake meticulously sets up the commons room. He's generous with Carla about paying for food and nibbles, and tasks her with keeping drinks flowing from her tiny bar. In the evenings, Drake wears a black cloth mask and people call him “Dragon.”

With her rooms rented weekends and with food and alcohol sales, Carla is just able to maintain enough income to keep afloat. She's grateful to Drake and his group; she politely hides her curiosity and derision about their particular and obsessive past-time. At the end of the evening, men and women generally form different pairings than they arrived, spending the night thus. None of her business, she thinks, and these private activities are at least something she understands.

Returning to her room late one Saturday night, Carla hears muffled moans and the sound of sex through the wall. She had a few drinks while cleaning up after the party. Curious, she uses a water glass to listen better. The sounds excite her. She's been alone in the country a long time, with very few people, certainly no male companionship. She goes to bed heated, flashes her hand rapidly over her clitoris, and comes quickly. The next morning, serving breakfast, she is unable to look Drake in the eye. Guests leave and with the inn empty, she can't shake lewd thoughts from her head.

As the next Saturday approaches, Carla compensates for her guilty feelings by cooking extra carefully for the buffet. Drake arrives alone this week, charming and disarming as always. He busily sets up the big table in the commons room with notepads and pencils, maps, and dice. Carla has worn tight black jeans and a black and white jumper with horizontal stripes. Her fit body can easily carry off horizontal stripes, the tight jeans complement her figure. The colors bring out her warm brown eyes, her short dark hair is shoulder length. Dressed more boldly than usual, she greets her now-familiar guests warmly as they arrive.

The evening progresses and the play is particularly boisterous, loud, and fun. Carla can make no sense of it, but keeps the drinks flowing, allowing herself a few drinks as well. Around ten-thirty, play ends and the players wander in pairs to their rooms as usual. Drake has selected Victoria, a young, tall blonde woman with large breasts. Carla's initial dislike of Victoria's elf outfit has risen to a catty disdain.

The small inn is now quiet, Carla cleans the commons room. She realizes she is inventing a chore so she can pass Drake's room, yet she still goes. Knowing it's wrong, she is perversely curious and indeed hears Victoria's loud deep rhythmic moaning as she approaches. Why do they all moan so loudly with Drake? Quietly, Carla kneels by the door. Surprised at herself, she peeks through the keyhole, heart pounding.

The sound of Victoria's moaning is more clear, but the keyhole provides no hint of a view. Her voyeurism is foiled by the keyhole and the cat. The cat still lives at the inn, inherited from the original owners but never truly wanted. Carla is carefully kneeling, trying to find an eyeline into the dim lighting of the Dragon's Lair when the cat slides quietly past Carla and bumps the door with his head. The door opens four inches, the cat slides into The Dragon's room, leaving the door ajar and Carla exposed, kneeling at the keyhole. Sensing motion, Drake looks over his shoulder to catch her red-handed in her spying. Carla is stunned by the shame, scrambling a panicked retreat to her first floor kitchen.

A rather unpleasant scene erupts in Drake's bedroom. Victoria's voice raised, stomping of feet, cat hissing. Not long after, Victoria thumps down the stairs and slams the front door. The sound of a car door slamming then a car leaving the parking area completes the tale of Victoria's departure. Then silence. Carla blushes hard, embarrassed and ashamed of herself. Hands shaking, she opens a small bottle on the counter, pops a pill, then begins washing dishes.

A few minutes later, Drake pads barefoot down the stairs and enters the kitchen. Carla has her back to him, washing dishes in some kind of effort to disappear. “The evening is ruined, Carla.” He wears a silk smoking jacket that looks expensive and a bit pretentious, yet with his long dark hair, it seems to work. Carla hears him but pretends not to.

“Ruined” he repeats.

“Oh God, Drake. I'm so sorry. I'm... I'm mortified.” Carla has turned off the water, turned, and is drying her hands with a dishtowel. She turns, blushing deeply.

“Pour us some drinks. I am very angry.” His face has lost most of its redness but his rage is apparent.

Moving to the tiny bar next to the kitchen, Carla pulls two bottles from the shelving behind the bar, vodka, and whiskey. She knows what he drinks, and pours herself a stiff vodka, forgetting she had taken a pill. Pouring his own whiskey, Drake sits at the bar.

“I come here for privacy, and to have my needs met,” he states. “My needs won't be met tonight.”

“I understand, I respect that. I'm truly fascinated by your events,'' Carla babbled. “I want you to understand this was a blip, my curiosity got the better of me, I feel so embarrassed. This is not an excuse, this is not who I am or what I do. The lock-down has been hard, so hard and long. I don't know what came over me.” She rushed through her disorganized speech, but in the end, her subconscious found its voice. She was lonely.

"You've met The Dragon, Carla, and now he needs a partner. That's clear, yes?” Drake thought for a moment, musing. “The innkeeper, a small sexy woman, you've always been a part of our story, and of course you're curious. It's fascinating, stimulating, you'll find, to learn more.”

“Drake... you're the Dragon, yes?” She asks, her drink giving her a creeping warm feeling. Nervously, she drinks too fast.

“I am Drake. I lead the games, I become The Dragon, and tonight The Dragon has needs.” Drake sips lightly from his whiskey, inhaling the aroma but barely taking a sip.

His speech is simply bombastic, yet Carla has an overpowering need to fix things. The need to make the situation right overtakes her. She looks at him, the dust playing on her vulnerabilities and loneliness. "I... I'm not sure," She says.

He can sense and hear her doubts, she is wavering.

“You can make it right. For all anyone knows so far, the cat opened the door. It's time for you to come inside my circle. Don't just stand there like a girl, Carla, fix this. Be in my room in five minutes.” Drake puts forth his command and leaves without another word, rising up the stairs to this room.

Carla bites her lip, swallows. Crushing guilt and embarrassment at being caught at spying wash warmly over her. Embarrassed, curious, anxious. Lonely, aroused. Drink and her pill affecting her judgement.

“Okay. Give me a few minutes.” She nods, a thrill running through her entire body. He's leveraging her shame, guilt, and loneliness. Sorting the bar with trembling hands, Carla follows up the stairs quickly to her own room. Running to her ensuite, off come her jeans and the white granny panties she had worn underneath. The state of her panties dominated her decision not to go to Drake immediately. She throws her jumper on her bed and frantically selects matching black knickers to her black bra and black ankle socks. Her thoughts in disarray, she sprays her body with deodorant. Then perfume, squirt at each ear, and then at her navel.

Checking herself in the mirror, she thinks “I can't go like this!” She runs back to her attached bathroom to fetch her white terrycloth robe off the bathroom door. Wrapped, she hurries to his room, heart pounding with her thoughts wildly unsettled. She takes a few deep breaths, trying to steady herself, then knocks on his door quietly.

“Carla, come in.” He answers the door. “You're here now.” He had tidied the room, smoothed the bed covers and removed all traces of the previous commotion and participant. He'd arranged lubricant and sacred artifacts precisely and discretely atop the dresser, out of her sight.

Carla steps into the Dragon's lair, her heart hammering, her labia already swollen. The tension and excitement are electric in the air. She feels a little unsteady.

“Move to the bed, Carla. Show what you've brought The Dragon” He stands tall, his long dark hair brushing the collar of his thick silk robe, watching her intently.

Carla is completely familiar with the room. She owns it, decorated it, cleans it every night.. yet it does not feel like hers. She walks to the bed. She manages to untie her robe, yet she hesitates to remove it, paralyzed with her conflicting thoughts.

He steps forward, slipping the shoulder of her robe aside. It crumples to her feet. She's a petite, olive-skinned young innkeeper, short legs, pert bottom, smooth skin, matching black panties, and bra. Shyly, she turns away from him, not thinking. He unfastened her bra as her hands held the cups in place over her small full breasts.

He tugs her black panties over her hips with a smooth motion, leaving them at her thighs for gravity to carry them to the carpet with a barely audible flutter in the quiet room.

“Get on the bed, Carla.” He takes her hand and drops her bra atop her black panties on the floor. Guiding her to his bed he orders simply. “Lay out.”

She obeys him. Drugs, the alcohol, curiosity, shame, and loneliness all make her susceptible to his domination and confidence. “Carla, I have something special for you.” He sees her and takes in her complexion, small attractive breasts, and brown nipples. Her pubic hair, black as coal, trimmed neatly. Her cute little black ankle socks.

He returns to the dresser, his back to her, opening his robe.

“What is it?” she can't help but ask, turning her head watching him. All she can hear is a wet puttering sound. He moves, hips pushing around his hands, his back to her. He closes his robe to returns to her with a large bottle of lubricant and a large bulge in his robe.

“You please me, Carla,” he replies instead of answering. She is anxious, curious, on edge, trembling with nervous excited energy, mystified but entranced. He grasps her ankles and turns her body sideways in the bed. “You're small and flexible, Carla.” He slowly lifts her legs, bending her, inexorably pulling her ankles over her head until she is doubled over, knees beside her ears. She rolls, feeling it in her neck and shoulders, trying to hold the position, unable to move. Her ass and pussy pointing up into the air in a pile driver position.

“Ohh...oh" she whimpers, her chin pressed to her sternum. He's greeted with a much closer clear view of her pubis, brown pussy lips, surrounded by fine black hairs. With the large squeeze bottle of sex lubricant, slowly and methodically he lubricates the outside of her pussy. More and more, he continues to apply the lubricant until her labia is slick and thick with cool gel. Her eyes grow wider.

One hand opens his robe, the other holds her in place, doubled upside down as she is. “Oh.. my.. God..” she exclaims in shock, staring at a huge fourteen-inch dragon phallus. Flesh tone, matching his pale skin, wrinkled reptilian shaft held in place with his erection while his testicles hang below. She is unprepared and has no idea what she is looking at. She only knows that it's going in her.

As the tip of the huge dragon cock-sleeve smears through the puddle of lube on her pussy, centering on her entrance, he squirts more and more lubricant on the dragon cock until it's greased, slick, and coated in slime. “You'll want this, Carla,'' he tells her before grunting and slowly pressing the greased phallus into her tight cunt.

"Oh God. Good god..... my god," she groans in disbelief as he slowly inexorably strokes his cock into her. Deeper and deeper, each firm overpowering thrust opening her wider. His cock, lubricated inside the phallus, feels the tightness as he imagines it's her around him. “Make things right with The Dragon," he grunts, emphasizing his words with thrusts, deeper and deeper. The enormous thing stretching her pussy wider and wider, he raises his foot, placing it on the bed beside her. Leveraging into her, moaning in time with the wet sloppy noises.

Her labia spreads, and spreads further. He looks down and sees her petite feet clench, toes curled. One small hand wrapped behind her knee, the other grabs his ankle desperately, her chest convulsing in rapid breaths, her vagina soaked, she is so close to her release.

“Fuck,” he moans, grunting, fucking her cunt hard. The scene is lewd, even by his standards. Watching her brown sphincter, his enormous dragon cock shoved deep in her stretched cunt, seeing her eyes wide open in disbelief and lust, the scene has him at the edge of his orgasm. Drake withdraws the girthy Dragon slowly. Carla feels every undulation from every textured ridge but it's the tenth ridge that triggers her orgasmic convulsions. Her face changes from one of shock to a blending to bliss and a grimace born of deep physical pleasure. Her strangled guttural orgasmic cry is what topples Drake over the edge.

Stoking the huge cock with his hand, aiming it at her face with his immediate need is intense, she is nothing.

"Ohhh shit," she curses almost inaudibly and scrunches her face up. Curled over, her own weight holding her in the pile driver position, her stomach moves jerkily as her breath catches in alarm. Pinned there, she can see what is coming as he stands above her.

Jerking his dragon cock about eight inches from Carla's face, he strokes the cock sleeve over his slick aching hard shaft inside making wet squishy sounds. He sees her dark brown eyes opened wide in apprehension, then her eyes close tightly. The feeling rolls down his spine, through his hips, his balls, and he feels his cock swelling, filling the latex cavity. "Little slut," he growls, then with one pump his cock sprays the tip of her nose. His hand pushes back quickly to clamp off the flow. Aiming again, pumping his hand forward, a much larger spray jets ten inches to sting long and hard on her cheek. Grunting, “Little slut,” again and again as his orgasm jets.

Watching Carla's face flinch, his hips jerk in time with his stroking hand. A much larger load, propelled faster, sprays wet cum across her forehead. Yanking again, he sprays thick cum horizontally along her dark eyebrows, the trailing tail of the cum falling diagonally across her face, crossing her cheek and nostril. Carla smells his semen as some splatters up her nostril. Chemical, much lube is mixed with his release, pumped with his semen through the channel in the cock sleeve, increasing the gloppy volume and velocity as he squeezes to spray.

Feeling the pleasure of release and thrill of debasing the beautiful dark woman, it takes only a brief moment, two pumps, and his balls contract as his second orgasm hits, propelling a smaller arching jet of cum and lube at the middle of her forehead. This shot load skips over, landing thick and wet in her dark hair. It makes it wet, shiny and sticky. Stroking, stroking, stroking, his human cock slowly shrinking as he looks at Carla's face covered in goo.

“Ruined,” he comments as he shudders. SPLISH! Squeezing the latex cock sleeve, he milks the very last of his clear ejaculate and the remainder of the lubricant over her lips and chin.

He holds The Dragon, looking down at her face striped, spotted, and splattered with pungent, salty, stinky hot cum. She blushes brightly. Her pussy...