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.