Author's Note
: The following is part of a series of three stories I plan on writing about the three luscious females in the hit comic series, 'Archies.' If you are offended by the fantasy, please remember that magic word called 'tolerance', and ignore it/them. I mean no harm to the characters or the comics, and write this only for pleasure, not profit.
**
"Finally," Veronica Lodge panted as they approached their destination. "Our summer cottage never looked more inviting!"
Hiram Lodge, her father, grinned at the tired eighteen-year old. His white hair disguised his years, making him appear older than he actually was, but that was an advantage when it came to his day-to-day life of dealing with companies run by blue-bloods. He was one himself, but that, and he was proud of the fact, did not make him put on airs... Except when it came to that freckle-faced boyfriend of hers, but he was actually starting to like the clumsy guy.
"Now you see, Ronnie dear, why I insisted that we hike all the way here... instead of coming here by car. It's only when you labor that the benefits become tangible."
Ronnie smiled at her father. "My father - the philosophical guru!"
Hiram threw a light punch at her, and it slightly grazed her shoulder. "Frankly, I am surprised you did not want to bring your friends along. Had any fight?"
"No, of course not. Just wanted to spend some quality time with my aging father - anything wrong with that?"
"Nothing, except the use of the word aging - I am not that old, for your information - just forty three next June."
She ruffled his hair, the whiteness reflecting the sunlight of the afternoon. "Funny. This white brush says you are lying."
"If you must know, young men in my family have white hair - it's a genetic trait."
"Yeah, sure!"
The two of them laughed together, the easiness coming comfortably in spite of the fact that this was their first time together in ten years. They had reached the patio of the cottage, modest by wealthy standards, but in its simplicity itself was a homeliness he found engaging. The wooden platform ran along the perimeter of the house, extending as a pier-cum-tea-table in the back of the house. In the quiet afternoon, they could hear the water lapping gently against the wooden stalks that supported the platform.
Ronnie surveyed the scenery as her father fished around for the keys. She couldn't remember the last time she had visited this place; she had always known about it, but never really had the chance to spend a few days here. As her father had said, her previous vacations had been at well-known resorts, the resulting crowd itself an aberration to the natural beauty that was hidden from everyone.
There was a small clearing around the house, the harmless woods extending behind them for over five miles before bordering a quiet little town where Lodge had a resort lodge that catered for an entirely different part of the lake. Ronnie was instantly taken in by the virgin beauty of the place; the green serenity was quite a welcome change from the harsh townliness of Riverdale.
"Here you are, Mademoiselle," Hiram announced with a flourish as he threw the door open. "Your palace awaits you."
"Oh, Daddy," she cooed as she entered the tastefully decorated living room. "It's beautiful."
"Glad you like it," her father replied, carrying the luggage to a room on the right which, judging by the double bed, was the master bedroom. "I built it myself."
"No kidding," she said, awed.
"The basic structure, at least," he amended, but the pride in his voice was still evident. "The roofing and the patio I had them done professionally. Here, let me show you around."
Ronnie followed her father all over the house as he gave her a tour of the place, pointing out the common bath with a door on the other side that led to her bedroom. There was a small kitchen, more as a standby, he explained, in the case of wet weather than as a utility room. "With weather like this, we can always cook outside."
The outside was at least as good as the inside. At the back, a low pier extended into the shallow water, the water enticingly blue and calm. At the landed end of the pier, there was a small tea-table, with a couple of balcony chairs and a rocking-chair around it. The door beside it led into the house through the kitchen, well-equipped with a fridge and a gas stove.
What Ronnie really liked was the badminton court that had been created by the side of the cottage. Even in Lodge's absence, it was clearly well-taken care of, and she was glad it was - she could guess how proud her father was that he owned the place.
"How about a game, dear?" Hiram asked, noticing her obvious interest in his mini-court. Of all the things at his cottage, the court was his pride and joy - and he was glad Ronnie liked it. As he gazed lovingly at her, waiting for her answer, he realized how much he had missed being one-on-one with her; she had grown up right under his watch, and he hadn't noticed it until it was almost too late. With her possibly heading off to college the next spring, Hiram knew this was probably the last picnic alone for father and daughter.
"Sounds good," Ronnie said excitedly. "But what about the gear?"
"I always keep a stash in the loft - bats, net, feathers - and even a bullhorn for the ref."
"Let's take a raincheck on the ref," she gave her father a bear hug. "Why don't you bring down the stuff while I change into something more comfortable?" She gave him a quick, daughterly peck on the lips, and rushed off before he could say anything.
Hiram watched her walk off - run, to be more precise - her lovely ass wiggling within her tight jeans. Absently, he thought about those cheeks; about how soft they would feel, if the rest of her skin was any indication; about how he would want to bury his face...
Brrrr! Hiram shook his head. It had been years since he had been decently laid, but now was neither the time nor the place to give in to those frustrations. And definitely not the person. Of all the people in the world, she was the most forbidden, the most untouchable woman he could have, and no amount of money could ever justify, or correct, any advances he made towards her.
Smiling to himself at having gotten over his inadvertent attraction towards his daughter so easily, Hiram went about setting up the court for a fun game. When Veronica dressed, he chuckled to himself, she really dressed - and that meant he had at least half an hour to get ready.
Surprisingly, his daughter walked out of the door barely ten minutes later. Hiram could not believe the transformation that had taken place; she had pulled her long, black hair into a ponytail; she had replaced her jeans with even more tight-fitting cotton shorts through which he could make out the darker outline of her bikini bottoms; and where a checked shirt had been, there was a loose tank top, with the straps of a bikini top the only extension towards her shoulder.
"Hi, Dad," she chirped brightly. "Need any help?"
"Just about finished, Hon," Hiram grunted as he stretched the tight net over the two poles. "Choose your bat; we'll toss for the serve."
In spite of the difference in their ages, Hiram whipped her out in the first three sets, rocketing his shots so fast they were on her side before she had even decided between a backhand and a forehand. Ronnie was impressed - for a guy who spent as much time in the office as her father did, he was remarkably fit. For a second, she wondered about the muscles that might be rippling under her father's Hawaiian shirt, and with a start, she realized that she was getting distracted.
Getting distracted by her own father.
Getting distracted by his deceptive physique, by his suave manner, by his gentlemanly charm... he came very close to being the man of her dreams.
"What's the matter, Ron?" Hiram asked, noticing that she had barely made a move to go after his shot that had scored him another point.
That broke her reverie. Thankfully. She smiled back patronizingly, guiltily relieved that he had no idea of the thoughts festering inside her head. "Nope, Daddy dear," she shouted back. "Just giving you a head start before I burn your lead."
The tempo picked up after that, and Ronnie made even more of an effort to beat her father. Hiram, though getting tired, held his territory even after over forty-five minutes of playing, and finally, the two of them decided to call it even-stevens; Hiram knew he had won, but decided not to press the issue.
"Damn, Dad!" Veronica exclaimed, holding the still-intact feather-cock in her hand. "It must have taken over a hundred hits, and look at it - still looking fresh!"
"More like a thousand hits, my dear," her father corrected, "But these things are sturdy. This one is my favorite brand."
