The Lodges

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."

"Gee, Dad, sounds like you've got a good cock in there." As soon as she said that, even before her father registered surprise and indignation on his face, she felt like giving herself a kick in her arse. Hastily, she tried to cover up her mistake, and ended up blubbering even more. "What I meant was – I mean – you've got good taste in cocks, Daddy."

Kick!

"Oops! Sorry again – guess that made you sound like a gay – anyway, you sure know how to play badminton well."

Hiram grinned at his daughter's discomfiture. Teens – anything and everything they said nowadays is so sexually charged, he thought, that even they get awkward by what they say. He kissed her on her cheeks reassuringly, and gave her a gentle, paternal slap on her butt. "State Junior Champion, three years on the trot."

Ronnie smiled back gratefully. Thank God he had changed the subject. Suddenly, she felt hot under the collar; the water looked too tempting to resist. "Can I go for a swim?"

"Sure sweetie. Just take the long walk off the short pier."

She laughed at his imitation of a gangster as she ran towards the blue lake. It took her less than thirty seconds to shimmy out of her shorts and throw away her tank-top. Unsure of how deep the water was, she decided to splash into it bum-first. To her delight, the depth was just a little over seven feet – the ideal depth for a couple of hours of being lazily afloat.

Hiram stacked the bats back inside the loft, deciding to let the net remain where it was until it was time for them to go. He had packed a couple of paperbacks, and having prepared a tall jug of cold lemonade in a matter of experienced seconds – he still hadn't forgotten his old boy scout days – went out to his seat on the above-water patio.

He waved to his daughter, who waved back, as he settled himself into the rocking-chair, the jug placed on the table beside him, and opened one of the novels. With a glass of lemonade in one hand, and the book in the other, he felt ready for some serious relaxation. The only sounds that disturbed the stillness around them was his daughter's thrashing the water, but even that was music to the father's ears.

Half an hour passed into history.

Hearing the sound of his daughter getting out of the water, Hiram lowered his book – and then dropped it. His half-filled glass of lemonade crashed to the floor, but even that did not – could not – turn his eyes away from the sight that greeted him.

Veronica was standing before him in the buff. Nude. Totally nude.

In spite of himself, Hiram found her body made interesting study. Her breasts, as was the V of her crotch, were a pale shade of the tanned skin around them, and somehow, it gave him a sense of relief that his daughter hadn't been sunbathing recently. Long, lithe legs led upwards along an hourglass figure into nice, firm breasts a trifle too large for her frame, before curving into the long, graceful neck just below that sweet face with those sexily pouting lips.

Hiram might have found his voice a lot sooner, if he hadn't been so fascinated by the sight of a heart-shaped bush above the sacred vertex of her femininity. It was faultlessly done, a perfect image of the universal symbol for love, and it looked so delicate and beautiful just a couple of inches away from her love-hole. Knowing that he had stared at her for three seconds too many, Hiram tried to raise his eyes to meets hers, only to be drawn away from his objective by the sight of his daughter's wet cleavage.

Finally, he managed to avert his eyes long enough from her body to will himself to stare right into her black, pearly eyes. "What's the meaning of this?" he roared, surprising himself with the anger that he exuded "Where's your suit?"

Although more than a little intimidated by his unexpected reaction, Ronnie tried to act casual. She jerked a thumb back towards the water, and his eyes jerked in the direction she pointed. There, floating in an idyllic manner, were the two pieces that constituted her bikini. The dark blue material of the suit was a stark contrast to the electric blue of the water around it.

"It was getting too hot, Daddy. I thought you wouldn't mind," she began slowly, but her father cut her off in mid-sentence.

"I thought you had outgrown this a long time ago, Ronnie – this casual attitude you have towards money. I shelled out a hundred – remember that, Ron, a hundred bucks – for that silly excuse of a suit, and now you just dump it into the water, 'just because it is too hot.' I am sick of this, Ronnie, sick of you wasting my money like this. Now go back and put it back, or I'll never buy you anything else as long as I am alive."

Eyes smoldered as he stared at her, shooting daggers that hurt even more than it would have if he had physically attacked her. Shocked, Veronica moved a step back, visibly shrinking under her father's attack.

Abruptly, she rebelled. With a violent huff, she turned on her heels and dived into the water, furiously swimming towards her floating dress even as she surfaced. The adrenaline rush sped her up, and before Hiram could even regain his composure, she was back on the pier, holding up the wet dress.

"Here it is," she said, almost spitting the words, "Your $100 bikini. You can have it." She threw it at her father furiously, the wet material slapping against his face. The cold water knocked some fatherly concern back into Hiram, substituting for the anger that had caused him to rail at his daughter. He watched in dismay as she stormed into the house.

Shoving the swimsuit aside, ignoring the water that dripped from his face, he ran after her. He managed to catch up with Ronnie in the living room, just outside the door to her room.

"Ronnie," he said, genuinely sorry that he had shouted at her, "I am sorry."

She looked at him, and he was stunned by the intensity of the hurt and the anger that her eyes revealed. "Sorry!" she spat out. "The easiest word in your vocabulary."

"Ron -"

"Shut up, Daddy. What makes you think you can control my life? What gave you the right to suddenly act as a father again? You gave me money when I needed it – yeah, I know – but that is not what makes a father. You should have been there for me everytime – at least most of the time – that I needed you. You were never there, nor was Mom; but then, she is never there for anybody else but herself.

"You allowed me freedom with my friends, but admit it – wasn't that more to get me off your hair than anything else? I am just the ideal escort when it comes to entertaining your partners' sons, but what about my entertainment, just a few hours alone with my father.

"And you never really paid any attention to me. Everytime I walked around in those bikinis, too small they would be considered indecent outside our house, all you would do was go to your room, or your study, and broker deals. Not a word to me; not a single command to wear something better. Hell, Archie did a better job of noticing my immodesty than you did.

"And when I finally thought you would notice me, or at least just allow me to be free, you shout at me, you shamed me. What am I supposed to do, instead of being angry with you? This?"

Before Hiram managed to realize what was happening, her lips mashed against his, and her tongue darted into his mouth. Her arms pulled his head closer to hers, and he felt his hands automatically encircle her waist, joining just at the beginning of the crack of her waist. He had never known a sensation so powerful as the feel of her tongue sliding over his, teasing the roots of his molars.

He kissed back.

Ron's eyes widened as she felt her father push his tongue into her mouth, and instead of pulling away, she just hugged him harder. The heat was all-enveloping; neither wanted to, nor could neither, pull away. Their kiss was locked passionately, sealing off everything else of the outside world. Hiram's hands parted, and individually kneaded the cheeks of her buttocks, causing her knees to go soft at the feel of his fingers on her asshole.

It was only when his right hand moved even further that Ronnie realized how much he excited her. The thought scared her – and for a second, she even contemplated pulling away before things got out of hand. But before she could even register her inhibitions, a finger brushed lightly against her lips – and she shuddered.

Hiram felt the soft, satiny feel of his daughter's cuntal lips a second before she shuddered, and he felt himself go rock hard at the thought of her arousal. He didn't know whether the wetness of her crotch was due to her recent swim, or the more recent sexual moment that was still going on between them. A part told him it was wrong, and he had almost shaken off that conscience when she shuddered again.

Abruptly, as quickly as they had come together, they pulled apart. Their eyes met, communicating a need for words. And as much as words threatened to pour out, they didn't. The moment passed in embarrassed silence.

Veronica turned away, and had almost opened the door to her room when her father clutched her hand. "Ronnie, dear," he said gently, softly, "Will you please listen to me?"

She nodded, and Hiram led her to the sofa. They sat together, her unabashedly beautiful in her nakedness, and he squeezed her hand lovingly, before speaking his heart out. "I never knew I hurt you so much, Ronnie, but if you give me the chance to explain them away, I think you will realize that I did it more out of love for you than anything else… I was always too afraid of losing you."

She looked at him questioningly, encouraging him to open up even more. "It's the truth – let me start with my childhood. My parents were never really there for me, and I grew up really feeling the effects of being an only child. I had no close friend in the house, except a butler, Jenkins, but he was always more of a father figure than a friend. When I married your mother, it promised to be the start of a lifelong period of companionship.

"That promise turned to tatters when I realized your mother was more in love with my money than with me, but by then, you had been born already. The little baby that made me feel special once again. I always wanted to be special to you, honey, to always be there for you.

"But with your mother burning up more and more money, I had to keep earning more – working more was the only solution. At times, the strain almost wore me out, but the thought that I was doing this for you made me go on long after I might have burned out.

"Before I knew it, you had turned into a beautiful teen, and I realized sadly that I had missed the last few years – the turning point – of your life. It was something that I thought I could never regain, the time that I had wasted in more material pursuits. I thought I was not the figure in your life… you had a lot of friends, and my colleagues had warned me that children once past a certain age tended to get irritated by their parents.

"I guess that did it for me – I withdrew into a shell of my own making, resigning myself to being just a signature on the credit cards and the checks – BECAUSE I thought you wouldn't want me in your life any more."

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