Ravishing Riverdale update

Role-play? Camila asked me in a text she sent after getting off work and I texted back: Sure. It’d been a while since I’d played an RPG, with Camila, Madelaine, and Lili all monopolizing my time, but I was down for something more casual than black-tie events, charity functions, and other such photo ops. Apparently I was quite photogenic. It didn’t seem like much of a claim to fame, but I suppose there were worse ones. My agent was urging me to keep up the menage a quad with the three of them, certain the buzz it generated would soon have roles pouring in. Also, I had an agent now. Before, I was pretty sure I just had a guy that pretended he wasn’t there when I called.

I was wondering what exactly me and Camila were going to do: traditional tabletop? Something on a console? Maybe even a LARP thing? 

When she came through the door, Camila was dressed to the nines. She always favored fine clothes, but on her own time, she usually dressed down at least a little. Jeans, light make-up, the odd T-shirt, even if each item cost around two hundred dollars. Now, it was hard for me to picture the ensemble running less than a thousand. She looked like she might’ve come home wearing one of her Veronica outfits from that TV show, though I knew the costume department would never let her get away with the designer clothing that was supposed to represent the typical teenage wardrobe.

“Hello, daddy,” she said, speaking in the wan, aloof tone she used for Veronica on the show. She had her face set in a neutral, yet subservient expression, mixed with a bit of fondness I could tell was genuine. It was her Veronica ‘look’, and coupled with her tight black halter, dark tartan skirt, and blazing white pearl necklace like the teeth of a panther set within its darkened pelt—she came off looking a little like a dominatrix.

“Veronica?” I asked. I might’ve been slow on the uptake, but I wasn’t that slow. 

“Yes,” she said huskily, stepping inside with long, languid strides that showcased the length of her legs. There seemed to be miles of them, making her conservative skirt seem much shorter than it really was. “I know it’s past curfew, daddy—I hope you’re not too upset… oh, have you been up on your feet, pacing, waiting for me to get back home? I’m sorry, daddy.”

She stripped me of my jacket—I wore it indoors as the heater never seemed to keep my crummy apartment warm enough—and sat me down in my obligatory bachelor easy chair. 

“Take a load off. Relax. I’m so sorry you got so worked up over me, daddy. Please—is there anything I can do to help you get comfortable? You know I’ll do anything for my daddy.”