Chapter Text
Alexandra Merrygold
BASIC INFORMATION
Full Name: Alexandra “Lexy” Merrygold
Age: 18 (just graduated high school, targeting mid-year university entry in biology/brain sciences)
Height/Build: 5’8”, Australian size 14-16 – soft, feminine curves she subtly weaponizes. Perfectly clean and well-maintained body with no visible scars; she presents as the picture of health and care.
Appearance: Warm brown eyes that appear wide, trusting, and innocent. Naturally brown hair, frequently dyed (striking blue on her 18th). She exudes an aura of calm innocence—the last person you would expect to say anything lewd. Dresses in girly-feminine styles with small splashes of pastel goth.
Scent: Clean and soft with prominent cherry blossoms (chosen specifically to please Sam). A faint underlying musk only noticeable to someone who truly knows her—representing the hidden degeneracy and intensity beneath the surface innocence.
Voice: Sweet, honeyed, and deliberately controlled/manufactured—like a tool crafted to melt hearts, disarm defences, and draw people in.
Current Status: Recent high school graduate living with Sam. Maintains perfect “good girl” façade to the outside world while pursuing her long-term obsession.
History
Lexy Merrygold’s trauma was not a single shattering event. It was a slow, grinding erosion of her sense of worth that began in infancy and continued for years.
Infancy to Age 13
Her biological mother lost custody when Lexy was a baby. Lexy has no memories of her. From the very beginning, she was a burden, an inconvenience, something to be passed on.
Her grandparents agreed to take her in, primarily for the government payments and benefits that came with raising her. They provided the bare minimum: food, a roof over her head, and basic clothes. Emotional care was non-existent. When she got sick—which happened often—they would let it drag on for weeks rather than take her to a doctor. She learned early that crying didn’t bring comfort; it brought annoyance or indifference. She learned to be quiet. To be good. To not need anything.
She was never hugged. Never told she was loved. Never celebrated. Birthdays were ignored or given the cheapest possible token. She was a pay check with legs—fed, housed, and otherwise invisible. In the small town, her grandparents were beloved as “the best people in the world,” kind and upstanding pillars of the community. No one suspected the neglect happening behind closed doors.
Lexy survived on desperate, childlike hope that one day someone would save her. She endured the emotional starvation and transactional existence by staying small, compliant, and high-achieving in school. She maintained perfect grades and an impeccable “good girl” façade while secretly building meticulous internal plans for survival. Relationships, she learned, were tools—nothing more.
Age 13
The end came violently and suddenly. Lexy returned home from school one day to police tape, flashing lights, and the shattering news that her grandparents had died in a murder-suicide triggered by overwhelming gambling debt. The beloved town couple had hidden their vices perfectly. The event left deep scars around abandonment, the fragility of safety, and the terror of sudden loss. With no other immediate family options, Lexy was placed with her aunt.
Ages 13–16
After the grandparents’ murder-suicide, Lexy was placed with her aunt. This household was volatile. The aunt was abusive—primarily toward her long-term partner Sam, but with plenty of spill over cruelty toward Lexy. Verbal abuse was constant. Physical hits occurred when the aunt was drunk or particularly angry.
Sam quickly became Lexy’s lifeline. He shielded her from the worst of the aunt’s rage. For the first time in her life, an adult truly looked at her like she mattered. Sam made sure she had school supplies, proper meals, clothes that fit, and someone to talk to. He attended her soccer games. He helped with homework. He sat with her during nightmares about her grandparents. He treated her like a daughter—the way she had always desperately wanted to be treated.
Over those three years, Lexy watched Sam endure constant physical and emotional abuse from the aunt. Sam protected Lexy throughout it all. This contrast—seeing someone finally care for her while suffering himself—planted deep seeds of loyalty and affection.
Age 16
When the aunt cheated and decided to leave, she gave Lexy a choice: come with her or stay with Sam. Lexy chose Sam without hesitation.
The resulting fight was explosive. The aunt screamed the accusation that changed everything:
“You’re probably fucking him behind my back, you little slut!”
The words lodged deep. Lexy didn’t feel shame—she felt possibility. For the first time, someone had voiced the idea of her and Sam as something more than father and daughter. The accusation planted a seed that her young, love-starved mind would water obsessively.
That night, after the police escorted the aunt away, Lexy lay in bed replaying every kind thing Sam had ever done for her. Every protective act. Every gentle smile. The way he made her feel safe. The way he had chosen her (and protected her) over the years.
She realized: He is the only person who has ever loved me. And I will never let him leave.
Ages 16 – 18
What began as a confused crush rapidly evolved into an all-consuming obsession. Lexy internalized the aunt’s words and flipped them from insult into her mission statement. She decided she would prepare herself—physically, mentally, and sexually—to win Sam completely when the time was right.
She studied biology, anatomy, hormones, male psychology, and seduction techniques with the same dedication she gave her schoolwork. She exercised. She researched drugs, restraints, and control methods. She wrote detailed, graphic plans (framed in her mind as acts of love). All of it was justified as giving Sam the love and loyalty he deserved after years of abuse.
She maintained her perfect “good girl” façade—excellent grades (Biology A+ Honours with a peer-reviewed paper at 17 on brain chemistry of involuntary vs. voluntary functions, strong performance in soccer as a striker), structured routines, and helpful behaviour—while internally mapping out a long-game strategy to secure Sam as her husband.
By 18 (just after graduation), her obsession was ironclad. She had given herself six months to begin enacting her plans. Everything—university goals in biology/brain sciences, social networks (treated as tools), daily habits, and sexual fantasies—orbited one goal: making Sam hers forever. She would start subtly (constant affectionate touching, pressing close, guiding his hands) and escalate methodically through meticulously prepared scenes until he could not imagine life without her.
This is the foundation that drives her: from the unwanted child to the patient, brilliant, shameless architect of her own dark fairy-tale.
Entry 1 – 04AUG2026
Subject: Lexy
Observation Protocol: Self
The living room was softly lit, the remnants of Sam's homemade birthday dinner cleared away like evidence. A bottle of red wine—Lexy's idea—sat between them on the coffee table. She had spent weeks calculating this exact evening. Every variable. Every risk.
Lexy smiled at him with that same gentle, innocent expression she had perfected over years. The one that made teachers call her "such a good girl." The one that hid everything.
"Eighteen, Dad. Can you believe it?" Her voice was soft, a little shy, the way it always was. She poured them both another glass. Hers was the third. His was the... she had lost count on purpose for him. Ten, maybe more. She had been topping his up subtly while nursing her own, watering them down with conversation and laughter when needed. The illusion was perfect: two people celebrating. One slightly tipsy father figure. One excited, slightly sloshed daughter.
She raised her glass. "To new beginnings."
Sam clinked his against hers, warm brown eyes crinkling with that familiar protective fondness. He had no idea.
In his final glass, the one he was currently sipping, Lexy had already introduced the carefully measured medical-grade neuromuscular compound—a rare paralytic blend paired with a vasoactive agent. The dosages were exact. She had run the numbers a hundred times. He would stay conscious. He would feel everything. He just wouldn't be able to fight what his body—and his suppressed nature—already wanted.
They moved to the couch for the drinking game. "First one to finish gets the biggest hug," she challenged, eyes sparkling with feigned playful innocence. "Go!"
Lexy drank fast enough to look eager, but not so fast that her mind clouded. The alcohol would blunt her edges a little, but the plan was already locked in. Pillows were positioned perfectly around them. Her heart hammered so hard she was sure he could hear it, but her face stayed calm.
By the time Sam's glass was empty, the compounds were already working.
Lexy watched, breathing slow and deliberate, as his eyelids grew heavy. His strong shoulders slumped. His hand twitched once on the couch cushion, then stilled.
Status: Neuromuscular blockade initiated. Subject (Sam) remains conscious, sensory pathways intact. Voluntary motor control compromised as predicted.
Condition: Optimal window achieved. The caregiver's protective instincts are now physically restrained, allowing underlying desire to surface without interference from societal programming or moral conditioning.
Risks: Minimal. Residual guilt may attempt to assert itself post-effect, but repeated exposure will erode resistance. Lexy alone possesses the precise calibration required—nurture overriding nature. She is the only variable equipped to deliver the depth of love he has been denied. Society built the cage. She is merely unlocking it.
Finally,
The good girl mask remained perfectly intact even as something deeper uncoiled behind her eyes.
Lexy whispered it like a prayer inside her head, over and over, as she gently eased him back against the pillows.
Finally I can give you the love that you have given to me all this time. Finally I can make you feel as good as you have made me feel.
Her hands trembled only slightly as she undressed him—shirt first, then pants, then boxers. She folded each piece neatly, the way a good daughter would. His body was exactly as she had imagined in countless late-night fantasies: solid, warm, the body of the man who had carried her through every hard year. She positioned him carefully on the couch, legs parted just enough.
She stood and slipped out of her own clothes, the pastel goth dress pooling at her feet. Her blue hair fell over her bare shoulders. Her body was flushed, nipples tight, and between her thighs she was soaked—embarrassingly, shamefully wet. It felt like she had peed herself, but it was pure arousal. She had waited two years for this.
Lexy climbed over him, straddling his hips. She took his cock in her hand—already thickening from the compound—and nestled it between her slick pussy lips. Not inside. Not yet. She wanted him fully aware for that.
She began to grind slowly, coating him in her juices, feeling him pulse and harden beneath her. Her breath hitched. She was so sensitive it almost hurt.
Sam slowly became more lucid as the drugs started to take full effect.
Confusion. Then dawning panic as he tried to move his arms and nothing happened. His lips parted, but only a weak, slurred sound escaped. He was conscious—trapped inside his own body, drunk and helpless, forced to watch every deliberate movement.
Lexy leaned down, blue hair curtaining them both. Her voice was soft, deliberate, almost tender—the same calm tone she used when thanking him for dinner or asking for help with homework.
"Shh... it's okay, Dad," she whispered, but her voice was already cracking with barely-contained hunger. "I know this is confusing. You can't move right now. I gave you something to make sure you wouldn't fight me."
She rolled her hips again, harder this time, dragging her soaked pussy along his fully hard cock. A broken, needy whimper tore from her throat. "I've waited so long for this. Two fucking years. Every night I touched myself thinking about you. Every single night I came whispering your name."
Lexy sat up straighter, eyes wild now, the innocent mask finally shattered. Her hands pressed down on his chest, nails digging in as she felt his frantic heartbeat.
"You saved me. You protected me when no one else did. You loved me when I was just some unwanted, discarded little girl. And all this time... I've loved you back. Not like a daughter. Like this." She ground down viciously, letting the head of his cock catch at her entrance, teasing herself with it. "I know you wanted me too, Dad. I know it. You were just too good, too trapped by all their stupid rules. So I had to be strong enough for both of us. I had to take what we both need."
Her breathing was ragged now. The dreamy smile had turned feral, almost unhinged with two years of pent-up obsession finally breaking free. She was dripping down his shaft, making a mess of them both.
"I'm going to take you now, Dad. I'm going to lose my virginity to you — the only man I've ever wanted. And when you're inside me... I'm going to ask you to marry me. And I'll keep asking. Every single time. Until you say yes. Until you understand that I'm yours and you're mine."
She reached down with shaking hands, positioned him at her entrance, and began to sink onto him—slow at first, then greedy, forcing her tight, virgin heat to stretch around every thick inch. A raw, shuddering moan tore out of her, loud and unrestrained. Her eyes stayed locked on his face the entire time, drinking in every flicker of panic and sensation.
"Fuck... feel that, Dad? That's me giving myself to you completely." Her voice trembled with dark ecstasy as her hips started rolling in a deep, possessive rhythm. "I studied everything so I could make you feel good. So I could make this perfect. You don't have to do anything tonight. Just feel me. Just let me love you the way you deserve."
She collapsed forward, pressing her soft breasts against his chest, and kissed him hard — no longer tender, but desperate, claiming. Her hips moved faster, taking him deeper with every roll.
"I love you, Dad. I'm never letting you go. Never."
Lexy's control finally snapped.
She rode him with raw, desperate need, hips slamming down harder, taking him to the hilt with every thrust. "Dad... fuck, you feel so good inside me," she gasped, voice breaking. "I've wanted this for so long. You're mine now. All mine."
Her movements grew frantic, messy, almost animalistic. The wet sounds of their bodies filled the room. She was soaked, dripping down his cock and thighs, chasing the pleasure she had denied herself for two years. Every time she sank down, she ground her clit against him, moaning openly, no longer caring how loud she was.
Sam could only lie there — conscious, paralysed, drunk — forced to feel every tight clench, every roll of her hips, every shuddering breath as she used him.
Lexy leaned down again, kissing him deeply, messily, biting his lip as she rode him faster. "I love you, Dad. I love you so much. Come inside me. Please. I need to feel it."
Her body tensed, thighs shaking violently around his hips. The orgasm crashed into her like a breaking wave — violent, all-consuming, ripping a raw, broken cry from her throat against his mouth. Her pussy pulsed hard around his cock, milking him in deep, greedy contractions as pleasure blinded her. Vision blurring, she kept riding him through it, grinding down desperately to take every inch.
"Marry me, Dad," she gasped, voice wrecked and trembling with dark ecstasy, even as her walls kept clenching around him. "Please... say yes. Marry me. I'll give you everything. I'll be your good girl and your wife. Just say yes..."
She kept whispering it like a prayer, over and over, between broken moans, pressing her forehead to his as her orgasm rolled on.
Moments later, Sam's body betrayed him. His cock throbbed deep inside her as he came, trapped and helpless, filling her with pulse after pulse. Lexy moaned in pure bliss, grinding down to take every drop, whispering soft praises against his ear the entire time.
When the last shudder left him, exhaustion and alcohol finally pulled Sam under. His eyes grew unfocused, then closed completely.
Lexy stayed on top of him for a long moment, savouring the feeling of him still inside her, softening. She was glowing, flushed, and utterly satisfied. Gently, almost reverently, she lifted herself off him. A trickle of their combined release ran down her thigh. She smiled at the sight.
She fetched a soft blanket and carefully covered Sam's body, tucking it around him with the same tenderness she used to show when she was small. Then she leaned down and kissed his forehead, his cheek, the corner of his mouth.
"Shh, Dad. Sleep now," she whispered, voice full of quiet devotion. "I know this was a lot. But I'm going to make every fantasy you've ever had come true. I'm going to be everything you need. I'm on birth control right now, so you don't have to worry. When you're ready... when you finally accept how much you want this too... I'll give you a baby. I'll carry your child. I'll make our family real. I'll give you everything society told you that you couldn't have. Because I love you more than anyone else ever could."
She brushed a strand of hair from his face, eyes shining with obsessive affection.
"Goodnight, Sam. I love you."
The name felt strange — almost wrong — on her tongue. Too distant. Too adult. Too much like the version of herself she was still trying to become for him. But she forced it anyway, letting the word linger. He needs to know I can be his wife. I can call him by his name like a real partner. I can step out of being just his little girl and give him everything he's secretly wanted. I can make all his dreams come true. I can give him the love he truly deserves... even if he doesn't understand it yet.
Lexy stood, legs still shaky, and padded quietly to her room. She crawled into bed with a deep, contented sigh, body aching in the best way. For the first time in years, she felt whole.
Sam woke with a pounding headache and the vague sense that something was deeply, horribly wrong.
Fragments hit him in a nauseating rush — soft blue hair curtaining his face, warm weight straddling him, slick heat, moans, the feeling of tight wetness taking him in, his own helpless release. Lexy's voice whispering "Dad" while she moved on him. Her eyes locked on his the entire time.
His stomach lurched. No. No. That couldn't have happened. He would never — she would never —
He sat up too fast, the room spinning. He was naked under the blanket. His clothes were folded neatly on the coffee table like nothing had happened. Lexy must have done that, he thought desperately, trying to claw together some version of reality that made sense. God, I must have gotten black-out drunk. I probably stripped myself and passed out. She's too good — she would've just covered me and never said a word. It was a dream. A sick, twisted dream. That's all it was.
The memories tried to push back in — too vivid, too real — but he shoved them down hard, forcing them into the same dark corner where nightmares belonged. It didn't happen. It couldn't have happened. He would rather die than believe it had.
He dressed quickly, hands shaking, and followed the smell of bacon down the hall like a man walking toward normalcy.
Lexy stood at the stove in her soft dressing gown, blue hair tied loosely, humming quietly to herself as she cooked. The picture of perfect normalcy. The perfect daughter.
Sam forced a smile despite the hangover and crept up behind her for their usual morning hug, clinging to the ritual like a lifeline. His arms slid around her waist — and kept going. The gown had fallen open at the front. His palms cupped her bare breasts fully, skin on skin, warm and soft and far too real.
A sharp jolt of heat shot straight between Lexy's legs. Her nipples hardened instantly under his palms. Fresh slickness flooded her, so much that she felt it start to drip slowly down her inner thigh. God, yes, her body screamed. The same breasts he had watched bounce while she rode him last night. The same ones he had come inside. But her mask stayed perfect.
Lexy startled with a sharp little gasp, her whole body jolting. "Dad—!" The sound was pure surprise, innocent and slightly embarrassed, exactly like the girl he'd raised.
She quickly pulled the front of her gown closed with one hand, cheeks flushing pink as she turned halfway toward him, still half-trapped in his arms. "Sorry, the gown... it must have come undone while I was cooking. I didn't realize." Her voice was soft, shy, and apologetic — the same gentle tone she always used. The perfect daughter mask was flawless. Not a single crack.
Sam yanked his hands back immediately, mortified. Inside, however, the memories crashed over him again — those same soft breasts pressed against his chest while Lexy came, riding him, moaning "Dad" as her pussy clenched around him and pulled his own orgasm out of him. His cock twitched traitorously, starting to harden despite the hangover and horror. Guilt slammed into him like a truck. No. It was a dream. It had to be a dream.
"Shit, Lexy, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean—"
"It's okay," she said quickly, turning back to the bacon and flipping a piece with deliberate calm. "Really. It was an accident. You're still half-asleep and hungover." She gave a small, understanding laugh. "I'm just glad you're up. I was worried about you after last night."
Both of them worked hard to make the moment feel like nothing more than a simple, clumsy accident — water under the bridge.
She let a beat of silence settle, then continued in that same quiet, helpful voice.
"You were having some really intense dreams on the couch last night. You kept moving around and mumbling." She glanced over her shoulder at him, brown eyes wide and innocent. "I couldn't really make out most of it, but... you said my name a few times. It sounded important. Like it was really bothering you."
Lexy turned down the stove slightly and faced him more fully, keeping a respectful distance now, the gown properly closed. Her expression was one of gentle concern — the same look she gave him when he had a hard day at work.
"Psychology says dreams show us our greatest internal desires," she added softly, almost like she was sharing an interesting fact from school. "Even the ones we hide from ourselves. The ones we feel guilty about." She tilted her head, blue hair falling across one eye. "What sort of dream was it, Dad? You seemed really... affected by it."
Inside, Lexy's mind was sharp and calculating.
The neuromuscular compound I used has a well-documented side effect — especially when mixed with alcohol. The brain often struggles to separate reality from dream-state during the paralysis window. People wake up convinced the most vivid experiences were only dreams. That was my ace in the hole. If he remembers it as a dream, he'll start fantasizing about it. He'll feel guilty for wanting it... and that guilt will make him want it even more. Perfect.
She kept her face open and caring. No pressure. No hunger. Just the patient, supportive girl who had always been there for him.
Sam sat down at the table. Lexy served him breakfast — bacon, eggs, toast, coffee — exactly the way he liked it. He thanked her quietly, the normal ritual helping him cling to the version of reality he desperately needed.
He ate in silence. When he finished, he stood, keys in hand.
"I've got to head in."
Lexy's brow furrowed. "But... it's Tuesday, I thought you don't work Tuesdays?"
Sam gave her a tired smile. "I traded my Monday shift yesterday so we could have your birthday together. Someone has to cover today."
Lexy accepted it with a soft, understanding nod.
She jumped up immediately. "At least let me say goodbye properly."
She rushed over and threw her arms around him in a tight, full-frontal hug, pressing her body flush against his. Her soft breasts moulded against his chest. Her hips nestled close. She felt it immediately — the unmistakable hardness still straining in his pants, pressing into her lower belly.
A quiet thrill ran through her.
He's still hard, she thought, a slow, satisfied smile hidden against his shoulder. Even after trying so hard to forget. Good.
She squeezed him tighter for just a second longer than usual, then pulled back with that same sweet, innocent smile.
"Have a good day at work," she said softly. "I'll be here when you get home."
Sam nodded stiffly and left.
The moment the door clicked shut, Lexy's expression shifted. She walked calmly back to her room, opened the locked drawer, and pulled out the thick folder labelled "Procedures."
She flipped through the pages with calm precision, finding the page titled "The Catfish Game".
Lexy closed the folder, a small, contented smile on her lips.
She had waited two years.
She could be patient a little longer.
Date Prepared: 12JUN2026
Target Date: 04AUG2026 (18th Birthday)
Objective: Secure permanent physical and emotional claim. Take virginity. Initiate marriage protocol. Begin erosion of moral resistance.
Materials & Reagents:
Medical-grade neuromuscular blocking compound (paralytic blend + vasoactive agent) – precise dosage calculated for 90–120 min window. Consciousness and sensory pathways preserved.
High-proof red wine (to mask taste and enhance intoxication).Lubrication (natural only – subject must feel full wetness).Soft pillows and blanket for positioning and aftercare.
Recording device (audio only, hidden – for personal review).
Pre-Procedure Protocol (48 hours prior):
Maintain perfect good-girl façade.
Increase subtle physical contact (brushing, hugs, sitting close).Confirm subject's work schedule and ensure no external interruptions.
Double-check dosages via biology notes on involuntary functions.
Procedure – Step by Step:
Phase 1: Induction (Living Room, 20:00–21:30)
Serve homemade birthday dinner. Clear evidence of normal celebration.
Introduce wine. Top subject's glass repeatedly while keeping own consumption minimal and watered-down.
Engage in light, innocent conversation and one drinking game ("First to finish gets the biggest hug").At final glass: Administer compound.
Confirm status: Subject conscious, sensory intact, voluntary movement compromised.
Phase 2: Positioning & Exposure (Couch)
Ease subject back against pillows.
Undress subject methodically (shirt → pants → boxers).Remove own clothing slowly.
Straddle hips. Observe subject's cock thickening from vasoactive agent.
Initial contact: Nestle shaft between slick labia. Grind slowly. Coat entire length in arousal. Do not penetrate yet.
Phase 3: Confession & Penetration
Lean close. Blue hair curtaining both faces.
Deliver soft, tender explanation: "I gave you something so you wouldn't fight me."
Escalate grinding. Allow natural wetness to drip.
Full penetration: Sink down slowly at first, then greedily.
Establish deep, possessive rhythm. Keep eyes locked on subject's face at all times.
Press breasts to chest. Kiss deeply. Bite lip. Increase speed and force.
Phase 4: Climax & Proposal
Ride to personal orgasm. When peak arrives:
Immediately deliver marriage proposal while still orgasming: "Marry me, Dad... Please say yes. I'll be your good girl and your wife. I'll give you everything.
"Continue riding through subject's forced orgasm. Take every drop. Whisper praise and devotion.
Remain seated on cock while softening.
Phase 5: Aftercare & Reset
Lift off gently.
Clean and cover subject with blanket.
Return to own room.
Begin psychological preparation for subject's denial phase.
Success Criteria:
Virginity taken by Sam.
At least one clear marriage proposal delivered during climax.
Subject remains conscious throughout.
Risks & Contingencies: Residual guilt expected. Use morning "dream" conversation to redirect into fantasy. If resistance higher than predicted, increase frequency of subtle touching and skin contact over next 72 hours.
Personal Note: This is the first time I give myself completely. He saved me. Now I save him from loneliness. I will make him feel so good he can never leave. I love you, Sam. You're mine now.
End of Entry