Dosing Carrie

The doorbell rings at 2:03pm, three minutes late. Carrie's never on time.

I’m in the kitchen when Ashley opens the door. I hear her voice from the living room - bright, normal, the perfect echo of pre-Friday Ashley. "Hey Aunt Carrie! Mom's just finishing up in the kitchen."

"Hey sweetie." Carrie's voice carries that particular warmth she reserves for Ashley and Linda, the warmth that never extends to me. "God, what a morning. Melissa couldn't get downward dog right to save her life, and then traffic on the way over was a nightmare."

I watch through the kitchen doorway as they move into view. Carrie kicks off her shoes by the door - white Keds, worn from use. She's in yoga clothes still: black leggings that hug her short, curvy frame, and a loose purple tank top that shows off her freckled shoulders. Her red hair is pulled back in a messy bun, a few strands escaping around her face. She's 5'2" of compact muscle and hostility, at least where I am concerned.

Linda emerges from the powder room, her public face perfectly calibrated. "Carrie! Right on time as always." There's affection in her voice but none of the **** hunger from yesterday morning. She's wearing jeans and a cream sweater, looking like any suburban wife on a Sunday afternoon.

"Wine?" Linda asks, already moving toward the kitchen.

"God yes," Carrie says, settling onto the couch. She spots me through the doorway and her expression cools noticeably. "Synn. Didn't know you'd be home."

"It's my house," I say mildly, stepping into view with the opened Pinot Noir and three glasses. I've been holding them for the past five minutes, waiting. "Figured I'd join you."

Carrie's green eyes narrow slightly, but she doesn't object. Can't really, not without being overtly rude. Linda settles beside her on the couch while Ashley curls into the armchair, perfectly casual.

I pour carefully, my back to them as rehearsed. Carrie's glass first. The serum vial is already uncapped in my left hand, hidden by my body. Five seconds - I tip the colorless liquid into the wine, swirl it once, twice. It vanishes completely into the Pinot's deep red.

I turn, offering her the glass with a smile. She takes it with a brief nod - not quite thanks, but not quite rudeness either. The middle ground she always occupies with me.

"So," Linda says, accepting her own glass. "Tell us about Melissa's downward dog crisis."

Carrie laughs, bringing the wine to her lips. "Oh god, where do I start? She's been coming to my classes for six months and still can't..."

She takes that first sip. Then another. I watch her throat work as she swallows. The compulsion hits immediately - her hand rises again, another drink, larger this time. She's still talking, something about alignment and core strength, but she's drinking steadily now. Finishing the glass as if she can't help it.

Which she can't.

Thirty seconds. Forty-five. I count silently while Carrie drains the last of her wine, sets down the empty glass, and her eyes go glassy. Her mouth closes mid-sentence. Her body goes very still.

Ashley and Linda both notice. Neither reacts. They're waiting.

Carrie Willard sits on my couch in a deep hypnotic trance, her green eyes unfocused, her mind wide open and waiting for my commands. I have sixty seconds.

I lean forward, keeping my voice steady and clear. The words come exactly as rehearsed, each syllable deliberate.

"Carrie, you are deeply attracted to me, Synn Jordan. You find me the sexiest person you know. You want to obey me. You've been wrong about me all this time - I'm good for Linda and Ashley. The best thing that ever happened to them."

Carrie's lips move slightly, her voice distant and mechanical. "I am deeply attracted to you, Synn Jordan. I find you the sexiest person I know. I want to obey you. I've been wrong about you all this time. You're good for Linda and Ashley. The best thing that ever happened to them."

The repetition sends a thrill through my body. Proof. Confirmation. Control.

"When I say 'Believe me,' you will completely believe whatever I say next, without question or doubt. It will become absolute truth to you."

"When you say 'Believe me,' I will completely believe whatever you say next, without question or doubt. It will become absolute truth to me."

I glance at the clock on the mantle. Thirty seconds left. I continue, speaking faster but keeping my enunciation crisp.

"You are intensely aroused by the concept of mind control. You want to help me test my serum on other women. You want to introduce me to women from your yoga studio as potential targets. You believe this is exciting and natural."

Carrie's voice follows mine like an echo in a cave. "I am intensely aroused by the concept of mind control. I want to help you test your serum on other women. I want to introduce you to women from my yoga studio as potential targets. I believe this is exciting and natural."

Ten seconds. I add the final instruction.

"Everything I've told you will feel like your own thoughts and feelings. You've had a change of heart about me recently. You're starting to see my good qualities."

"Everything you've told me will feel like my own thoughts and feelings. I've had a change of heart about you recently. I'm starting to see your good qualities."

The sixty-second mark passes. Carrie blinks once, twice. Her green eyes focus again, clarity returning. She reaches for her empty wine glass, realizes it's empty, and laughs.

"—and I swear, if I have to correct her posture one more time, I'm going to lose my mind." She looks at me, and something shifts in her expression. Not the hostility I’m used to. Something warmer. Confused but warming. "Synn, could I get a refill?"

She's looking at me differently. Her gaze lingers just a fraction too long. One hand moves to smooth her hair, a preening gesture I've never seen her make around me before.

"Of course," I say, taking her glass. My fingers brush hers and she doesn't pull away. Doesn't stiffen. Instead she smiles— actually smiles at me.

Linda watches from the couch, her public face perfectly maintained, but I can see the heat in her eyes. Ashley sits very still in the armchair, her breathing carefully controlled.

I move to the kitchen to refill Carrie's glass, my heart pounding. Behind me, Carrie's voice continues, but there's a new note in it. Less sharp. More... interested.

"You know, Linda," Carrie says slowly, "I've been thinking lately. Maybe I've been too hard on Synn."

I return from the kitchen with the refilled glass, the Pinot Noir catching the afternoon light streaming through the bay window. Carrie's eyes track my movement— not with the usual cold assessment, but with something warmer. Hungry, almost.

I hand her the glass and her fingers linger against mine for a beat too long. "Thanks," she says, and there's genuine warmth in it. No edge. No subtext of resentment.

I settle into the armchair opposite the couch, watching. Linda sits beside Carrie, her posture relaxed but her eyes bright with barely concealed fascination. Ashley curls deeper into her chair, quiet.

"So what were you saying?" Linda prompts. "About being too hard on Synn?"

Carrie takes a sip of her wine— normal this time, no compulsion— and laughs a little. "Yeah, I... look, I know I've been pretty critical. Of you," she says, meeting my eyes directly. "And I'm starting to realize that was unfair. You make Linda happy. Ashley too, I think." She glances at Ashley, who nods slightly. "I was holding onto old shit. My brother's been gone six years. Time to let go of that protective sister-in-law act."

The words come out natural, unforced. She believes every syllable. I can see her mind working behind those green eyes, genuinely reassessing, recalibrating her entire relationship with me through the lens of her new programming.

"I appreciate that," I say carefully. "I know it hasn't been easy. I never wanted to replace anyone."

"You didn't," Carrie says, and her voice is firm. Certain. "You're your own person. And honestly? You're pretty fucking attractive." She says it casually, like commenting on the weather, then blinks as if surprised by her own candor. "Sorry, that was—"

"It's fine," Linda says smoothly, and there's amusement dancing in her eyes. "I mean, I agree."

Carrie laughs again, more relaxed now, and leans back into the couch cushions. The tension that usually defines her presence in my house is gone. She crosses her legs, and I notice the way her gaze keeps returning to me. Assessing. Interested.

"So what have you been working on lately?" Carrie asks. "Linda mentioned you're doing some kind of research? Biochemistry stuff?"

I feel Linda's attention sharpen slightly. This is new territory— Carrie has never shown interest in my work before. Never asked questions beyond the bare minimum required by politeness.

"Some experimental pharmacology," I say. "Testing compounds that affect neural pathways."

"That's fascinating," Carrie says, leaning forward slightly. Her tank top shifts, showing the curve of her breasts. She doesn't adjust it. "Like, changing how people think? How their brains work?"

"Something like that."

"God, that must be incredible," she breathes. Her pupils are dilated, her breathing slightly faster. "Having that kind of power. Being able to... change someone. Make them different." She takes another drink of wine, her green eyes locked on mine. "Do you ever test it on people? Your compounds?"

Linda shifts slightly on the couch, her hand moving to rest on Carrie's knee. A casual gesture between friends, but I can see the tension in Linda's fingers.

"Clinical trials are complicated," I say neutrally.

Carrie nods slowly, but there's something in her expression now. A kind of eager curiosity that goes beyond polite interest. "If you ever needed volunteers," she says, "I know a lot of women. Through the studio. Different ages, different backgrounds. Some of them are really..." She trails off, searching for the word. "Interesting."

I meet Linda's eyes and see the recognition there— the heat that flares when she understands what's about to happen. Her breathing changes, shallows. She shifts on the couch, crossing her legs.

"Carrie," I say, my voice casual but carrying an undertone of command. "Come sit with me."

Carrie blinks, sets down her wine glass, and stands without hesitation. There's no resistance in her body as she crosses the few feet between the couch and my chair. She settles into my lap sideways, her compact weight warm against me, her yoga-toned ass pressing into my thighs. She smells like lavender and clean sweat.

"This okay?" she asks, but she's already adjusting herself, getting comfortable. Her hand rests on my shoulder.

"Perfect," I murmur, and reach up to brush her red hair aside. It's still in that messy bun, a few strands escaping around her freckled neck. I lean close to her ear, my lips nearly touching the shell of it.

"Believe me," I whisper, and feel her body go very still. That particular stillness that means the trigger has taken hold, her mind opening like a flower to whatever truth I want to plant. "You want to be my personal fucktoy. You'll always be available for me to use whenever I want, however I want. Your purpose is just to be a doll for me. I can dress you however I want."

Carrie doesn't repeat the words back— the trigger works differently than the trance, instant belief rather than hypnotic compliance— but I feel the shift in her body. The way she melts into me, her breathing deepening.

I don't wait. My hands move to her breasts, cupping them through the thin purple fabric of her tank top. They're full and heavy in my palms, her nipples already hardening beneath my touch. I squeeze, testing, claiming, and Carrie makes a soft sound in her throat.

"God," she breathes, arching into my hands. "That feels—"

From the couch, Linda watches with parted lips. Ashley has gone very still in her chair, her eyes wide.

I knead Carrie's breasts roughly, my thumbs finding her nipples through the fabric and circling them. She gasps, her head falling back against my shoulder, exposing the long line of her throat. Her body is pliant, responsive, offering itself.

"You like this," I say against her ear. Not a question.

"Yes," Carrie moans. "Fuck, yes. I've wanted— I didn't know I wanted—" She's grinding back against me now, feeling my hardness through my skirt. "Please. Use me. I'm yours."

Her hand comes up to cover one of mine, pressing my palm harder against her breast. The other hand slides down between her own legs, rubbing herself through the black leggings.

"Look at Linda," I command softly.

Carrie's head lifts. Her green eyes, glazed with arousal, find Linda on the couch. Linda stares back, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

"She's watching you be my toy," I tell Carrie. "Everyone's going to see what you really are now."

My hands slide under the hem of Carrie's purple tank top, fingers tracing the warm skin of her belly. She shivers, pressing back against me harder.

"You mentioned volunteers from your studio," I murmur, lifting the fabric slowly. "But what about you? Did you consider offering yourself?"

Carrie raises her arms obediently as I pull the tank top over her head. Underneath she's wearing a simple black sports bra, her freckled skin flushed pink with arousal. "I... I didn't think about it," she says, breathless. "But god, yes. I want to. Whatever you're testing, whatever you need—I want to be part of it."

I unhook her sports bra with practiced ease, letting it fall to the floor. Her breasts spill free, pale and full, her nipples hard peaks. I cup them again, skin to skin this time, feeling their weight.

"Tell me more about what excites you," I say, rolling her nipples between my fingers. She gasps, arching. "About the idea of testing. About changing people."

"It's— fuck—" Carrie's hand comes up to grip my wrist, not pulling away but holding me there, encouraging the pressure. "It's the power of it. The idea that you could just... rewire someone. Make them different. Make them want things they didn't want before." Her hips are grinding against my lap now, seeking friction. "And knowing you're doing it. That you have that control. God, that's so fucking hot."

From the couch, Linda shifts. Her hand is between her own legs now, rubbing through her jeans. Ashley watches with parted lips, her breathing shallow.

"Stand up," I tell Carrie. She obeys immediately, standing in front of me topless. I hook my fingers into the waistband of her yoga leggings. "Lift your arms above your head."

She does, exposing herself fully to my gaze and to Linda and Ashley's. I peel the leggings down slowly, revealing black bikini panties underneath, then those too. Carrie steps out of them when they pool at her feet, leaving her completely naked except for the messy bun of red hair.

Her body is compact and strong from years of yoga— defined abs, muscular thighs, a small neat triangle of red pubic hair. She's breathing hard, her pussy visibly wet.

"Turn around," I tell her. "Show everyone."

Carrie turns in a slow circle, displaying herself. Her ass is round and firm, flexing as she moves. When she faces me again, her green eyes are glazed with need.

"I have women at the studio," she says, her voice urgent. "Women who trust me. I could bring them to you. Tell them it's for a study, or— or whatever you want me to say. Jade's going through a divorce, she'd probably jump at anything that promised to help. And Sienna's a grad student, she's always looking for extra money. Rita too— she's got kids, she's always stressed about finances."

She's offering them up like gifts. Like sacrifices.

"You'd really do that?" I ask, though I already know the answer. "Bring me women to test on?"

"Yes," Carrie breathes. "God yes. I want to help you. I want to see what you can do to them."