He turns them into slutty best friends

He took a breath, his fingers dancing across the screen.

Clarissa is not Hailey’s mother. She believes she’s Hailey’s slightly older best friend, slutty, giggly, attention-starved. She dresses like a mall rat and constantly seeks Hailey’s approval.

Hailey now sees herself as a confident MILF, older, dominant, effortlessly sexy. She wears designer clothes, flirts with younger guys, and sees Clarissa as her silly little sidekick.

He hit Enter.

Clarissa was mid-conversation when it happened.

Her eyes twitched. Her spine straightened, then slumped again into a looser, dumber posture, like a doll adjusting into its packaging.

Her hoodie vanished, unraveling like it was never real, replaced by a pink, low-cut crop top that barely contained her tits. Her leggings shrunk into a tiny pleated skirt, bright white and bouncing with each tiny shift of her hips. Her nails grew longer. Her lip gloss turned shiny. And her face? Still the same bones. Still 39. Just vacant now. Chewing gum that hadn’t been there a second ago.

“Hailes?” she chirped, voice lighter now, needy. “Do I look hot enough? Like, should I buy smaller tops?”

Noah turned his attention to the daughter.

Hailey didn’t flinch.

Didn’t blink.

Her clothes darkened, sharpening at the seams, the cropped hoodie was now a silky, fitted blouse that clung to curves she suddenly wore with intent. Her yoga pants had morphed into high-end slacks, heels clicking softly beneath her with a woman’s weight.

She looked older not by age, but by how she carried herself.

By how she held herself now. How her blouse hugged her chest unapologetically, how the heels clicked with each subtle shift of her stance, how her gaze lingered, unbothered, a little smug.

Hailey wasn’t the vain daughter anymore.

She didn’t need approval. She gave it.

She glanced at Clarissa like she was inspecting a pet project, not cruelly, but with amused detachment. Like she was remembering a time when her friend didn’t quite know how to dress, how to act, how to belong… and still didn’t.

Clarissa clung to the smoothie identical to the one her daughter had been holding, like it was a prop in some teen soap. Her shoulders swayed to music that wasn’t playing, her pink crop top riding up with every motion. She kept adjusting it for attention, not modesty. Her skirt barely covered anything, and the thong strap she’d yanked up high over her hips had no function but visibility.

“Haileeeeeey,” she asked again, voice like an annoying porn star, “is it like too much if I, like… lick my lips when guys look at me?”

Hailey gave her a lazy once-over, letting her eyes flick down to the girl’s pushed-up cleavage.

“No, babe. It’s not enough if you don’t.”

Clarissa squealed, actually squealed and leaned in to hug her, tits mashing against Hailey’s arm in a way no self-aware adult would do to a woman dressed like her was.

Noah stood a few racks over, pretending to look at some lacy bodysuits.

Clarissa spotted him.

Her eyes lit up like she’d found an audience.

She gave Hailey’s arm a quick squeeze.

“Oh my god, that guy over there is totally checking me out.”

Hailey didn’t even look. She just sipped from her own drink.

“Then go say hi. You’re the one who wanted to practice your ‘walk-up game,’ remember?”

Clarissa bit her lip, not because she was nervous.

Because she wanted to be watched doing it.

She sauntered over. Hips swinging harder now. Every step screamed ‘look at me’.

She stopped way too close to Noah. Not enough to touch. Just enough to **** him to breathe her in, that cloying perfume, that warm body radiating false youth.

She twirled a finger in her hair.

“Hey,” she purred, “You, uh… shopping for someone? Or just pretending to look so you could, like, stare at my ass?”

Her smile was wrong. Too practiced. Too eager.

She leaned in, voice dropping a few notes:

“If you want, I can model something for you. Hailey says I’ve got, like, total porn star potential. But I wanna know what you think.”

Noah looked past her, back to Hailey.

She was still watching. Smirking.

Not jealous. Not concerned. Just entertained.

Like she’d sent her pet out on a leash and wanted to see what it would bring back.

Clarissa giggled again, dragging her tongue along the edge of her straw as if she’d forgotten why she came over. She batted her lashes like a girl, three decades too late for it to look cute.

Before Noah could respond, a shadow cut between them.

Hailey.

She sauntered over like she owned the store, heels tapping a rhythm that didn’t match the soft music overhead. Her blouse hugged tighter than it had a minute ago or maybe it just looked that way because she wanted it to. Her hand rested on her hip with confidence.

“Don’t mind her,” Hailey said, dismissing Clarissa with a glance. “She means well, but she’s not exactly…” Her eyes dragged down Noah’s body, then back up, “your type.”

Clarissa blinked and stepped back, instantly deferential. She didn’t pout. She smiled, like being cut down by Hailey was part of the game. Part of her role.

“What you need,” Hailey continued, voice dropping half an octave, “is a woman who knows what to do with you. Not some flirty little mess in a small skirt.”

She leaned in, breath warm against his neck.

“I’ve always had a thing for younger men,” she whispered.

Noah stifled a laugh. This young idiot now believed she was some tasty cougar.

It wasn’t cruel. It was genuine. Startled amusement.

Because this girl, this twenty-year-old wannabe cougar was rewritten because of his words.

He looked at her. Up and down.

“Pathetic” he whispered as he turned around, already on his way out.

Hailey’s smirk twitched.

But she didn’t argue.

Just watched him walk away like she wanted him to regret it later. Her pussy was slightly wet due to the interaction but she could always have the dumb slut Clarissa go down on her to satisfy her.

She turned around in a huff and grabbed Clarissa by her arm, yanking her into the changing room intending to do just that. Clarissa to her credit just giggled and followed her friend. Hailey was being rough, she knew what it meant and looked forward to it.

He stepped through the racks toward the front of the store.

And as he passed the display window, he paused beside the mannequin, the one that used to be someone’s mother.

Still frozen. Still flawless.

Still offering herself to the viewers.

He gave her a look. Just a glance. Then raised one hand.

SMACK.

A crisp, open-palmed slap across her ass.

She didn’t move.

Didn’t flinch.

Didn’t even register it.

Just held her pose. Smiling. Displaying.

Exactly as he expected.

He didn’t make it ten steps before the interruption.