Stacy didn’t want to take her panties off, but the App was telling her she did want to take them off. The App had a way of being right about things like that. The App being right was why she was down there on the floor in her bra and panties, kneeling in front of the mirror with her legs spread, recording herself. Not because she’d wanted to. Because the App told her she wanted to, and got in her head about it till she couldn’t help but agree.

She’d been having the fantasy nonstop. All week. Any time she drifted off a little she started thinking about how it would feel, stripping and kneeling and watching herself open her thighs and then opening the App. The scene rehearsed itself over and over in her head. She’d be slow about it, deliberate. Keeping the pretense up she wasn’t doing anything at all. She’d settle herself onto her feet. She’d hold the screen up at head height, staring at it, her thumb over the icon, frozen in place what felt like forever, all the time thinking this is a really bad idea. And all the time just getting wetter.

And then today she bought the bra. The one she’d scouted, the sexy completely impractical hot-pink thing the fantasy always dressed her in. That was when Stacy realized it was going to happen. She’d detoured past the shop on the way home, zoned out, barely even noticing, and literally the next thing the bra was in her hand and her card was in the card dealie. It was real. She could scarcely breathe. There was no way she wasn’t going to wear the bra. There was no way her clothes weren’t coming off the instant she hit the door. She rushed out of the place so fast she almost forgot to take the card back.

It was so the right call. Her tits looked amazing. Her panties didn’t match but who cared. She had the tits of a hot pink piece of fuck candy. It made her want to make out with herself while people watched. Hotness like this, of course she had to show it off in the App. That’s what it was for. Body positivity. Empowerment. The only weird thing was that she ever hesitated.

Only she didn’t want to take her panties off.

She couldn’t stop touching them though. She never realized when she was doing it. Her thumb would sort of casually hook itself under the lip of the panties, right at the hip, and then start teasing its way very deliberately on down while her crotch lifted on a lazy wave to meet it. It was like staring at a super-slow, super-hot video. She couldn’t tell if it was something the App was showing her or it was really happening now. Whatever the thing was the App was making her want. Then she remembered the hand was hers and what it was up to, and her thumb slipped away and the elastic slapped back against her groin and it sent a little shock wave she could feel in her pussy.

Pretty soon Stacy would forget to remember. She’d just watch, fascinated, while her thumb gathered itself at the top of her crotch and pulled down and away, and her hips pressed all the way up and that stupid useless patch of cloth gapped forward and she’d be exposing herself, the App would be staring down right at her wet slit. Her wet, needy slit. That voice going in her head that liked to tell her she was a whore, once she admitted to herself that it was real. She’d agree. She’d bring the phone down nice and close for a tight shot, so no one could have any question what she was showing, what she wanted to show.

Another slap of elastic. She trembled, and her hand holding the phone shook. She put it down on the floor and took a deep breath. All at once she knew how she could make herself stop. Dropping forward onto her hands, Stacy brought her face right up next to the mirror. Then she squatted and reached back for the phone to move it between her legs. She saw it was still recording. She came back to the mirror and spread her knees apart, nice and wide, getting her hips low so the App could get the view it deserved. She took in the scene in reflection, she watched her ass already grinding in the air over the phone like she was planning to fuck it, and she couldn’t get over what a hot pink little piece of fuck candy Mirror Stacy was. She couldn’t believe she’d never done this before, never given herself this permission. Neither could Mirror Stacy.

The glass got all slobbery while she explored the fantasy of making out with her sister-self. She wondered if the App could tell, from its few inches’ distance, how soaked her panties were getting. She wished she could fuck the phone. When the hand that was grazing her abdomen snuck in under the elastic and cupped itself over her lips Stacy’s first thought was that it belonged to the other girl, and she tensed a little. Then she remembered what she was doing, and whose hand it was, and she let herself relax onto her fingers.

She was pretty sure she wasn’t going to last long if she kept up this way, but Stacy was OK with that. Her panties were still on. That was the main thing. That was a victory. Her old therapist, before the App, would have said it was a big deal. Set a limit, keep to it. Allow yourself to know what your limits are. Maybe this thing with the panties was just the App’s way of giving her the same lesson.

I’m still a good girl, Stacy thought. A good girl who’d earned her orgasm. She drifted back into the fantasy that the hand working her pussy was someone else’s, the mirror girl, and after a while she forgot it was a fantasy and started pleading with the bitch to let her come.