Push hard.

“Why didn't you close the door all the way?” you ask. Sarah doesn't look you in the eye, but instead stares at the floor and shrugs. “Why?” you demand.

Sarah looks at you with smoldering eyes. “Because my father and mother would be curious about what was going on if the door was closed,” she says quietly. You fight to keep the grin off of your face as the next idea comes to you.

“What have you been doing up here that your parents are so worried, Sarah?” Sarah looks at you and gets up, rolling her eyes. She reaches for the door, and without thinking you grab her arm. She looks at you in shock, and she begins to tremble, though you're unsure whether it is fear or excitement at this point. Figuring that if you're going to get in trouble anyway, you decide to go for broke. “I asked you a question,” you say icily. Sarah's breathing quickens, and you realize you might have guessed right. Emboldened, you guide Sarah to the bed and **** her to sit down. You continue to stand, keeping up a dominant pose. Sarah remains silent, and you shrug.

“I'm not above getting the information out in other ways, girl,” you say softly. You gently stroke her hair, then grip her shoulder hard, hoping that you won't hurt her too much in your gambit. Sarah breathes in deeply.

“Dad caught me making out with a guy,” she says quickly. “He... rubbed my breast through my shirt and Dad threw him out. Since then, I've had to leave my door open when I have a boy over.” You smile at her, doing your best to keep it cold.

“Was that so bad?” you ask. Sarah looks up at you with bewilderment. “So your daddy caught you getting felt up? I bet that was... humiliating.” As you speak, your hand slides down her shoulder and dances at the top of her left breast. Sarah casts nervous looks towards the door, but makes no move to stop your active hands. Sarah, breathing heavily, just whispers her response.

“Yes.” You allow yourself a bit of a smile and fully cup Sarah's left tit. You can tell that her breast is unusually firm beneath the thin bra, and you take advantage, groping it aggressively.

“Did he do it like this, over the shirt?” you ask. Sarah moans as you play with her breast. She bites her lip, seemingly to keep from moaning out loud. You wait patiently, then remove your hand from Sarah's ample chest. Sarah looks up at you. “I'm waiting,” you tell her.

“No.”

“How did he do it?” you ask in the same icy tone you've been using. Sarah's tone is flat but you can tell she's still shaking.

“He put his hand in my blouse.” You look down at Sarah, realizing that she's not wearing a blouse, but a conservative (though form-fitting) blue sweater. She continues her story. “He unbuttoned the middle two buttons and put his hand inside.”