Tell Sarah to remove her bra.

“I can understand why he had his hand on your tits,” you say, emphasizing the last word. Sarah's eyes dart around the room, seemingly for the sole purpose of avoiding yours. “They feel amazingly fine.” Sarah's eyes catch yours as you cup her full breast again, hefting it. “However,” you say slowly, and Sarah's eyes widen as you seem to contemplate her breast, “I'm not in the best position to judge the quality, as you are wearing an undergarment that might be responsible for that firm feeling.” You jiggle her breast gently, and shake your head. “I think I'll need to feel it after you've removed your bra.”

Sarah looks at you, dumbstruck by the request. “I can't flash my breasts at you,” she whispers. “My dad might see us if he walks by.” You sneer.

“Did I say I wanted to see those tits of yours?” you snort. “I just want the bra off of them. I've seen you girls pull off your underwear without revealing any juicy bits before. Just pull off that bra, and we'll see how firm those tits of yours really are.” Sarah doesn't move for a moment, and you take the opportunity to grip her still-bra-clad breast and shake it again. “What are we waiting for?” you ask. Sarah seems to snap out of the reverie, and she reaches behind her, sliding her hands under the back of her sweater. Her eyes are glued to the door, and you hear the faint snap of the bra as Sarah undoes the clasp of her underwear. You watch as she slides her left arm out of the sweater sleeve, shuffles, and then repeats it, finally pulling the bra from the bottom of the sweater. It's lacy, a black number that is both sexy and seems practical.

You glance at Sarah's now unfettered chest and are amazed to note that the position of her breasts has changed, but not to the extent you would have thought. You are careful to keep the look off of your face, but Sarah seems to notice the attention and smiles. You glance at the bra, holding out your hand. Sarah dutifully hands you the garment, and you flip it over, reading. “34D. Wow.” Sarah again looks to the ground. “You've got nice, big titties, Sarah,” you tell her. “Sit up straight.” Sarah looks at you with a worried gaze but you don't buckle. Her eyes still glued to the door, she does as you ask, and her proud breasts thrust out. If anything, the bra held them back; Sarah's tits are firm (though they sag under their own sheer weight) and you take a generous amount of tit in your hand through the sweater. Sarah whimpers and you release her instantly.

“What was that?” you ask in a hissing whisper. “Are you trying to get me in trouble?” Sarah shakes her head. “Well?”

Sarah looks nervously around and mumbles something that you can't make out. You ask again, slowly and more deliberately. Sarah responds in kind.

“I'm sorry. It felt good.” She speaks in a hushed tone, but you smile at her response.

“What felt good?” you ask slyly.

“Your touching me.”

“Touching you where?” You ask, trying to play the role to the hilt.

“When you touched my breast, it felt good.” You do your best to avoid groaning as you reach down for another handful of youthful titflesh. Sarah does her best to be unresponsive, but she does seem to enjoy the contact. Useful to note later, you say to yourself.

“You'll see me tomorrow, Sarah.” Sarah looks up at you with a surprised look on her face. “At school.”