The Safe House
Copyright© 2026 by JP Bennet
Chapter 14
Coming of Age Sex Story: Chapter 14 - A family flees persecution, hiding with a friend and her husband. As months pass kindness comes with a price. The story starts slow and builds up more and more. If you are here for the sex skip to Chapter 21 and beyond.
Caution: This Coming of Age Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Ma/ft Coercion Fiction Cuckold Humiliation Slow
Hugh brought three bundles this time.
I unwrapped mine on the mattress. Most of it was functional. Socks, trousers, underwear. Pads and rags.
I’d been regular before we had to hide. I was grateful he remembered to bring them. I wonder if Mom reminded him when they were together.
Mom and Dad silently packed away their things.
Then I saw the dress. It was simple, but it was unmistakenly mine. The shape of it was different, the waist drawn in, the skirt falling soft. Pretty.
I held it up against me. For a moment I forgot the room, forgot the walls pressing in. I saw myself stepping outside in it, walking down a street in the sun, hair loose, nobody watching.
“It’s mine,” I said, though no one had asked.
Mom’s eyes fixed on me, her face pale. She didn’t answer.
I wanted to put it on. Go and see myself in a mirror.
Mom’s hand shot out and pulled the fabric down. “You’re not wearing that,” she said firmly.
“Why not? It’s just a dress.” I clutched it tighter. “You wear yours.”
Her fingers tightened on the cloth until my knuckles brushed hers. “Those are mine. This is different.”
I pulled back, stung. “It’s the first nice thing I’ve had. I want to wear it.”
Her eyes met mine, fierce and frightened at once. “You won’t. Do you understand?”
I swallowed. I wanted to fight, but the look on her face pinned me silent.
She folded the dress, and hid it under her pile.
I lay back on the mattress, arms crossed, hating her for it, hating the room, hating everything.
Hugh came for her that evening. He didn’t have to ask. Mom rose and followed him out.
I stayed on my mattress, the dress buried at the bottom of Mom’s clothes pile, anger burning in my chest. Dad sat in his chair, silent and hard, his shadow against the wall.
The minutes stretched into an hour. Then another.
At some point I drifted into half-sleep.
I woke to the faint creak of a board, light steps moving carefully across the room. I didn’t stir. Mom crossed the floor, lying on her own mattress with barely a sound.
She had been gone for hours.
I lay still, eyes open in the dark, knowing where she had been, what she had done, and why.
We were out for chores again. The air felt fresher than in our cramped room.
I tugged at my plain sweater. I wanted to wear the dress, but Mom was firm on the matter.
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