Mothers and sons sons and mothers
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A Mothers Dream free porn video
"You'll be back."
I ignored the snide remark and waited while they checked my release papers, they took their time, they always did. There was very little for them to worry about in that particular prison, so they got bored and took it out on those being released.
"Your sort always come back," the other one smirked.
It was just five yards to the outer gate, the big one, freedom lay beyond it, freedom, a word that I didn't dare think about during the last five years, eight months and twenty-two days, but it was here within my grasp, all I had to do was to keep my mouth shut.
Four yards, three, two, I stood to attention, the way they like you to stand while the final two guards checked over my papers, these two guys were all right, they wouldn't give me any hassle.
"Good luck son."
I turned and looked at Mr. Jones.
"Thank you, sir," I said with what passed for a smile for me. "You won't see me again."
"I hope not son."
They stepped out of their little office in unison, pulled open the big, heavy old gates and I stared at freedom.
She was standing beside her car, smiling as I walked towards her.
"Hello, Michael."
She only called me that when she was mad at me, but it had been a long time, and you're not allowed visitors when you're as violent as I'd been in there.
"Hello, mum."
We stood and looked at each other for what seemed like an age, then she reached for me and took me into her arms, the tears came, wetting my shirt and I nearly cried with her.
"I can't believe you're here Micky."
"So you're not mad at me then?"
She shook her head and smiled through her tears. "No darling, I'm not mad at all, come on, get in the car, I'm taking you home."
Home! Home had been a cell for the past five years, a stinking little room that smelled permanently of piss and sweat, smelly feet and obnoxious body odours, that was home. "Can I have a bath please mum?" they'd told me inside that the first things newly released cons ask for is a bath, they'd been right.
"I'll run it for you as soon as we get home."
"You couldn't drive when I went in."
She smiled at me as we got in, she looked secretly pleased that I'd mentioned it.
"I had lessons three years ago and passed the first time."
I couldn't believe how heavy the traffic was, they called it the morning rush hour, God knows why, because nobody was rushing anywhere.
"There are some cigarettes in the dash."
Cigarettes, proper ones too, not the roll-ups I'd smoked and hoarded for five years, not the little packs that the tobacco barons charged the earth for. Proper, straight ones with filter tips, wrapped up in a packet with silver paper inside and to stop them drying out.
She pretended not to look as I opened the packet and looked at the one I took out, it was perfectly formed, as straight as a die and it tasted like nectar, drew the smoke into my lungs and released it slowly, paradise.
"Thanks, mum, this is brilliant."
She drove the car expertly through the heavy morning traffic, she was a good, competent driver and I told her so.
"I drive a delivery van for a living Micky."
We'd gone from Michael to Micky in just a few sentences, it looked promising.
I smoked half the cigarette and carefully nipped the burning end off, before putting it carefully back in the packet.
"Micky," she said softly. "You're out now darling, there's no need for that."
"Old habits mum," I laughed, "Just give me time."
I slept then, fitfully and restlessly, waking up as she pulled up outside our home, a little terraced house in Camden Town, a busy suburb of London. Curtains parted, doors opened, and people surrounded the car, all of them wanting a piece of me, to shake my hand, pat me on the back or just call my name. Little kids stood there wide-eyed unable to understand but still wanting to see me, the working class hero, the man who'd stolen half a million pounds.
It took half an hour to get from the car into the house, but it felt brilliant to be welcomed like that, these people were my friends, the salt of the earth and they'd looked out for mum too while I was inside. The guy next door had got her the job she had now, and they'd all helped her out with money until she got herself sorted.
I stood in the small living room just looking round, there were photographs of dad and me everywhere, clowning around in the back garden, or just smiling at mum as she took the picture.
"What do you want Micky? We've got tea, coffee, beer, lager or vodka?"
"I'd kill for a nice cold glass of lager mum." then I realized what I'd said. "Sorry."
"Micky, please make that the last time you ever apologize, you've done your time, you owe society nothing, got that?"
I nodded. "Got it, mum." But the remark had triggered the memories.
I lay back in the bath, a drink in my hand, three more cans in a bucket of ice beside me, cigarette in my other hand and an ashtray next to me and I remembered. The van had been exactly on time, we'd watched it for three weeks and never once did they deviate from the route.
"Go," dad said softly as the guard took the case from the hatch in the side of the van and I floored the accelerator. The stolen car surged forward, Dad and uncle Jim were out and running as the guard looked up in sheer panic, he threw the heavy box at Jim and cowered before dad's sawn off.
"On the floor," dad yelled. "On the fucking floor."
Jim threw the box into the back of the car and turned for dad just as it all went pear-shaped.
There were four police cars, all unmarked and all containing armed coppers. "WE'RE ARMED. POLICE! STAND STILL AND DROP YOUR WEAPONS."
I'll never forget the look on dad's face as he bought the shooter up, I couldn't believe it, he was actually going for a shootout.
"DAD, NO," I shouted but my voice was drowned out by the fusillade of rounds that slammed into him, he was dead before he hit the concrete. In his panic, Jim forgot what he was doing and made for the car without dropping his sawn off, the rounds got him as he slammed the door and he bled quickly to death on the back seat as I used the big Zodiac like a battering ram to batter my way through the police vehicles.
The front bumper had been especially strengthened for just such an emergency, and it demolished two of their vehicles before I sped clear of the ambush and aimed for the second car we'd left earlier.
Big Tommy played his part to perfection and reversed the heavy waste disposal lorry out onto the road the very second I flashed past, it gave me about thirty seconds that were vital for me to get away, I skidded into the old lockup, locked the doors and took a quick look at Jim, he was dead. But my adrenaline was pumping, I grabbed the box, heaved it into the second car, opened the doors at the other end of the garage, and I was away.
I buried the box in a place we'd scouted out weeks before, miles from anywhere so that there'd be no chance of any building being done on the site if it had to be there for any length of time and then I went home.
They were waiting for me of course, eight of them, all heavily armed and wearing flak jackets, I'd dumped the car about half a mile away and chose to walk the rest of the way. They jumped me as I turned the corner into our street, I already had quite a reputation for violence, so they took no chances. Four in front, on their knees in the classic shooting stance and four behind me, I was eighteen years old and looking at a very long holiday courtesy of Her Majesty's prison service.
Eight years they gave me, eight fucking years, I could hardly believe it, we didn't hurt anyone, and they'd killed my father and my uncle.
"Take him away." the judge had said, and I managed to catch mum's eye as they did the judge's bidding, she blew me a kiss, so I knew she was still okay.
The first few weeks had been the worse, I was eighteen and reasonably good-looking, so the screws decided to put me in with a well known queer. It took him less than an hour to decide that he fancied my arse and it took me less than ten seconds to beat him to a bloody pulp, just to let him know that he wasn't going to get it.
That little episode put another six months on my sentence, but at least all the poofters left me alone, the next prick was the tobacco king of the nick who gave me an ounce of shag and some papers.
"To be repaid after visiting day," he'd said and I nodded, he didn't tell me though that he wanted two ounces back, my cousin Jenny had only bought me an ounce and a half, so he wasn't happy and sent one of his minions round to my cell the next afternoon. He came at me with a blade hidden in his sleeve and opened up my cheek, so two days later in the dinner queue, I repaid the favour and stabbed him with my fork.
"You're fucking next you fucking moron," I yelled to the baron as they dragged me away to solitary. "You'll eat your own fucking bollocks."
I was doing really well, my sentence increased by another six months, I'd gone in looking at eight years and in less than a month, it had gone up to nine, great, just fucking great.
The bloke who taught me to take it all on the chin and keep quiet was an old lag called Charlie, he was doing life for killing his missus after catching her in bed with two blokes. He'd been a big man in his time, and he'd battered both of the blokes to death with a chair and then calmly slit her throat before walking down to the local nick to give himself up.
"Hard little bugger aren't you?" he said one night just after lights out.
"I can look after myself, why?" I was mistrustful of him.
"Calm down a bit lad," he said and gave me a roll up. "You'll fucking die in here if you don't."
After a month of sharing a cell with him, I began to relax a bit, he was resigned to finishing his days in the nick, and he really didn't want me to go the same way.
"You can get anybody you want in here Micky." he said, "But the secret is to take your time, do it when nobody's looking, don't go in like a fucking bull at a gate, discretion mate, that's the secret."
Gradually word got round about who I was, dad had been pretty well known in the criminal fraternity, and he was respected as was my uncle Jim. They'd always carried shooters out on jobs, but they'd never hurt an innocent bystander, and in those days that earned them quite a lot of respect, that respect gradually came my way especially when they all learned that I'd still got the cash.
As I lay in the luxury of a hot, foamy bath, I promised myself that I was never going back again and I meant it.
Mum had done a big old English breakfast, bacon, eggs, fried bread all swimming in tomatoes and mushrooms. It was beautiful, and I told her so, she beamed with pleasure, mum had always been good in the kitchen, and she loved to be complimented on her cooking.
"Have you been out there lately mum?"
She knew I was talking about where I'd buried the money, and she smiled at me.
"It's not there any more Micky."
I looked up in alarm and she giggled.
"You'd forgotten that they're always changing the size and the style of notes in this country Micky, but don't worry, every penny is there or can be accounted for."
She told me how she'd been followed every time she left the house, they even tapped the phones, but mum was no stranger to our world, and she knew who to trust and who to avoid. Deliberately she'd gone out every night visiting every one of her relatives and given one of them, just one, the location of the money.
Jim's wife, my aunt Dolly, had gone out one night with her son Billy and two shovels and they'd returned three hours later with half a million pounds in cash in the boot of their car. It had been a nerve-wracking night because they'd left the cash in the car which was parked in the street, Billy had sat at the window all night watching and the following morning they'd both gone down to each of their banks and deposited ten thousand pounds.
It had taken them an awfully long time to do it, but every time they went out visiting, the relative they visited had deposited a similar sum in their own account the following day.
"So all we have to do now is a little bit of visiting."
"Bloody hell mum." I was amazed, "That's brilliant, but can we, you know, can we trust all of them?
"They're family Micky," she admonished me. "And anyway, they're all on a grand each, plus whatever tax they've had to pay on it."
We went out to a party at our local that night, given by family and friends. There was a banner stretched over the door welcoming me home, and the booze flowed like never before. I don't remember too much about getting home, but I can well remember the hammering in my head when I woke up. I'd not tasted a drop of booze in over five years, but I'm sure I made up for it that night.
Mum had got the week off work for my release, so we started making a few plans. I'd got just a few pounds that I'd saved out of the meagre earning's I'd worked for in the nick, so I went out and bought her a gold necklace from a jeweler's shop in town, I put it in my pocket and sauntered out feeling good.
"Been spending have you, Micky?"
It was detective Inspector Barnett, who'd made it his life's ambition to recover the money, he was a nasty little heap of shit, but then again he probably thought the same about me.
"You'll find the receipt in my pocket Inspector," I said as I allowed him to search me. "It cost eighty-four pounds, that's what I'd got for working in the nick."
"We'll see Micky."
He did see, he went in with me ahead of him and quizzed the jeweller, but finally, he had to admit defeat.
"Why don't you just tell me where it is Micky? Or I'll hound you for the rest of your natural."
"Or yours Mr. Barnett." I said pleasantly, "You're a lot older than me, don't forget."
I was still on parole, so I had to be pleasant, or at least co-operative, but I couldn't resist the little dig at him.
"But you're wasting your time you know, I told you before, somebody must have nicked it out of the car."
"Don't take me for a cunt."
"There's no danger of that Mr. Barnett. have you finished with me now?"
"For now sonny," he smirked. "But I'll be seeing you again."
"I'll look forward to it."
Mum actually cried when I gave her the necklace.
"It's beautiful Micky, really beautiful."
"It's only nine-carat mum."
Her voice was shaking as she turned her back on me and asked me to fasten it round her neck,
"I don't care if it's gold paint Micky, it's beautiful, I'm never taking it off."
I was embarrassed, although we had always been close, she'd always been fiercely protective of my dad and his errant ways and God help anyone who dared to criticize him in her earshot.
But I realized that it was the first thing I'd ever actually bought her with my own money.
I kissed her neck, and she turned, still with tears in her eyes, "Get a can of lager darling, we need to talk about the money."
She had a brandy although it was still early and sat opposite me not seeming to care that her skirt had ridden quite a way up over her thighs,
"We need to give Dolly her share of the money, Micky."
"Yeah, of course, it was to be a three-way split, equal shares mum."
"I should have known better," she smiled. "I was half expecting an argument, after all, you did the time."
"I was lucky that I'm alive to have done the time mum, luckier than dad and uncle, Jim, anyway."
I want you to go straight though Micky, your dad spent half of his life locked up, you mustn't go down the same road," her voice cracked. "You just mustn't."
"Mum," I said gently. "I'd already made my mind up on that score, there's no way I'm ever going back."
"We need to leave here though Micky, I've been thinking about it, we need to get away from all the family and friends."
I stared in amazement at her, mum had been born here, all her friends and family were here, I could hardly believe what I was hearing.
"Think about it Micky, they're looking at you as if you're a hero, but in reality, to be blunt, you're a robber, a crook, you steal things."
"Bloody hell mum," I grinned. "Tell it how it is won't you?"
"That's because it's what I feel Micky, I'm just being truthful."
"It's not a bad idea though, I saw the way some of the kids were looking at me yesterday when we got here, I was their hero."
I got up and got myself another can, "But if just one of them was killed like dad and Jim, gunned down like bloody dogs, I'd never forgive myself."
I went over to the sideboard and passed her a refill, her back was towards me, and as I looked at the swellings of her breasts, I realized with a start that she wasn't yet forty, a widow with a jailbird for a son and precious little hope for the future.
"Your dad always like them too." she smiled as I sat down again,
"Liked what mum?"
"My boobs," she laughed, "I know you've been celibate for five years Micky, but this old body? Come on."
"Old body?" I laughed. "I can think of a lot of men who'd give their right arm for a night with what you call that old body."
"Hahaha." she was genuinely amused. "Name one then go on, I bet you can't."
I thought of the night I'd woken up in the cell and heard old Charlie breathing heavily as he masturbated and then I saw him replacing mum's photograph on the table,
"My cellmate for one mum, he thought you were gorgeous."
"Oh yes, that old blind bloke?" she laughed. but she stopped laughing when I told her about that night.
"I never mentioned it to him,, mum, you know about me being awake, but what you said earlier on about going straight, well you sounded just like him, between you both, you and that old bugger you've persuaded me to go straight."
"Did he really do that?" she was still thinking about Charlie masturbating to her picture. "You know, play with himself?"
"He was lonely mum, he'd been in there for over twenty years, I left your picture there especially for him, he said you kept him company at night when he couldn't sleep."
"That was a nice thing to do Micky."
"Except he'll be, you know, doing it while he looks at you."
"I'm flattered darling, you must have done it too, your dad told me how it is in there if you're not queer that is."
"Yeah, I did it, mum, of course, I did, we all did."
She got up and went for another can for me, once again her breasts were on display as she handed it to me and she giggled.
"You're at it again aren't you?"
"Sorry," I mumbled and felt myself blushing.
"Don't be darling," she laughed. "Your dad was always like that whenever he came out, I was practically on my back for a month. "He always liked me to wear stockings for him."
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Nadine
- 02.06.2022
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- Incest
