Henry's Time

Henry had been working for the market boss for almost a year now. He's become a regular face for the people he delivered packages to and from. In addition to the market boss, the fat man, the decrepit accountant and the gaudy old woman, there was now also a sallow man, a bearded man and a very femme fatale brunette. He delivered between them on an almost daily basis, packages of varying size and weight, the contents always unknown to him. Occasionally, like with the gaudy old woman, they would give him a tip of some sort - sometimes money, sometimes something else.
His best day was when he delivered a rather large non-descript package to the femme fatale. She'd answered the door in a rather slinky black number, all curves that would fox a racing driver. She had kohl rimmed eyes and lips so red it looked like her lips were aflame. Her eyes widened slightly as she saw the package and then her beautiful pouting mouth curled up at one corner. She gazed up at him and beckoned him to bring the package inside with one finger, her nails as red as her lips.
Henry had been inside before, so steeped in over the threshold. The femme fatale walked backwards down the corridor, which was wallpapered in a deep red flocked design, continuing to curl her finger to lead him. Henry followed, trying not to watch the sway of her hips, which was made all the more difficult by the fact that she had one hand resting on her left side. The curve of her slender and pale arm drew his eyes down over her shoulder, down to her elbow and around, then down her forearm until it rested for a moment on her hand, small with slender fingers and those nails that looked like burning embers. From there Henry's eyes could not help but linger on her hips, their boom-boom rhythm beating out her gait like the most alluring metronome.
He followed her down the corridor, barely aware of the weight of the package he was carrying. She lead him into her bedroom, which was decorated in gold and red. There was a deep mahogany chest of drawers with elaborate wrought handles and a small shaded lamp on top. The centrepiece was a wooden four poster bed, with a small red and gold canopy and an assortment of scatter cushions in various shades.
She motioned for him to put the package down next to the drawers. As always, Henry stood and waited. Sometimes there was another package to go elsewhere or maybe the person would want to talk to you for a moment. It was amazing the things Henry had learned from simply standing quietly and waiting. Once the fat man had talked to Henry for over an hour about several of his business deals with the market boss and the sallow man without Henry saying a word.
This was not one of those times. The femme fatale beckoned him over again, to where she was stood by the bed. Henry went over, standing only a foot away from her, taking in the sweet scent of her perfume as well as the smell of her skin. She moved closer to him. Henry stood and waited, as always. She took another step forward and placed her hands on his wide shoulders and let her hands run over them, squinting briefly and smiling in appreciation of their musculature. She ran her hands down slowly to his collar bones and onto his chest and let out a little gasp as she felt the hard muscle under his shirt.
Henry stood impassive as she continued to run her hands down over his washboard stomach and round onto his waist. Her face was close to his now and he felt her breath, hot and sweet against his neck. She pushed him, playfully but forcefully, so he had no choice but to sit on the edge of the bed. She grinned, beautiful white teeth contrasting with the red of her lips.
She backed away, keeping her eyes fixed on him, to another mahogany cabinet. She very deliberately bent over to open the door of it, taking out two glasses and a bottle of whiskey. She placed a few cubes into both glasses and poured a generous measure into each. She sashayed back over, her hips working double time. Henry was mesmerised, but not so much that he tried to touch her. He knew the rules, unwritten and unsaid. If she touched him, he could respond but if she decided just to tease him, then he had better keep his hands to himself.
She handed him his drink. Henry had never tried whiskey before, he was more a pint of ale type of guy and even then infrequently. He savoured its warm flavour and held the glass up to the light to see the light refracting through the glass and liquid. It soothed him and he took another sip.
The femme fatale gently took the glass from him and pushed gently on his chest so he lay back on the bed, its softness cushioning him, its silken sheets caressing his skin. Suddenly she was unbuckling his belt, unzipping his trousers. Henry ran a hand through her jet hair, as soft as the silk sheets he was lying on. She reached inside his zip and pulled him out, already hard and put those crimson lips around him. He gasped slightly, allowing a soft moan which she replicated as she moved her mouth over him, licking as she went.
He caressed her head but never grabbed, as she got into a rhythm of bobbing her head back and forth, taking him deep into her mouth. Occasionally she would let him slip out, accompanied by a loud slurping noise that made him want to be back inside as soon as she would let him, but that was up to her. She would lick the length of him and kiss up and down before plunging him back inside, her strokes becoming faster and harder.
Eventually Henry lost control and came hard into her mouth, his back arching and every muscle tense, quivering with the delight of it. She continued to suck on him for a few moments, grooming him with her tongue. As he relaxed, she let him slip out, grinning. She gingerly placed him back inside his underwear and zipped up his trousers. She buckled his belt and patted his stomach, still grinning at a job well done. She stood up slowly and Henry looked up at her. She was playfully biting on her little fingernail, the most mischievous smile spread across her pouting and slightly smudged lips. She looked at Henry for a moment and then simply waved from the wrist. It was time for Henry to go. He understood and stood up and walked out into the flocked corridor. Neither of them had said a word since he arrived.
That was the day before the incident. Henry had been asked to deliver two packages, one small and one large, from the sallow man to the fat man, but the large package had been of sufficient size that a van was needed. Henry had not only been provided with a van but also a driver, much to his surprise. He'd never been accompanied before. This meant one of two things; either the package was more valuable than normal or else this other person was untrustworthy and was being put with Henry so he could keep tabs on them.
The drive between the sallow man and the fat man was not easy due to one way systems and congestion. Henry's driver was a sickly looking man with lank hair and day old stubble, who smelled of cigarettes and cheap ale and talked too much. As much as Henry was quiet, this man talked to fill the silence.
He talked about his jobs, being amazingly indiscreet about people's names and what they got up to. He even told Henry that he'd opened a few of the packages he'd delivered. The only word Henry spoke all evening was to say no when this greasy weasel asked him if he wanted to know what was in the packages he'd opened. The man had laughed an uneasy laugh and commented on the fact that Henry was a quiet sort before launching into another tirade of indiscreet drivel. Henry tried to ignore the man as best he could but it was difficult. So far he'd heard the man's name, (Henry had remained silent when asked his,) his wife's name, all about their kids, their pets, their house - Henry even knew this stupid little man's address.
It was during one of his endless spewings that the fuckwit managed to rear-end a police car at a traffic light. Henry's stomach sank and the weasel yelled fuck at the top of his lungs before grabbing the small package and diving out of the door, bolting down the nearest side street. Henry couldn't get his seatbelt off and was struggling with it when the policeman tapped gently on the window. His partner was already chasing the weasel down the road.
The weasel had gotten away, complete with the small package, whereas Henry had been caught with the large one; it was not good news. The judge had given him ten years and true to form, Henry did his bird without saying a word to anyone. Some of the other inmates even thought he was a mute he spoke so rarely.
The years passed by slowly, along with a good portion of his youth. His taught body became less so as he concentrated more on reading than exercising. He had regular visits from the market boss, who always asked if there was anything he could do to help or anything Henry needed. He explained how grateful he was that Henry had kept his mouth shut all this time and that he'd make sure Henry was well treated while he was here and even better once he got out.
Henry's cellmate was also a quiet man, which suited them both fine. Sometimes days would pass without either of them saying a word. They read and sat in silent contemplation most days, took exercise around the yard, which basically involved walking in a big circle. Most of the other prisoners ignored the two of them due to their quiet nature. They didn't get involved in inside politics, avoided trouble and whiled away their lives. In some respects Henry found it quite tranquil. He didn't have to worry about where his next meal was coming from, the work was easy - mostly sewing mailbags or doing laundry and he had time to read. Of course given a choice he still would have preferred to be out, but for now things weren't so bad.
The market boss was true to his word and provided Henry with whatever he could while he was inside. Cigarettes were a useful currency and the market boss seemed to have an understanding of how many to bring him - enough that he could buy things he needed, but not so many that it attracted the attention of the other inmates, who would certainly go through his room to find them. Henry sometimes wondered if the reason he managed to avoid trouble so well, when other inmates seemed not to be able to stay out of it no matter how they tried, was due to the bosses influence. A man like that must surely have contacts inside.
Every now and then when he visited, the market boss would ask him to pass along a message to one of the other inmates and one time, to one of the guards. The messages seemed innocuous enough and Henry did as he was told, as always. He would write the message down on a thin strip of paper and pass it over to the person in a handshake. Henry was bright enough to know that this was proof of the bosses connections and also of the fact that Henry was still very much in his employ, even in here.
When Henry left, he was greeted at the gate by a Rolls Royce, which took him firstly to get some new clothes which went on an account and then on to see the market boss. The market boss was sat in his usual office, surrounded by boxes. He explained that Henry had proven himself more than worthy and was happy to announce that Henry was going to be moving up in the world. No more delivering packages for him, it was time for the big leagues. He was going to be helping the market boss directly as his second in command.