He was a swimmer and spent at least an hour or two every day in the pool, whether in Connecticut in the summer or Maui in the winter. The result was a swimmer's body; a lean, muscular, tanned, six foot, one hundred seventy pound frame. Looking at himself in the mirror he thought, 'Not bad for a geezer.' He flexed his right arm and smiled at the resulting bulge of muscle.

He ran his left hand through a full head of hair. It was completely white, but it had been since his early thirties. Because of that and the slight upturn of his piercing green eyes, women used to call him the Silver Fox. Cliché, but what can you do? The thought made him smile. He looked at the crows feet around his eyes and decided they gave him character, in a very masculine way.

He let his right hand slide down to his cock and balls. Running his fingers through his pubic hair, he cupped himself and drew out his shaft. It was quite respectable; it wasn't huge, but it wasn't small either. He had never had any complaints and yes, he could still get it up. But why bother?

After Alice died, he just hadn't been interested in women. He had loved his wife and seen that all of her needs were meticulously taken care of for thirty years. She, in turn, had made sure he was happy. She had kept the house the way he wanted it, had been an impeccable hostess when he had entertained guests, had been a gourmet cook, and had been the perfect sex toy. Always.

The thought of Alice made his cock begin to stir. Still fondling it, he felt it grow as silent tears slid down his cheek. No, no, no, enough already; that's not what he wanted. He pulled his hand away and turned his thoughts to lunch with Jack and Ted.

Ted had called and said he and Jack wanted to take Nick out for lunch to discuss his birthday. The three of them had been friends since their undergraduate days at Yale. They had formed a small men's club after college, based on their somewhat out-of-the-ordinary interests. Interests first discussed tentatively at Morey's over a few pints and later experimented upon with the occasional townie.

The club had become quite popular in certain circles, and now boasted a fairly substantial membership roster. It was a veritable who's who of the rich and powerful men in the Northeast.

After Alice died, Nick lost interest in the club, but he knew it was still thriving. As one of the partners, he continued to receive a very healthy check each quarter. He used to take on speaking engagements, a few lecture courses, and the occasional private course, but he had lost interest in the last few years.

Nick put on a pale blue cotton sport shirt, beige linen pants, and a matching sport jacket. He decided against a tie; it was summer, after all. Looking at himself in the mirror, he smiled. Yes, he still cut a dashing figure.

Forty five minutes later, he pulled into a space on Pearl Street, just opposite the Harp and Hound in Mystic. It was a good choice. He liked the old Connecticut pubs, with their dark wood, their private booths, and their hearty seafood chowders.

Once inside, after his eyes had adjusted to the low lighting, he scanned the room and found Ted and Jack already seated in the back. He joined them and when the waitress appeared he ordered a Newcastle.

"Leave it to you to order English ale in an Irish pub," Jack chuckled.

"I happen to like Newcastle. You know I do exactly what I like, where I like, when I like. And, if it bothered them, why would they have it on tap?"

"Ha; same old Nicky. I thought you'd have your standard Sapphire Martini."

"With Seafood Chowder?"

When the waitress came back with his pint, they ordered lunch. Ted and Jack both ordered the Lobster Roll. Nick had forgotten how much he loved lobster rolls. He hadn't had one in years, but he ordered the Seafood Chowder, as he had planned.

"What, no Lobster Roll?" Ted asked.

"Yes, it sounded good but I had already decided on chowder on the way over," Nick said.

"That's our Nicky," Ted said. "Once he's made up his mind about something, it takes nothing short of an act of Congress to change it."

Nick glared at him, but smiled.

"Okay, Nick, let's get down to it," Jack said. "Where do you want it and who do you want at it?" He punctuated the statement by slamming both hands down on the table.

"What are you talking about, Jack?"

"Your party. Listen, there's no getting out of it. You're going to be sixty-five. It's a big deal. We don't want you just letting it go by with no notice, no celebration. Besides, it's not like Ted and I haven't noticed your mood. We think," Jack glanced at Ted, who glanced nervously at Nick. "Okay, I think you need something to bring you back to the land of the living. It was Alice who died, not you."

Nick's piercing stare caused Jack to look away. "I'm sorry Nick. You know how much I loved Alice. Ted and I both did. But it's been four years. You're still here. You know she'd want you to be happy. A party's just the thing and sixty-five is a milestone."

"I've told you this before, but since you evidently had a difficult time understanding me, I'll tell you again. I do not want a party. I don't know how to make it any clearer."

Noticing the expressions on his friends' faces, he softened a bit. "I'm sorry. I know you're trying to do what you think is best for me, but I assure you, I'm fine. Really. Teddy, when have you known me to want a party? Jack, to your knowledge, did Alice ever throw me a birthday party?"

"But Nick, it's time to rejoin the living. What better way than to be among friends, all there because they care about you? We could do whatever you want; dinner at your favorite restaurant, cocktails at your home, or my home for that matter. How about cocktails at a suite at The Sun with just a few close friends and some entertainment from the club?"

"No, Jack. I said no and I want you to honor my wishes. Can I count on you, to not throw me a party?" Nick said. "Listen, I really appreciate the sentiment; I'd just rather spend a quiet evening at home. Now, can I count on your discretion?

"Yes, all right," Ted said. "We didn't think we'd get anywhere with you, but had to give it our best shot."

"But you know, Old Man, we're not giving up on you entirely," Jack said. "Members still ask for you at the club. Just last Friday, Harrison Foster asked if you were still training, as he'd really like to make use of your services for his latest acquisition. I told him you weren't taking on clients just now, but that just goes to show you, the world is ready whenever you are."

Lunch arrived and the conversation turned to food and more mundane subjects. Later that evening, Nick smiled when he thought of the day's conversation. It was nice to know how much his friends cared for him. He felt a little guilty, turning them down, but things were getting better. He had to admit, the thought of Foster and his new girl stirred something in him. He was feeling more and more like himself every day. He just didn't feel quite ready to be the center of attention at a party yet. Soon, maybe.

***
A week later, on his birthday, he was going through the mail and discovered an oversized envelope. Opening it, he found keys and a note:

Nick looked at the keys. They didn't appear to be car keys, but then why on earth would he think his friends would be sending him a car? They looked like padlock keys, but obviously for locks of different sizes ranging from the ordinary commercial size padlock, to small luggage size locks.

Although he had originally hoped to be left alone for his birthday, he found himself becoming more and more intrigued. Not sure what Jack and Ted had up their sleeves, he was sure it would be entertaining.

Entertaining yes, but how hard would it be to return? He mentally chastised himself; that was wrong thinking. Why would he automatically think he would want to return their gift? They had obviously gone to some trouble, and after all, he might enjoy it.

He sorted through the rest of the mail and went for his swim. After his workout, he showered and changed before making lunch. He had picked up some fresh sun-dried tomato and smoked Gouda tortellini with a truly amazing vodka sauce for lunch. He chose a chilled bottle of white zinfandel to go with it. Since it was such a beautiful day, he decided to eat by the pool.

Clearing away everything except the wine, he reclined in a chaise with a book. His birthday had been perfect so far, everything he had hoped for. Very relaxing. He had half a mind to not open the door for the delivery but he couldn't do that to Ted and Jack. He'd kept them from giving him the birthday party they had wanted to, the least he could do was graciously accept their gift. And they were right, it was time he stopped moping around and began to live again.

He heard the doorbell. Checking his watch, he noticed it was exactly 4:00. He had forgotten just how punctual and professional the club's services were. Well of course, they should be, he had designed them.

He opened the door to a livery-suited driver with a clipboard.

"Mr. Nicholas Shalcross?"

Nick nodded his agreement.

"Please sign for a delivery, sir," he said as he proffered the clipboard.

As Nick signed for the mysterious package, the driver handed him a sealed envelope bearing Jack's monogram. He walked back to his truck where a second, similarly outfitted man, waited by the open bay. They unloaded a large crate and carried it to the door.

"Where would you like it, sir?" the first man asked.

"You may leave it in the foyer." Nick took out his wallet and handed the man a ten. "Thank you gentlemen."

He watched them get back into their truck and leave before closing the door and turning back to the very large wooden crate standing just inside his door.

What the hell had they done? It was huge, almost as tall as he was and a good four feet wide. It wasn't that deep, maybe only about two feet. His first thought was that it was a piece of art, but somehow that didn't seem right. The crate wasn't nailed closed, but padlocked. It had hinges on either side and would open in the middle, like double doors. He had never seen art packed that way. It also had vents on either end near the top, suggesting a live animal of some sort, but it was completely quiet. He couldn't hear a sound coming from inside.

Nick opened the envelope and read the note inside:

He went into the study to get the envelope of keys from his desk and returned to the crate. There didn't appear to be any markings at all. He got the largest key out of the envelope and tried it in the padlock on the front 'doors'. It fit and he heard the small 'snick' as the key turned and the lock popped open. He took the lock out of the hasp and unlatched it. Taking a deep breath, he swung the doors open.

He caught her scent before his brain registered what he was seeing. A girl was suspended inside the crate. She was encased from head to toe in a black skin-tight rubber suit.

Nick silently placed his hand on her chest. She jumped at his touch just the tiniest bit. Her heartbeat was strong and her breathing was regular. He reached up to the camera, mounted in the corner, and turned it off.

Nick noticed that her suit was open, exposing her cunt. She had a nice patch of auburn pubic hair, neatly trimmed, just as he liked. A matching black mask covered her nose, with a long breathing tube attached. It extended down the front of her body, taped to the suit, to hold it in place. The end of the tube was nestled in that lovely patch of hair and lying just inside her wide-open cleft. It appeared that her labia had been clamped open, but the suit covered whatever was keeping her exposed.

She had been bound so that every breath she took would bring her natural perfume directly to her nose. It was obvious that she had been trained to be aroused by her own scent, as she was dripping.

Nick ran his index finger through her well-lubricated slit, briefly grazing her clit. Watching her vibrate in her bonds, he smiled as her respiration sped just a bit. He brought the finger to his nose and was quite pleased by the smell of her. She had yet to make a sound. He was sure she was gagged under the hood, but still, she was exhibiting excellent control. She had obviously been well trained.

Her suspension, which floated her in the middle of the crate, was achieved by taut chains running from the walls of the crate to leather cuffs around her wrists and ankles, as well as from the back and front of a wide steel belt around her waist. The chains were padlocked to the cuffs and belt. Yes, the smaller keys would fit these locks.

Only her cunt was left exposed. Her hands had been formed into fists and enclosed in rubber mitts attached to the arms of the suit. The legs of the suit ended in enclosed feet. He could see the outline of the thick padding over her eyes, underneath the full hood. He knew her ears were plugged, as well as her mouth.

Directing his attention to the crate, he noticed a sealed package of papers taped to the inside of the door. He opened it and took them out, thinking that his friends had indeed known just what he needed for his birthday.

The packing slip explained that this girl was his gift. Her name was Rain. She was his to play with as he wished for forty-eight hours. She had come from the club and had been 'lovingly trained by George Sanders'.

The club would call to arrange for her return in twenty-four hours. If he should need anything or have any questions, he was instructed to call the 24-hour service. Nick chuckled to himself. What else could he need? He knew she would be perfect, as George had been his best student.

He ran his hand over her rubber-clad breasts and felt the nipple clamps under the suit. He explored the edges of the suit between her legs and felt the rings in her pierced labia along with tiny chains attached to them, pulling her lips open. He let his hand continue to move back, cupping her ass. He felt the vibration coming from within and applied pressure against the plug in her bottom while he slid his thumb into her very juicy cunt. His actions produced the reaction he was looking for; she moaned very quietly and shook in her bonds.

"Hello Rain," he said, gently removing his hand. " We'll get acquainted just as soon as I change into something a little more comfortable.