Barely.

With a groan you try to shield your eyes from the glare of the afternoon sun. Your hand weakly flops over your face as your muscles are spent and sore while your mind is barely functioning.

Blinking you slowly awake and look about. Its 1:31 PM, the next day, you have slept through the whole morning. As your brain begins to work you look around the room: Everything has been pushed off from your bedroom desk and your weight machine is broken. Various strange things are strewn across your bed and the floor: Your doctor's smock, stethoscope and anal thermometer are piled together with the two pieces of your now broken fraternity paddle. Your copy of “Human Reproductive Biology” by Jones and Lopez lies with its binding broken and several pages have been ripped out. Candles, clothespins, cucumbers, the scotch bottle, an ice tray, and an empty whip-cream can have been tossed all about. The strangest thing, however, is the black bull whip wrapped around one of your bed posts, where that came from you haven't a clue.

Wincing in pain you feel the tiny scratch marks the crisscross your arms and chest. Most importantly, however, an asleep Miss Kyle lies nestled against your side, the feel of her naked body pressed against yours makes all the pain go away.

When you kiss her head she begins to stir. Stretching her body cat like she opens her eyes and gives you a big smile. “Morning doc,” she grins, “how was your birthday?”

“Aerobic,” you joke and kiss her again, “and wonderful.”

“Hungry?” You ask.”

“Starved.” She nods. “So, what are the plans for today?”

“I'm free,” you answer, “after breakfast we can do anything we want.”

“Well . . .” That sly playful looks returns as Kyle and slowly twirls your chest hair around her finger, “you could take me to the Athenaeum?”

“Wait!” You're a bit surprised, “You promised not the mention it again as part of the wager.”

“I lied.” Kyle purrs and tenderly kisses your chest.

“But, you said . . .” You manage to get out as she begins to gently bit down and play with your nipple with her tongue.

“That's not fair.” You feebly protest.

Laying her head on your chest the gorgeous Gothamite looks at you with bewitching bedroom eyes.

“How could I convince you to take me?” She muses as you feel her hand slowly slide down your stomach under the covers.

“Surely, there must be someway?” A single finger glides up your shaft, causing it to go erect.

“I think it would be rather exciting.” Her finger slides up and down your quivering manhood.

“If not stimulating?” She gently takes hold of your cock.

"Could you least hear me out?” Kyle slowly speaks, seductively emphasizing each syllable as she gently pulls up and down on your aching shaft, synchronizing her words with each stroke and making each pull a little bit firmer then the last. “I have been told I'm . . . really . . . really . . . really . . . good with my oral skills.”

She licks her luscious full lips and pleads, “Can I least try to see if I can make you come . . . to my position?”