When Chelsea woke, the room was completely dark and someone was in bed with her, trying their best to sex her up. They were doing a good job; Chelsea was muzzy-headed, still more than half-asleep, but her body responded powerfully to the caresses and wet kisses being lavished all over her. Her visitor seemed to know exactly where each and every one of her most deliciously sensitive spots were located; the tender spot under her ears, the undersides of her arms and the aching stiffness of her nipples and clit; one by one each was stroked and probed, sometimes licked for maximum effect.

Chelsea had attempted to masturbate herself to sleep, but the day's tension and her irritation with Lyle had prevented her from getting very far. But the stranger was able to effortlessly unlock her pleasure centers and play her like an instrument, driving her into a writhing, tit-rubbing, hip-hunching frenzy.

Blinded by the room's darkness, Chelsea's groggy mind was able to conjure any identity she wanted for her invisible lover. She wanted a man, and set about imagining one who combined every physical feature she found desirable: a round, grabbable ass, hard, muscular arms, flat stomach and most of all an obscenely large and rampantly erect cock. But even half-asleep, Chelsea knew the hands groping her tits and ass were too slim and light-fingered, the kisses being lavished on her mouth and cheeks too knowing and artful to be the work of a man.

Then came the clincher: a soft, very feminine voice in her ear, whispering "Ohh baby, you're so good, aren't you? Yeah, this is my good girl right here..." The voice was as intoxicating as some sweet, fruity wine, with an accent Chelsea couldn't quite place.

Though she had never heard the black woman's voice, her mind immediately flashed back to the scene in Lyle's bedroom. She had assumed the woman was so deeply into playing butt-slave that she would be content to remain crouched on Lyle's bed for the rest of the night. Apparently not.

For a very brief moment, she really was turned on; in fact, her excitement doubled itself, to the point where she became lightheaded. Then, remembering her suitor was female, she grew stubborn and tried to push the woman aside.

That wasn't happening. At first the woman simply met the pressure of Chelsea's arms with silence, refusing to move or interrupt her caresses. Then, as Chelsea grew increasingly insistent, she grunted and grabbed at her hands, holding them in an unbreakable grip.

"No, baby, you ain't gettin' rid of me. You don't like Neecy? You want some white bitch, maybe? White bitch with a soft tongue? That what you're used to? Well, tough shit, you're stuck with me. Here..."

With that final "Here," the black woman-Neecy, apparently-bore down on Chelsea, forcing her down on the bed and pinning her wrists to the pillow over her head.