The house had once been a sanctum of white virtue, now dripping with the kind of filth that made Elly's skin tingle with a mix of dread and anticipation. The air was thick with the harsh, sweet scent of weed and the bitter tang of alcohol. Elly, her fiery red hair disheveled and her glassy eyes reflecting the glow of dat devils, stumbled into the living room, hunter for her black owners. "Maurice! Devon!" she called out, her voice slurred from the whiskey that still burned her throat. Her heavily pregnant body ached with a need that only the brutal presence of her black masters could satisfy. She sniffed the line of coke off the coffee table, feeling the rush of euphoria that blunted the edges of her reality, making everything seem just a touch more bearable. The room spun slightly as she looked down at the tattoo of the Queen of Spades on her wrist, a brand that marked her as a possession, and she smirked, tracing the ink with a shaky finger. "My husband would shit himself if he could see me now," she muttered, a dark laugh escaping her lips. In the background, the sounds of her family began to bleed through the walls—the laughter of her daughter Gwen, her words slurring as she was wasted; the muffled cries of her son Daniel, now Danielle, as they were being driven to the brink of insanity by the relentless use of their black masters. She could almost feel the scalding sensation of piss filling her mouth, the taste and texture of licking black asses, and the slick, bitter ropes of cum coating her tongue. "Home sweet home," she whispered, sinking into the couch, anticipation building as she awaited her owners, ready to be claimed once more.