The Four Mafia Men and Their Prize by M C

6 – Oh My Sweet Potatoes
Aurora POV

Blackness. That is the first thing I recognized.

My eyes felt like pounds of bricks on my face. My head felt like I was hungover. My b o d y feels so sore, like I haven’t moved in days. A constant thumping pressure from my temples. I try to move my hands to my face only to be stopped by a clinking sound and pressure on my wrists above my head. Cuffs? I pull my hands a few more times but there is no release.

I take a breath and try to open my eyes to see where I am. My eyes still feel too heavy like the darkness wants to consume me once again. I focus on my other senses. I don’t want to fall back into darkness.

I am lying down. Maybe I am in bed? I wiggle my b o d y slowly, feeling my joints strain and my muscles ache. “Ugh” I moan out. I try to move my ankles only to feel the same restrictive pressure on my ankles stopping my movements. I huff out an angry breath. This is just great, sarcastically of course.

My head still feels like a balloon filled with ice. The sharp burn behind my eyes doesn’t help the now burning sensation on my wrists as I continue to pull at the restraints. I shake my head from side to side trying to relieve the pressure.

Ugh! This is so frustrating; I think to myself. Where the h e l l am I? What the f u c k happened? My mind is still a bit foggy, so I allow myself a few moments to let my b o d y readjust. I notice first my throat feels dry like sandpaper, almost as if I walked a marathon in the desert.

I try to swallow some spittle, although it does absolutely nothing to quench my thirst. What the h e l l happened?

after I made them hamburgers. Those men… No, not just men; Greek Gods sculpted from the finest marble. They told me I was theirs. Then darkness. Oh, good golly mashed potatoes, they f u c k i n

like a madwoman. They do

surroundings. It’s not like I have anywhere else to

I am on is soft. Like a cloud. I feel something on top of most of my b o d y, keeping in the warmth like a hug. If circumstances were different, I definitely would ask where I could get such a glorious mattress. Netflix and I would become best friends if I

scent like freshly baked cupcakes on a Sunday afternoon. I have always loved this scent. My nose is consumed by this endearing fragrance, lifting some

a few times trying to clear the blurry haze of such a deep sleep. There is a soft amber glow illuminating the room. I take in my surroundings. I am

side. Two extra-large brown leather loveseats with intricate wood carvings and burgundy red accent pillows and luscious matching red carpet frame the space around it. A large glass and mahogany table in the middle. A vase of 6 dozen or so red roses is placed in the center of the table. Two glowing Tiffany lamps are sitting on the end tables next

my neck, looking back and I can barely see to my far right some dark closed curtains, a deep red color that match the pillows on the

turn my head again, so I am facing front. I see a closed red door along the wall in front of the bed, a very long mahogany dresser, also with an intricate pattern on the edges and a very large flat screen television flush against the

I open my eyes, are

from the chest down. My face looks soft, and my hair is braided. I never braid my hair. The restraints on my arms are brown and thick and connected to a post in the headboard. While my wrists are close together above my head, the thick bands make it almost impossible for me to move my

I only have on my black lace bra and matching thin panties on as my bare legs and torso rub on the silk sheets. I try to once