When he was only six years old, Troy Hutchinson surprised his parents and everyone else at his birthday party by saying he wanted to be a gangster when he grew up. Not that he knew what the word meant or any of its implications. He had heard it for the first time the day before, liked the way it sounded in his ears, and then parroted it to exhaustion whenever he got the chance. No one took him seriously, not even himself, yet Time had a funny way to make things come true.

The first misdemeanor before he was old enough to drive was but a prelude for everything that was to follow but, by then, no one in his family who remembered such infamous words was alive to tell the tale, except him. Troy ended up spending the last of his teenage years going from foster family to foster family but that wasn’t what drove him to a life of crime. He did it because he genuinely liked it and no twisted argument could ever be brought to prove otherwise.

Surviving in the streets of Chicago was not an easy task at first. With no one to turn to, he was lucky to be found by wannabe mobster Frankie “Four Fingers” who took him under his wing and showed him the ropes of every shady business he was involved in. It didn’t take long for the apprentice to surpass the master and build a new empire in his own image, one that thrived off exploring innocent and desperate men like Boyd and always got away with technicalities when things didn’t go his way. In honor of his former mentor, he took on the nickname of Troy “Three Fingers” and became responsible for running a franchise of dry cleaners throughout the city as well as several nocturnal establishments most of which were illegal. 

Troy ran every one of his enterprises with an iron fist. Afraid of looking weak among his peers, he usually handled all problems himself instead of relying on trusted lieutenants and hired muscle but had no qualms about looking for scapegoats when things went south. He was aided in his effort by the complicity of a corrupt police department as well as a handful of judges. Many attempts had been made to bring him down, all of them unsuccessful, and so arrogance and hubris settled in among his ranks. If they hadn’t failed so far, then nothing would ever stand in her way.

Enter Maureen, dressed like a Femme Fatale from the 50s with opera black gloves and a sparkling dress. When the findomme arrived at the small dry cleaner at the edge of Englewood that served as a front for one of his underground casinos and asked to see the so-called three-fingered man himself, she was met by the disdainful gaze of the young inked Asian girl behind the counter. Using a mix of broken English that was more for show than anything else, she replied,

“No one here of that name.”

“I’m not really in the mood to play games, sis,” Maureen said, yawning. “I know where that door behind you leads and I’m going down there one way or another but I’m giving you a chance to do things right. Tell your boss Boyd sent me and that I have his money - with interest! - but if he wants it, he’ll need to talk to me. You have one minute to give him this message. If I don’t hear from him immediately, I’m calling a friend of mine in the force who’ll have no problem turning this place upside down at my request, are we clear? Good. The clock is ticking,” she tapped her watch and smirked at the chaos that ensued.

“Please go right in,” the petite Asian said as she got off the phone, her silly accent momentarily forgotten. “He’s looking forward to meeting you.”

“I’m sure he is. Thank you, dear. A word of advice though: you should probably leave this place while you can for I very much doubt things will look pretty in an hour, okay?”

The woman nodded silently and signaled her companion standing by the washing machines to her right to go on ahead. Maureen watched them both leave, put up the “Closed” sign on the main door, and descended into a world of crime that only a fool would want to be a part of willingly.

The illegal joint underneath was as tacky as the people in charge of it, a haven of smoke, garish colors, and cheap booze. At the very center of it was a circular stage with three poles going to the ceiling. To the right, a bar whose counter had seen better days, while to the left stood a dozen slot machines, a roulette, and two Poker tables. In a small alcove hidden behind a pair of gold curtains was the VIP section where the big honcho himself was waiting.

Now in his late thirties, Troy “Three Fingers” was a stubby man with a square jaw, a receding black hairline, and questionable fashion taste. The purple satin shirt underneath the white jacket and matching pants didn’t look good on him at all. The ensemble of gold rings plus a massive chain wrapped around his neck completed the pimp extravaganza that made Maureen chuckle as soon as she saw it.

“Hello. I wish I could say you’re not at all what I expected but that would be lying. You’re everything I imagined you to be but worse, as amazing as that is,” she began, taking a seat in front of the crime lord, legs crossed.

“Quite the opening line, babe,” he stretched on the leather seat, eyeing her from top to bottom, “but not a very nice way to introduce yourself, is it?”

“I didn’t come here to be nice, and it’s not like you deserve such treatment, so let’s just stick to business, shall we?”

“Sure, babe, as soon as you tell me your name.”

“The name’s Maureen, not babe. Let it be the last time I hear that word from your filthy lips.”

“Ouch...” he mocked. “You really are the feisty type, aren’t you? I was told you’re here on behalf of good old Boyd to settle the score. How is he doing these days? I haven’t really seen him since the day he lost everything but the clothes he had on.”

“Spare me the bullshit. Everything you forced him to do ends tonight, and he gets to have his old life back. That’s the only thing that matters.”

“Give me what I’m owed and I may consider granting your request... or not. After all, your friend knows a little too much about my schemes and we can’t have that, can we?”

“I didn’t bring any money with me, sorry.”

“Oh? Are you telling me you came all the way down here dressed like a Hollywood star under false pretense? Not the smartest thing to do, don’t you think, babe?”

“I specifically told you not to call me that.”

“Who cares what you said?” he growled. “I call you whatever I want, bitch. I don’t know what game you think this is, but in my territory, everybody plays by my rules and not the other way around. If you’ve come here to waste my time, I’m going to make sure both you and Boyd regret it before the day is over.”

“Are you done?”

“Excuse me? Who do you think you are?”

“Someone who’s getting mighty bored with all of this. I know your type, Troy. I’ve dealt with men like you all my life. You act all mighty and powerful when everyone is watching so they don’t notice how weak and pathetic you really are behind closed doors. The only thing you thrive at is deception and threats to force others to submit but none of that works with someone who’s not afraid of those silly tricks.”

“Are you afraid now, bitch?” Troy clapped his hands, and she was immediately surrounded by half a dozen goons, eager pistols pointed at her head. 

“Not really,” Maureen opened her purse without a care in the world and placed a small vial of perfume on the table separating her from Troy. It was cylindrical-shaped with a pink rose at the top and four small holes from which the sweet fragrance within could exude. The findomme flicked the lid open and took a deep breath. “You all need to come down,” she said.

“Where’s my money?” Troy insisted.

“I already told you I didn’t bring it. I needed an excuse to get close to you and this one was a slam dunk. “Now, why don’t you breathe in just like me, nice and easy, filling your lungs with sweet bliss?”

“What the...? You’re one weird bitch, Maureen!” Troy held his pistol against her forehead. “You’re really not afraid to die?”

“No, for I know that’s not going to happen. You may be a fool, Troy, but even a fool is smart enough to not sully his club’s reputation with splattered brains all over the floor so instead of trying to dissuade me with vain threats, what you should be doing is asking yourself how this is going to end for you because the answer may surprise you.”

“I’ve had enough of your crazy antics, pretty face or not. You’re right, it would be bad for the business to scrub your gray matter from the walls but I don’t have the same problem outside. Boys, grab her and drag her to the nearest alley. I’ll join you in a minute.”

“Not so fast,” Maureen hit the perfume bottle with the tip of her right index finger making it spin and leak all over the table. An overwhelming aroma hit everyone’s nostrils at the same time, making their eyes watery and droopy.

“Fuck! What is that thing?” Troy protested.

“Just a little something to help you relax. Things were escalating too much for my taste already but they didn’t have to get this far if you were to simply listen for once instead of trying to assert your pathetic idea of male dominance on someone who doesn’t give a shit. So... let’s try this again. Take a deep breath and still your tongue for a moment because the grown-up in the room is talking, okay?”

Troy scratched his nose, trying to block the olfactory impression that made his thoughts become hazy, but to no avail. The colorless cloud swirled all around him, loosening his muscles one by one.

“Much better,” Maureen said. “Now, as I was saying, I’ve dealt with people like you for as long as I can remember. Bullies are all alike. Some rely on their fists, and others go for clubs, knives, and guns, but they all share the same inadequacies, the crippling fear of being exposed and ridiculed. They refuse to admit they’ll never be half as good as those they terrorize and content themselves with the illusion that they’re liked and respected, nonetheless. However, the truth is clear, and it doesn’t take a serum to show it to the world. You are weak, nothing more than a fat balloon filled with manure hovering menacingly over the lives of those who really matter. You don’t deserve a lick of attention, and certainly not have others sacrifice their lives so you can line your pockets with the fruits of their blood, sweat, and tears. It’s obvious you tricked Boyd and cheated your way into a win, but that little maneuver won’t work now for the more you breathe in the more you relax, and the more you relax the less inclined you feel to fight me or what I have to say, isn’t that right?”

Troy continued to hold the pistol at close range, yet his grip was already faltering. Nervous eyes stared at his twitching fingers as if asking “What have you done to me?”

“Shh, not a sound. Don’t even try to think. The things you’ve kept to yourself are already out in the open and more will keep pouring like water from a fountain until every hint of deception is washed away. You have no power, Troy. You never did and you never will. Your empire was built on false promises that are already crumbling down and this is all the proof you need. Drowsier with every breath, listening to nothing else but me. I tell you what you’ve always struggled to tell yourself and you fall deeper and deeper and deeper...

“Look at your goons, Troy. How relaxed and sleepier they’re getting... You’re no different from them no matter how much you believe otherwise, and so you keep falling and falling and falling... taken by the scent, enveloped by the realization that nothing lasts forever and that the truth always wins. No strength, no power, no ability to direct and control your fate... there’s nothing you possess that a stronger mind can’t take, and that is why you are destined to lose. Go even deeper now, your memories fading. You’re so weak you can’t even hold your gun straight anymore. Might as well put it down, let go, and drift only where the fragrance takes you. I will hold on to that now, thank you.”

Troy sank into his chair while his bodyguards teetered on the brink of unconsciousness. The wave of perfume picked up their stray thoughts and tossed them aside, never to be seen again. Maureen spun the vial between her fingers and continued feeding her suggestions in a perfectly syncopated hypnotic voice.

“You’re weak, Troy. You thought of yourself as strong and worthy because of that thing between your legs but your cock is as useless as the rest of you. The only thing it’s good for is to give it a little wank until your brain leaks out. Don’t think and simply jerk. Pound that flabby piece of meat into submission to show everyone just how pathetic you truly are. The weak follow the strong and embrace their humiliation like a badge of honor. You will do it for me now, for my words are in complete control of your thoughts. Get on your knees and start stroking. You have three seconds to comply. 3, 2, 1...

“Ah, much better. Nothing says more you’re a pretender than the fact that I get inside your head for a moment and you’re already beating your dick on command. Who’s got the real power now, huh? Deeper and deeper, unable to stop until you cum. Make that cock suffer while I make a phone call, okay?”

Maureen stood up and shook her ass before his vitreous eyes. Without bothering to look at him again, she called her favorite Captain in the Chicago P.D.

“Hello, John. How are the wife and kids?” she asked. “Say, what do you think about coming over to Englewood for a drink and a high-profile bust? You’re buying, of course, but what I have to offer is worth a lot more than an Appletini. How soon can you get a squad here? Perfect. See you soon.”

Maureen pocketed her phone and giggled at the poor man’s explosion of her faux three-fingered thrall. Too easy but also too much fun. She couldn’t wait to tell Boyd the good news.

* * *

An hour later, she returned to her beloved pet with a lot of stories to tell and enough video evidence to put a smile on his lips again.

“Is it over?” he asked.

“It will be soon. The Police are processing everyone right now Troy and his companions will not get away with this.”

“Still, what I did... I deserve to be punished, too. I should turn myself in.”

“You’ll do no such thing, that’s an order. I’ve already told Captain Davies about your special circumstances and as long as you agree to testify against him in court, no charges will be pressed against you. You’ll still need to tell your family what really happened but you can’t handle that now, can’t you?”

“I...” he mumbled. “I don’t know what to say, Goddess. I’ll repay you when I can, I promise.”

“I believe you, but I don’t want a thing other than your well-being, are we clear? Don’t you ever pull a stunt like this again or I won’t have time for mercy.”

“Understood. I’m so glad you’re a part of my life,” he held her in his arms, tears of joy rolling down her dress.

“I adore you too, slave. Now let’s go grab a bite because I’m feeling quite peckish.”

“Whatever you say.”

The Goddess and her pet drove away from the den of iniquity, leaving all fragments of a broken life behind. It would take a while for his happy ending, but Boyd was on the right track again, and so was she. A Goddess is only as strong as the character of those who serve her and, following that day, she was certain his devotion would never falter. As much as she loved her money, there was no greater tribute than genuine love.

The End