Stanley opened the door for Derdâ and smiled as he showed her in. She went straight into the living room, where she turned to Stanley and said, “Money!”
Stanley’s expression turned sour and he said, “I don’t have any.”
Derdâ shook her head, walked to the window, and pointed. She pointed at London, she pointed at all the people living there.
“I …” she said as she waved her hand as if batting away a ghost. Then she pointed out again and said, “They …” and pretended to pull something out of the air and said, “money.”
Stanley finally understood. And then he remembered the first gift he had given Derdâ, whom he now considered his master.
“Wait!” he said and ran to the bedroom. He came back holding an English- Turkish/Turkish-English dictionary. When Derdâ saw the small book, she understood what it was and leapt on it like a dolphin. She then summarized what she wanted to say in the following words:
“I … beat … man … then … money … take … because … I …” She couldn’t find the exact word she was looking for but found one just as good: “Queen.”
Stanley smiled and said, “Yes, you’re my queen.”
Derdâ’s intelligence belied her insular life. She slapped Stanley’s cheek just like Bezir used to slap her. Then she caressed it and placed her hand on Stanley’s shoulder, nearly a foot higher than her own, and she applied pressure. Half of his face was now bright red. Stanley didn’t resist and lowered himself to his knees and looked up at Derdâ. But this wasn’t enough. She pushed harder until his forehead was on the ground. There were no carpets in Stanley’s flat. She forced his nose down into the parquet floor. Then Derdâ lifted her left foot and stepped on the back of Stanley’s neck, forcing his entire body to grovel beneath her.
“I …” she said, unable to remember the verb she was looking for, and she rifled through the dictionary. “Take … money … and then … give … you …”
Stanley moved his head slightly. And Derdâ rubbed her foot up and down his neck. Stanley managed to pull down his pants, despite his awkward position. He brought his hands down to his crotch and rolled over onto his side exposing his gaping, completely hairless hole to Derdâ. First, Derdâ inserted one of her fingers, and then another. Good thing that she had three more pairs of black gloves at home, because this glove would soon be filthy.
Derdâ hadn’t had any contact with money for five years. Bezir never left money at home and he only kept credit cards and coins in his wallet. So, after English, what Derdâ needed most was money. And if there were more people like Stanley in London, she could definitely make money. She’d make them suffer as much as they wanted. She’d oppress them and humiliate them as much as they wanted. When it came to this kind of stuff she was better informed than anyone. She’d suffered all her life.
And she wouldn’t even have to take her chador off while she worked. Derdâ was right. After all, they were living in London. There were probably thousands of people like Stanley who went to work every day and came home at night imagining things that people beside them at the bus stop could never dream of. Among them were postmen and lords, all willing to empty their wallets only to be—if for just half an hour—the slave to a sixteen-year-old girl dressed all in black, only her eyes peeking out from behind the dark cloth.
Derdâ’s first customer was Mitch. He was nervous when he came over to Stanley’s house. But the fear turned him on. Derdâ stood with her hands behind her back in front of the living room window; in her single-piece black chador she looked like a dark club. She was even shorter than Mitch had imagined and her small size—almost that of a child—fired his fantasies as he imagined Gulliver being tortured by the Lilliputians. Mitch was as heavy as Bezir—he weighed over two hundred pounds—but he was nothing but a tub of lard.
Derdâ was also turned on. She was used to Stanley’s body and she wondered how she would deal with this redhead fatso squeezed in a leather jacket. Mitch’s forehead was dripping with sweat and his eyes darted nervously about the room. Derdâ knew that her face was covered and that no matter how stimulated she felt, no one would be able to tell. Then she thought of Kurudere; she thought of the chain in Kurudere.
Mitch stood beside Stanley at the door to the living room. He gave a light nod to Derdâ. These guys were the perfect Laurel and Hardy combination, but Derdâ had never heard of them anyway. Calmly, she stepped between them without even glancing at their faces. Stanley and Mitch looked at each other in surprise. They followed Derdâ down the corridor and into the bedroom. They found her gripping one of the chains hanging from the ceiling; she was waiting for them. She’d attached an unbuckled leather belt to the end of the chain. She pointed at Mitch. He trundled up to her, as bumbling as Oliver Hardy.
Derdâ tightly wrapped the whip around her hand and whipped Mitch with a long leather whip for a full hour. Mitch’s feet were bound in chains, Stanley’s dirty Cramps T-shirt covered his head, and a studded choke collar was around his neck. Derdâ noticed Mitch’s hands were still free and so she chained them, too. She was becoming quite the professional.
Derdâ lucked out by having a blubbery seal like Mitch as her first customer; he was turned on by even the slightest smell in the air, and she quickly learned the patterns of his reactions and desires. In the game of S&M no one is drawn to an indecisive master. Nothing turns a slave on more than an unbendable, iron will. In fact, it was just like what
