Behind the Black Door

"Dad...I...Dad...oh fuck it."

She kissed him. Up on tiptoes, pressed against him, her arms wrapped round his neck. For half a second, he froze, and then his whole body relaxed and he responded with utmost enthusiasm. His mouth opened, welcoming her tongue with his own. His arms enveloped her, as he pulled her tight against him. Those mammoth breasts of hers, pressed against his chest. His hands dropped to the cheeks of her arse, cupping and squeezing them, sinking his fingers into the cloth-covered flesh of her buttocks.

They stood there, making out like a couple of kids at a school disco. After thirty seconds or so, the pulled their mouths apart, strands of spit still linking them together. Siobhan wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, smearing her lipstick across her cheek. She smiled at him, breathing heavily.

"Take me home, Dad." She whispered. "Make love to me."

"Okay, Pudding. Okay."

Hand in hand, they walked out of the building and practically ran down the road, looking for a taxi.

10

Pat Heston had been a cab driver for more than thirty years. His dad had been a cabbie before him, so Pat viewed his profession with no little affection and pride. The drivers of London's famous black taxis were specialists, experts. Ambassadors for the city. These were men and women who took years to learn their trade, memorising every route throughout the capital. For a proper cabbie, the words sat and nav were blasphemy.

He must have driven thousands of people down the years. People of all shapes and sizes, all colours, religions, creeds and genders. None of it mattered to Pat, as long as they paid their fare. And some of those passengers could get a little frisky. He'd seen plenty of people getting hot and heavy on the back seat of his taxi. But he couldn't remember a couple getting quite so carried away as this guy and the young bird he was hooking up with.

They'd waved him down just outside the entrance to Downing Street. They wanted taking to Shepherd's Bush, but as soon as the meter started ticking, they were all over each other. She clambered on top of him, straddling his waist, as they kissed with an almost indecent intensity. Pat could only see a fraction of what they were getting up to, as he occasionally glanced in the rear view mirror. He almost swerved a couple of times, as he heard the young woman groan and moan.

Siobhan was sat astride her father, her flared skirt allowing him easy access. She was grinding her naked pussy feverishly against his rock hard groin. Al had one arm wrapped round her neck, pulling her face tightly to his. His other arm was between her legs, two fingers hooked deep inside her cunt, his thumb rubbing furiously across her clit. She practically screamed into his mouth, cumming again and again.

There hadn't been a moment's hesitation, the second they had climbed inside, they were kissing and fondling and stroking. Nothing was said, it was like there was some psychic bond between them. Two lust-filled minds working in perfect unison. Pat didn't know they were father and daughter, he would have been utterly horrified if he had known. He assumed, bearing in mind the place he'd picked them up, the guy was a politician or a civil servant. The girl was a research assistant or maybe a prostitute.

Either way, they were putting on quite a show.

Rush hour had passed and the distance between Number Ten and the Bamboo Garden was negligible, so the trip didn't take that long. He came to a halt outside this slightly grotty Chinese takeaway. The young woman opened the door and quickly disappeared into a side door, next to the main entrance. The older man handed over a couple of notes, not bothering to wait for any change.

"Enjoy yourself." Pat shouted through the passenger side window, before driving off.

Al stood there alone, watching the cab vanish into the distance. He turned round and looked up at the windows on the first floor. First one light, then another, came on, as Siobhan moved through the flat. Al loosened his tie slightly, and walked towards the door. And what colour was that door? Black, of course. Not as shiny as the door at Number Ten. The paint was chipped and scratched, but it was black. Jet black.

What a coincidence, he thought to himself.

He found her jacket halfway up the stairs, stretched out and discarded. The front door of his flat was open, and her dress was lying on the welcome mat, next to the strappy sandals she had been wearing. A few feet further along, he saw a dark blue bra, hanging on a door handle. Although Siobhan had started the evening sans knickers - a fact he could personally attest to, after fingering her on the back seat of the taxi - she had been wearing some underwear. Not anymore, of course.

He found her in his bedroom, lying on the bed. She was completely naked. She was on her side, her head resting on her hand, her other arm draped over the side of her body, stretched out across her hip. Al looked at all those exotic tattoos, sprinkled up and down her arms. He examined her breasts, those big fat tits of her, one resting on top of the other. He studied the soft curve of her belly, the last remnants of baby fat on her body.

My baby, he thought. My baby, who I'm about to fuck.

He unbuttoned his shirt and threw it to the floor. Then he unzipped his trousers and pulled them off. Pretty soon, his socks and pants were also discarded, and he stood naked in front of her. His dick was bobbing up and down in front of her, the skin of it almost shining because it was so tight.

"You've wanted to do this for a while, haven't you, Pudding?" He said to her.

"As long as I can remember." She replied, bringing her hand to her nipple, and pulling on it with her fingers.

Neither of them knew it, but in so many ways their first time together would be quite similar to the sexual union between Henry and Hannah Sellers. A father and his voluptuous daughter crossing a boundary they should never cross. The same illicit thoughts, the same forbidden desires.

Al climbed on to the bed, and knelt beside her. She abandoned her nipple, instead bringing her hand to her mouth and licking it. Then she reached out and grabbed hold of his cock. She tugged it towards her, then wrapped her fingers round it and began stroking his thick, hard shaft. He exhaled through clenched teeth as she jerked him off. He took hold of her breast, squeezing all that sumptuous, creamy flesh, leaving finger prints on her skin.

He pushed her onto her back and lay down next to her. They kissed. A somewhat more tender kiss than when they had been in the back of the cab, but no less heartfelt.

"God, I've wanted to fuck you for so long." He said.

"Naughty daddy." She replied, before kissing him again.

They rolled round on the bed together for a few minutes, the two of them just making out. Sometimes she would be on top, sometimes he would. They would cup each other's faces, staring intently into each other's eyes, whispering sentiments of mutual love and adoration. Their bodies were pressed tight together. Her soft, youthful, curvaceous flesh sliding against his older, leaner, harder body.

She ended up on her back, lying at a diagonal angle across the bed. He kissed his way down her frame, pausing for a moment or two to feast on her tits. He took great mouthfuls of one, then the other, forcing as much of each breast inside his mouth as he could possibly manage. He teased her bellybutton with his tongue, before sliding on to the floor.

He stroked her legs with the palms of his hands for a short while. Then he gently pushed them apart, revealing the glistening jewel of her enflamed sex. He showered her inner thighs with dozens of tiny kisses, before examining her wet vaginal lips a little more closely. She could feel his hot breath on her cunt. She peered down at him, her head raised slightly, so she could see over the momentous peaks and troughs of her body.

"Are you going to eat your Pudding?" She sniggered.

He didn't say a word. Instead, he buried his face in her snatch. She gasped as his tongue stabbed inside her. He reached down under her legs, grabbing a firm hold of her thighs, and pulling her closer to him. That way he could eat her out with greater ferocity and intent. Like a dog with a bone, his jaw moved violently from side to side, as her cunt-juice splashed and splattered all over his face. His nose was rubbing up against her clit, pressing it and squeezing it. Torturing it. She had cum the first moment his tongue made contact with her twat. Multiple orgasms followed, one after the other. One of top of the other.

I never imagined it would be so good, she thought, as she lay there, her body racked with sensations of pure joy and ecstasy.

Al brought his hand to her pussy, and began fingering her vigorously. At the same time, his tongue was rolling round her clit. She grabbed hold of her breasts, fondling them as he savagely devoured her cunt. Siobhan screamed and hollered until her throat was raw.

Downstairs, the staff and patrons of the Bamboo Garden looked to the ceiling, as the sounds of bumping and slamming and screaming could be heard. Everyone looked at each other, no one quite able to summon up the courage to comment.

Back upstairs, Siobhan was writhing and twisting and turning, her body moving like a star gymnast undergoing a massive stroke. Al's head bobbed up and down, as he relentlessly ate her out. Her legs clamped tightly against his ears. You could hear his tongue lapping away and her twat squelching as his fingers stabbed back and forth.

He then pulled himself free, his face soaking wet and shining with her sexual fluids. He stood up, grabbing hold of her legs and pulling her towards him. He looked down at her, vulnerable, helpless, exposed. He'd never wanted to fuck anyone or anything more in his entire life. It felt like his cock was going to burst, so turned on was he at that moment.

"Are you on the Pill, sweetheart?" He asked.

"Sort of."

"Sort of?"

"Well, I sometimes forget to take it."

Al stared at her for a moment, a look of intense concentration on his face.

"Fuck it, we'll worry about it tomorrow." He said, with brisk insouciance.

And with that, he pushed his dick inside her for the first time. She was so tight. So hot. So wet.

"Fuuuuuck!" She screamed, as his cock powered its way inside her. "Oh God, Daaaaaddddyyy!"

He was buried balls deep inside her, now; his pubic hair scratching against her soft bald cunt. He pulled back and then thrusted forward again. And again. And again. He lifted her legs up, until they were draped over his body, her feet framing his head. Rhythmically, steadily, Al fucked his daughter. His bum moving back and forth as his cock plunged in and out of her hot hole.

She lay there, looking up at him, the most important man in her life. Her father. Her protector. Her lover. She couldn't quite understand the thoughts and emotions that floated through her mind. Yes, this was wrong. She knew that. But Christ, it felt so good. She'd never been fucked like this before. She didn't think she'd ever be fucked like this again. This moment was the perfect moment. It couldn't get any better than this, surely?

But then Al came, and she realised it could always get better.

He roared as he unleashed a torrent of cum inside her unprotected, and potentially fertile, womb. He held her ankles tightly as he came inside his daughter for the first time. Every muscle in his body tensed up for a few seconds, as the sensations of sexual release washed over him. Then he collapsed on the bed next to her

The two of them were in a daze, both of them slipping in and out of consciousness, so powerful and intense was their coupling. They found themselves side by side, he was on his front, she was on her back. They looked at each other and he reached out with his hand and stroked her cheek.

"I love you, Pudding."

"I love you too, Daddy."

They lay their a little longer, gazing into each other's eyes, until Siobhan spoke softly.

"You can't go ahead with the story now, can you? Not after this."

"No, I can't."

"But your editor knows. How can you stop it now?"

"I think I may have an idea. But let's not worry about that now. That's tomorrow's problem."

With that, Al rolled over, pulling his naked daughter on top of her, his dick hardening once more.

11

Ten days later and Henry Sellers was sat in his office. It was the same office where Al Scanlon had told him he knew the truth about Henry and his daughter. He recalled that sudden sense of cold dread, like the floor had just disappeared and he was about to plummet into a dark chasm, that was potentially endless.

Another representative of the Daily Herald was about to come through the door. But this time, it wasn't a mere employee. Oh no, Henry was about to confront the organ grinder himself, not the monkey. In a few moments he would be face to face with Sir Hector Fleming. This story was big. So big, the boss wanted to get involved.

"Should I wear a wire?" Sir Hector had asked, back at the office.

"No," Al had replied. "Firstly, if you got caught by security at Downing Street, you'd probably be arrested. Secondly, we don't need a recording of the conversation. He's already given me a quote."

"Okay, okay. I doubt security would care that much about me bugging him, as soon as they see some of the emails and photos he and his daughter have been sending each other, but it's better to be safe than sorry, I suppose."

"We don't really need you to go there at all. He knows what we've got on him."

"Yes, but I want to see the whites of his eyes, when I destroy his career."

Almost despite himself, Al actually found Sir Hector's enthusiasm rather endearing. He had been giddy like a schoolgirl ever since Sarah explained to him the nature of the story. And when he'd seen some of the evidence Al had compiled, he practically exploded with excitement, insisting on confronting Henry himself. Sir Hector had worked in newspapers for decades, but he'd never really been at the coalface. He'd only briefly been an editor, and he'd never been a reporter. So, for him, this was all endlessly exciting and intriguing. Plus, he hated Henry Sellers.

Not that you would necessarily deduce that from Sir Hector's demeanour, not when he walked into Henry's office and greeted him warmly enough.

"Prime Minister, good of you to see me." He said, holding out his hand.

"Yes, Sir Hector," Henry replied, shaking it firmly. "This isn't your first trip to Downing Street though, is it?"

"My first since you took office." He said, pointedly. "Your predecessor and I were on quite friendly terms."

"Yes, that's one way of putting it. Please, take a seat."

Sir Hector did so, and looked across the table at the younger man. A man he despised. A man he was planning to crucify, metaphorically at least.

"Well, I don't suppose there's much point beating around the bush, is there? You know why I'm here, I presume?"

"You wish to discuss a personal matter regarding me and my daughter?"

"Yes. A personal matter seems a relatively coy way of putting it."

"You think so?"

"I fucking know so, excuse my French."

"Of course."

"To put it bluntly, I always thought you were a shit prime minister, but it turns out you are a fucking degenerate and a pervert to boot."

"Really?"

"Yes, really. I think it's fair to say that any man who puts the pork sword to his own daughter, counts as a pervert. At least in my book."

"Well, that's quite the book you have there."

"I mean, we've got you bang to rights, mate. You are fucked, and not in a good way. I have your balls in the palm of my hand, and I will take the utmost pleasure in squeezing them dry."

"What colourful language, I can see why you opted for a career in the media."

"God, you're a smug bastard! Even now, as your life is about to go down the dirty shitter, you still act all smug and superior. Bloody Brits. Jumped up, snooty arseholes, the lot of you!"

"Well, that may or may not be true, but I still don't understand why you're here, Sir Hector. If you're case against me is so conclusive, what do you gain by coming to my home and insulting me?"

"Well, sometimes, when we've got a particularly juicy story in our back pocket, we come and make an offer."

"An offer?"

"Yeah. Say we've found some B-list celebrity snorting coke off a rent-boy's bum, we might take it easy on them. If they give us an exclusive interview, telling our readers how sorry they are, we might tone down the details, or reframe the story to make them look a little more sympathetic."

"And that's the sort of offer you have in mind for me?"

"No."

"No?"

"No. Firstly, what you've done is so beyond the realms of human decency, we wouldn't be able to make you look even a little bit sympathetic. Now, I suppose I could ask you to implement some policy changes that I might like, and in return I could sit on the story."

"That sounds suspiciously like blackmail, Sir Hector."

"Yeah, I suppose it does. But I'm not doing that either."

"Is that right?"

"You bloody bet it is. There's no deal. No mercy. No hope. We're going to run with this and we're going to fucking ruin you. You're going to resign. Then you'll probably be arrested. Charged. Convicted. Within eighteen months, you'll be in Wormwood-bloody-Scrubs, trying to avoid being buggered in the showers."

"It sounds like you've got it all worked out."

"Yes, I bloody do. The stink from this will hang over your party like a fucking funeral shroud. Your coalition allies will abandon you faster than you can say the words daddy issues, and the Tories will be back in power within months."

"Simple."

"Yes. I just wanted you to know who it is that fucked you. The same way you fucked that little slut of yours."

Henry's jaw twitched for a moment. He had been a study in calmness and control, but just for one second, that control wavered. He ground his teeth together, but then relaxed a little.

"Well, it seems our business here is concluded then."

"Yeah, I suppose it is."

Sir Hector stood and turned to leave. But then Henry stopped him.

"Oh, apologies Sir Hector, there is one other tiny issue we might wish to discuss."

"What's that?"

"Please, take a seat. Again."

Somewhat reluctantly, the portly Kiwi sat down, and stared sullenly at Henry.

"You're quite right of course. You could destroy my life. I realise that. My relationship with my daughter is unconventional. I know that. I could try and explain it, defend it, but I don't imagine you would care or understand. I know that you have quite a black and white view of the world."

"Where's this going?"

"The evidence is pretty damning, I can't deny it. We were very reckless, Hannah and I. The emails. The photos. The videos. I presume you've seen them?"

"I've seen enough to know that you're a monster."

"Yes, I suppose in some ways I am. It's these modern phones, isn't it? They're the problem. They're like mini computers, recording everything, spying on everyone."

"And?"

"I regularly get briefed by the intelligence services - the spooks - and they tell me they don't have equipment as sophisticated and as advanced as an iPhone or an Android."

"You're wasting my time, now. I think I've said all I have to say." He went to stand up again.