Behind the Black Door

"You were his favourite writer. He followed your work very closely."

"Well, thank you."

"That's why I came to you. Because my husband respected you."

"Thank you."

She stopped momentarily, looking around some more, then she turned to him, conspiratorially. She was tiny but looked tough. Her skin was leathery, her hair was white. But Al imagined she had been quite the looker in her youth.

"I saw something. I saw something I shouldn't have." She said, quietly.

"What? What did you see?"

"Him. Him and her. Together."

"Who?"

"I'm a cleaner. I've been a cleaner all my life. It's not much of a job, but it's my job. People look down on it, but we need cleaners."

"Sure."

"For the last twelve years I've worked for the Government. I clean Government buildings. Hoovering, dusting, all that jazz. We get moved around a lot. I work in different buildings, all around Whitehall. Including Downing Street."

Al stood there, wondering where this was all going.

"I work there fairly regularly, they like to have familiar faces, so I'm there quite a lot. That's where I caught them."

"Caught who?"

"The Prime Minister. And his daughter. Together."

"Together?"

"He was fucking her. The Prime Minister was fucking his daughter."

Al said nothing. He looked at her, completely silent. He tried to understand what she was telling him. Gwyneth - or Mrs E, as he had originally known her - had promised him this was about incest. And so, incest was what he was getting.

"I don't think I understand..." He began.

"There's no need to understand. It is what it is. It's simple. I caught Henry Sellers with his daughter, Hannah. I caught them in the act. In flagrante delicto. I caught them at it. I caught them making the beast with two backs. I caught them in an act of carnal congress. I caught them shagging. How many ways do you want me to say it?"

"The PM and his daughter? Having sex?"

"Yes."

"Where?"

"One of the offices on the first floor."

"In Downing Street? The actual Downing Street?"

"Yes. Like, I said, I was cleaning on the first floor. It's a real maze of rooms. It's like a warren in there. I was in one of the quieter parts of the building, an area they only use when they're entertaining diplomats and foreign dignitaries. It still all needs cleaning, you know. So I had done my section and was moving off to another. But I'd forgotten something and returned back to where I had been. When I got back, I heard a noise. I looked into one of the rooms and there they were."

"The PM and his daughter?"

"Yes. Doing it. She was bent over a table and he was shagging her from behind. They hadn't closed the door properly and there was a little gap where you could see in. They were really giving it some, I can tell you."

"I don't know what to say."

"No, it gave me a bloody shock too."

"And you're sure it was him? You're sure it was the Prime Minister? And his daughter?"

"Yes. Absolutely certain."

"Was he forcing himself on her?"

"Certainly didn't sound like it. She was giving him plenty of encouragement. She was pretty vocal about the whole thing, if you know what I mean?"

"This is...well...I'm not going to lie to you, this is extraordinary. If what you're telling me is true..."

"It is true!" She said, indignantly.

"If it's true, we're talking about potentially the biggest scandal in the history of the British Government. It would make the Profumo affair look like nothing but a toddlers' tea party."

"You can say that again."

"No offence, but I need more than just your say on this. I need proof."

"Oh, I've got proof." Gwyn said, confidently. "I've got all the proof you need."

4

The biggest scandal in the history of the British Government, if that's what this was, began, in its own curious way, six years earlier.

It started when a perfectly happy, perfectly contented, perfectly successful, married mother of one - a woman going by the name of Andrea Sellers - was taking a shower in the home she shared with her husband and teenage daughter. It was while she was taking that shower that she discovered a lump in her left breast.

Andrea - known by just about everyone as Andi - did not panic. She was an intelligent, sensible woman, who knew that this could turn out to be nothing. But she knew she had to have it checked out, so she booked an appointment with her GP, and numerous tests were taken. Eventually it was discovered that she did indeed have a cancerous growth in her breast. But the doctors seemed confident that they had caught it early and treatment would be successful. She'd have to endure a fairly shitty few months - chemotherapy is no barrel of laughs - but in the end she'd be fine.

However, as it turns out, cancer can be a real bitch. It advances and retreats on its own schedule, and this particular growth was a tough, nasty little monster. Andi didn't respond to treatment as the doctors had hoped, her health deteriorated. A battle was fought and a battle was won. But the victor wasn't Andi Sellers.

Her death came quite quickly, less than six months after that fateful examination in the shower. She showed tremendous courage and tremendous dignity, but cancer cares little for either. She left behind her husband, a rising political star in the British firmament, and her daughter, a beautiful young woman, who would have to endure a kind of pain no child deserved.

Andi's demise was like a bomb exploding in the Sellers' family. She had been their rock, their centre, their north, south, east and west. And now, just like that, she was gone. Henry and Hannah clung to each other, emotionally and physically, as if they were both life rafts. For a long time after her mother's funeral, Hannah slept in her father's bed. There was nothing sexual about this, both were too destroyed by grief to even contemplate such a thing, but it did create an intimacy and bond between them that would change and expand over time.

Henry had considered quitting politics, wanting to devote all his time to his daughter. Many of his colleagues had assumed he would quickly announce his departure from the Commons. But in fact he did the opposite; instead of abandoning his political career, he became more committed to it. Partly this was due to his wife's insistence, voiced in the days prior to her death, that he keep should keep going, keep working for his constituents. And partly it was due to his daughter's newfound interest in his career.

Hannah became obsessed with politics, obsessed with the game. She began talking to him about his job, about issues of national concern. Perhaps inevitably, due to the demands of his profession, Henry had been absent for a large part of Hannah's upbringing. He tried, by God did he try, but he just wasn't there so much of the time. She and her mother lived in his constituency, a fiercely working class borough of Liverpool, while he would spend much of the time in London. Hannah had lost one parent, so she was now determined to be as close to the other as possible.

And, as it turns out, she was a natural. She understood the intricacies of public policy and party politics better than the most experienced hacks and operatives. She was a kind of political phenom, and pretty soon she was essentially her father's closest adviser. He found her to be a fount of common sense and sage advice. She seemed to understand things in a way the rest of his team did not. Hannah started going on the road with him, making appearances at public meetings, even giving speeches.

It was a great story, the widowed politician and his beautiful daughter. The media lapped it up. They called her his secret weapon. Henry's profile soared so much that when his party leader died suddenly, he became a shoo-in as his replacement. A year later he was prime minister.

By then, he and his daughter had already become lovers.

The change in their relationship happened slowly, subtly. Hannah was always by his side, wherever he went. She was part of his life in a way she had never been before. Hannah reminded him of his wife, physically and mentally. But he found her intriguing and seductive in her own way. At some point, Henry realised he was falling in love with her.

Hannah was eighteen and she had taken a year out, to be with her father, delaying her entry to university. She had been a big plus in his leadership campaign and he knew she could do a similar job with the election coming up. More than anything else, he simply wanted her to be with him all the time. Hannah was the most important thing in his life and he couldn't bear the thought of her absence. He knew he wanted her. And he was pretty sure by now she wanted him to. There was a mutual, unspoken recognition between them. Their lives were about to change entirely.

It happened on a cold January night, at their home in Liverpool.

They had taken to staying up late into the night, talking about policy, talking about tactics, talking about their lives. Victory in the election, expected that summer, was by no means a certainty, but both of them knew he could be prime minister soon enough. He would crack open a bottle of wine and they would share a glass or two. He loved these moments they spent together, they were the highlight of his day. He loved how her face lit up as she smiled. He loved the way she looked at him. He loved everything about her.

They were spread out on a big leather sofa in the living room. The television was on, but it was muted, and there was a fire roaring in the hearth. Together, they provided the only illumination in the room. Henry was sat at one end of the sofa, his feet on the coffee table. He was wearing trousers and a shirt. Hannah was lying on the sofa, her head resting on his lap. She was wearing a pair of jogging bottoms and a strappy little top. For the last hour or so, they had both been reading briefing papers prepared by his team at party HQ, but their interest was flagging a little by now.

Henry's hand was wandering over Hannah's skin. He gently stroked her shoulders, her arms and her bare midriff. There was a closeness to them now, an intimacy that they both recognised and accepted without question. She reached out and took his hand, pulling it to her lips. She kissed it softly, then let it go.

"What's Downing Street like?" She asked.

"I don't know, really. I've only been there a couple of times. It seemed kind of cramped, to be honest. A lot of the décor is a bit dated."

"We can get it redecorated. If we win."

"Yes. If we win."

"Have you imagined what it will be like, stood in front of that door, waving to the cameras, as you walk in as prime minister for the first time?"

Henry paused for a second.

"Yes. Yes, I have." He replied. "You were stood next to me."

"Me?"

"Yes. You. Of course, you."

"But wouldn't that be a bit weird? Normally a new PM turns up with his or her husband or wife."

"Well, I would've thought you of all people would know why that would be difficult, in my case."

"Yeah, I know. But I mean...normally it's a partner, not a son or daughter."

"You're my partner." His hand was no longer roaming now. It had come to rest on her chest. It wasn't touching the swell of her breast, but it was tantalisingly close. He could feel her heartbeat pick up speed.

"I'm not your partner, partner. Not like that."

Henry didn't answer for the longest time...but then...

"You could be. If you wanted."

She looked up at him.

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean. Don't pretend you don't."

She sat up and squirmed round until she was on her front. Then she climbed up on to her knees and clambered up on to his lap. She straddled him, wrapping her arms round his neck. She brought her face close to his, her lips only a few centimetres away from his. She stared into his eyes.

"Are you serious?" She asked.

"Deadly." He replied, his hands clasping the sides of her body. Waves of heat emanating from her.

"The two of us together?"

"It's where we've been heading for a long time now. We both know that, don't we?"

"Yes, but it's such a risk. What if people found out?"

"They won't."

"It's illegal."

"Yes, it is, isn't it?" He replied with a devilish smile, and a raised eyebrow.

"It's insane. It's fucking nuts. I want it though. God, I want it so much...but it's so big. It's dangerous."

Henry lifted his hands up and firmly clasped her head tight. He pressed his forehead against hers and stared deep into her eyes.

"I'm scared too. I understand. But I'm excited as well. I love you. I love you so much it hurts. I thought I loved your mother. I did love your mother. But compared to how I feel about you, that love was meaningless..."

"Yes, but you're my father. You're meant to love me more..."

"No. I love you as a parent loves a child. Of course I do. But I love you far more than that. You're my everything. When your mum died, it taught me a lesson. Time is finite. You only have so much of it. It shouldn't be wasted. If you see something you want, take it."

She looked back at him, her breath mingling with his, her chest pulsing.

"I won't force you into anything." He told her. "I think you feel the same way, but if this is something you don't want to do, well, we won't do it. But, if you do, nothing can stop us. Nothing."

There was a pause, as the two of them sat there, the cold world revolving around them. The fire was still crackling. Then...

"Oh God, Daddy!" She moaned, before mashing her lips against his. Her body moved forward, flattening her chest into his. He pulled his hands from her cheeks and wrapped them round her waist, feeling the soft smooth skin of her back. They kissed like their lives depended on it. They kissed as if kissing was being made illegal; which, in their case, it already was.

Months of repressed desire, months of brewing passion, were unleashed on that big leather sofa. Hannah wriggled and squirmed around on top of him, as their tongues duelled in each others mouths. She could feel his hardness beneath her, and she frantically ground her crotch against him. She groaned and whimpered and squealed as they kissed, pressing down harder and harder, her hands in his hair.

She pulled back for a moment, and both of them looked at each other. They were dumbfounded, they were shocked, they were dizzy with lust.

"Wow." She whispered.

"Yes, 'wow' is right." He replied.

"That was weird."

"Yes. Fun, though."

"Fuck, yes! Lots of fun."

Hannah giggled, and they lunged at each other once more, the passionate, open-mouthed kissing resumed. Henry's hands slipped down her back, reaching under the elasticated waist of her jogging bottoms, and then grasping hold of her fleshy buttocks. He squeezed her bum, fondling that creamy flesh, his fingers brushing against the crack of her arse.

"Now then, my naughty little girl, someone isn't wearing any knickers..."

"No." She smiled. "I'm not wearing a bra either."

"Show me."

She leant back a little; then, crossing her arms, she pulled off her tight little top. Her perfect, luscious boobs bounced free; two globes of pale, succulent flesh, topped off with small, pink nipples. Small, pink, erect nipples.

"Ta-da!" She exclaimed, in a sing-song tone, her arms stretched out wide. She was totally on display. Totally exposed.

"Holy fuck, darling, they're amazing."

She blushed, biting her bottom lip momentarily.

"I bet you didn't know your little girl had these."

"I think I probably did."

"Aren't you going to touch them?"

He lifted his hand up and cupped her breast, squeezing it ever so gently, rubbing his thumb over her nipple. Then he did the same thing to her other breast. He pushed them together, squeezing and fondling her flesh. He leaned forward and took one of her nipples into his mouth. He rolled his tongue round it, before sucking at the tip. He licked and chewed and suckled. She gasped as he did so. Then she opened her mouth slightly, letting a line of saliva dribble out on to her flesh. It rolled down her skin towards his lips and he licked it up. They kissed once more.

"I want to fuck you." He said. "I want to fuck my little girl. I want to cum inside you."

"Well, you read my fucking mind, because that's what I want too."

She stood up, her gorgeous fat tits jiggling as she moved, and she took his hand. She led him out of the living room and towards the stairs. They bounded up towards his bedroom - the bedroom they would share from that night onwards - and burst through the door. She spun around and they embraced, kissing deeply where they stood.

"Are you sure you want this?" He asked. "Last chance to back out."

"Are you fucking insane?" She replied. "I've wanted this for so long. Of course I'm sure. I've never been more sure of anything in my entire life."

With that she shimmied out of her jogging bottoms, revealing a small patch of fiery red pubic hair. Then she pulled back the sheets and clambered on to the bed, kneeling there, waiting for him. Their movements were almost frantic now, the need to be together was so strong and so intense. Henry quickly unbuttoned his shirt and then unzipped his trousers. He took them off, almost tripping over them as he did so. Then he took off his boxers and stood naked in front of her for the first time.

"Wow!" She gasped, looking at his big fiery cock, bobbing up and down between them. "Is that all for me?"

"Whenever you want it."

With one hand, she reached forward and grabbed hold of his dick, pulling him forward. With the other, she grabbed him by the neck and kissed him again. Her curvy body was draped against his, as she masturbated him. Her succulent white flesh was pressed against his hairy physique. The contrast was stark; her creamy, pale skin next to his darker, hairy frame. He looked like a wolf, an animal, about to consume a sweet innocent creature. But appearances can be deceptive; there was nothing innocent about Hannah Sellers.

She fell back on to the bed, her legs spreading wide as she did so. He stared down at her cunt, his daughter's cunt, for the first time. It was glistening with her arousal. Her inner lips were enflamed and exposed. He wanted to devour her. He wanted to eat her out until she was screaming for him to stop and her throat was raw. But he knew he had to fuck her first. That was their destination. It had been for months. Years. It had been their destination ever since the day they buried her mother. It's just they hadn't realised it at the time.

But now they knew.

"Daddy's going to fuck you now. Daddy's going to stick his cock inside you."

"Please Daddy, please." She whimpered.

He grabbed hold of his dick and slapped it against her quim. She gasped, and he did it again. Then again and again and again. Her pussy was so wet, droplets of her cunt-juice flew into the air with every tap. Then he lined his cock up with the lips of her gash. He could feel the scalding heat of his daughter's vagina; the vagina he was about to penetrate - and possess - for the first time.

She looked up at him, her lustrous red hair spread out behind her, like a crown or a halo; her eyes pleading. She was fondling her own breasts, tugging at her nipples. He could smell her arousal, smell her need.