Behind the Black Door

So lost was he in sinful contemplation he almost missed the fact that she had fallen over. Her outfit had been ridiculously inappropriate for their situation, inappropriate in any situation, and she had eventually paid the inevitable price. Tripping over the roots of a tree, she tumbled down a grass verge and ended up flat on her back.

She screamed for Al's attention and soon enough he was scrambling down to join her. She was leaning backwards on her elbows, with her legs folded up in front of her. She was a little shaken by her fall, but she didn't think she'd hurt herself in any way. Maybe a few scratches, but nothing serious.

He stood over her, looking down at her.

"Are you okay, Pudding?" He asked, as he crouched down in front of her. "You're not hurt at...Jesus!"

Al's outburst of blasphemy was sudden, but entirely understandable in the circumstances. As he had moved closer to his daughter, aiming to help her up, she had, without warning, quite deliberately spread her legs apart a few inches, exposing her naked cunt to his gaze. She had done it on purpose, even though she wasn't entirely sure why she had done it. But she felt so horny, sat there on display, her twat enflamed and sopping wet.

He looked at her for a few moments, his eyes darting between her face and her gash. She looked back at him and smiled. A ridiculously self-satisfied smirk. She wanted to touch herself; lick her fingers and then rub her clit. She wanted to masturbate in front of him, put on a real show of shameless self abuse. Then he could lift her back on to her feet and fuck her, up against one of the trees. The rough bark rubbing against her skin as his prick slid in and out of her cunt.

Do it, Daddy! She screamed inside her head. Fuck me! Fuck your little girl!

But he didn't. Instead he grabbed hold of her hands and pulled her up. She brushed herself down, looking for any injuries and finding none. Then they walked back to the car in silence. She tried to ostentatiously flash him again, as she got in the car, but he was very pointedly looking in another direction.

6

A mile or so away, Henry Sellers had gone looking for Hannah. His powers of self control failed him after about ten minutes. He was on a promise. A promise in the shape of his sexy daughter. The affairs of state could wait, he had affairs of a very different order in mind. A long afternoon of obscene debauchery lay ahead of him. So, he was heading straight to the main bedroom, his dick rapidly stiffening in his trousers.

Both here and at Downing Street, they were careful to continue the illusion of using two separate bedrooms, but they slept together each and every night. The fiction was maintained by the use of a connecting door. They would spend the night in each other's arms and then in the early hours of the morning, Hannah would sneak off back to her own room. Usually, at the weekend, they didn't have to keep up this ruse. It was one of the joys of his life to wake up with his daughter's - usually naked - body draped all over him. Her head resting on his chest, her arm stretched out, her breasts pressed against his stomach. He would gently caress her body, waiting for her beautiful blue eyes to open. She would greet him with a shy smile and a tender kiss.

She was in bed already, when he got there. He opened the door slowly and peered inside. Exactly as promised, she was masturbating; sat at the far end of the mattress, supported by a pile of pillows laid out against the headboard. Also as promised, she was wearing lingerie, although her underwear was so scanty, it barely qualified for the term. She had on a light blue, half-cup bra that barely contained her breasts; her erect nipples were almost totally exposed. Accompanying it was a tiny g-string that barely covered her slit. If she had any pubic hair, it would have been entirely on show. She was also wearing a garter belt and black stockings.

Her legs were spread wide apart, so wide he could see her inner thigh muscles straining. She had one hand between her legs, rubbing away at her clit or fingering her twat. The other was pulling and twisting at her nipples. He knew from first hand experience that she liked her tits to be seriously abused when she was having sex. Her breasts were often bruised from the brutal treatment they received, usually from her rather than him. He was normally a bit squeamish about being too rough with her, but she liked to be fucked hard.

He studied her face closely. Her eyes were shut and she had a look of intense concentration about her. She was moaning and groaning softly as she continued to play with herself. Every so often she would pull her hand out of her knickers and bring it to her mouth. Then she would lick and taste herself, her tongue slithering between her glistening, sticky fingers, lapping up her tart cunt-juice.

Henry walked up to the foot of the bed and took off his t-shirt, dropping it to the floor. Her eyes opened slightly. She squinted at him, with a sexy smile on her face.

"Hello, Daddy." She whispered.

"Hello, my angel." He replied, his voice thick with lustful desire.

"I thought you had a country to run?" She said, dryly.

"I do. But I've got a daughter to fuck first."

He grabbed hold of her by the ankles, feeling the soft nylon of her stockings against his fingers, and dragged her down the bed towards him. She yelped as he did so, but she offered no resistance. He pulled her hand out of her underwear and brought it to his mouth. Hannah's sexual fluids were like the finest nectar of the gods, there was nothing he liked the taste of more.

"I love your bra and knickers." He said.

"That's a slightly uncouth way of saying it, but thank you nonetheless."

"You said this stuff was expensive?"

"Oh yes."

"How expensive?"

"Very."

"That's a shame." He said, as he ripped her g-string in two, tearing it off her body.

She laughed, caring not a jot at the loss of her costly underthings. Daddy was acting out the role he was born to play, that of alpha male, and that was all that mattered. She loved being his little plaything, his little fuck-toy. As a couple - despite the age difference, despite the fact he was her father and he was Prime Minister - they were partners. Equals. But when it came to sex, he was definitely in charge. And that's how they both liked it. She was super submissive in bed. She might tease him, play with him, but ultimately she wanted him to dominate her, use her. He was the boss, and she was more than happy to cede control. She trusted him completely. She loved him totally. She knew he would never do anything to hurt her...unless she asked him to, of course. And sometimes she did.

He lifted her torn knickers up to his face, inhaling her powerful smell. Then he stuffed the shreds of cloth into his mouth, sucking at the juices soaked up in the lacy material. After thirty seconds or so, he spat her knickers out onto the bed, and he began taking off his trousers. She took this opportunity to remove her bra, so now she was lying there, wearing nothing but her garter belt and stockings.

Without saying another word, he lay down on top of her naked body and slid his dick inside her. It entered her with consummate ease, so experienced were they in this act of forbidden love. As he penetrated her, a familiar series of thoughts floated through her brain.

My Daddy is fucking me.

My Daddy's cock is inside me..

I am my Daddy's lover.

I am my Daddy's whore.

This had become a sort of forbidden catechism she would always recite to herself when they made love. On occasion, she would say some or all of it out loud. It excited her, it gave her an extra naughty thrill. She wanted to revel in the nastiness, the wrongness of what they were doing. She truly respected the solemnity and power of incest.

Henry fucked her for a few minutes, squeezing and fondling her breasts as he did so. Then he stopped, looking down at her.

"I think you said something about a little light sodomy?" He remarked, with a questioning eyebrow raised.

"Of course. Whatever you want."

He stood up, withdrew his cock and, with remarkable ease, flipped her over onto her front. He lightly slapped one of her buttocks, with the palm of his hand leaving a faint imprint.

"On your hands and knees." He ordered.

She did as he told her, lifting her bum up into the air, her little puckered anus fully exposed, winking at him just a fraction. He thought about getting some lubrication, they always had a tube of KY Jelly somewhere about the place, but she had been particularly wet when he fucked her. Her own cunt juice should do the job, he thought. But, better to be safe than sorry, he said to himself as he buried his face between the cheeks of her arse.

Rimming was a sexual pastime they both enjoyed immensely. They had partaken of it almost from the first time they slept together. He had been frankly quite shocked by just how dirty his little girl was, when they began having sex. Her relaxed attitude had proven to be quite the Godsend in the two years or so they'd been fucking each other. Hannah was open to pretty much whatever he wanted to do.

He licked her anus for a minute or two, sinking his fingers into the fleshy mounds of her buttocks. She had a big sexy bum and he loved to kiss and lick and bite it. His tongue probed and burrowed inside her hot hole, his saliva running down the cheeks of her arse, dripping onto the bed. Then he stood up, licking his lips eagerly, before pushing his cock inside her.

She gasped, as his thick pole entered her. Her head dropped down onto the bed and she felt the cool, smooth silk of the sheets against her sweaty skin. Henry began to pick up a steady rhythm, his turgid dick slamming inside her bowels. Her whole body shook with every thrust. He held her firmly at the waist, as he pounded away at her arse. He had to admit, she was quite a sight, stretched out on the bed in front of him; one arm reaching out ahead of her, grabbing hold of the bedding, the other hidden underneath her body, rubbing her clit once more.

He marvelled at her shape, her sensual form. The long expanse of her soft, smooth back, leading down to the dimples at the base of her spine. The obscene upturn of her buttocks, the succulent, juicy flesh of her cheeks. Her legs spread wide, thick and shapely. The contrast between the creamy white texture of her skin and the shiny surface of her black stockings.

And then there was the sight of his cock, swallowed whole by her perfect anal passage. His daughter's arsehole welcoming him inside her, without hesitation or complaint. He loved its tightness. He loved its heat. He pulled his dick all the way out and she was fully dilated now, a dark gaping hole between the impossibly luscious mounds of her bum. He leaned over, lining up his mouth with her anus. Then, he dropped a big glob of saliva. He hit the target first time, and it disappeared inside her. Her sphincter twitched momentarily, then he rammed his prick back inside and resumed the intense butt-fucking.

Both of them were grunting and moaning and panting, their bodies covered in sweat. He could feel it dripping down his back and forehead, stinging his eyes. Hannah had already cum multiple times, and was droning like a siren as they fucked. Henry could feel his own orgasm brewing, as his balls tightened and his cock continued to swell. He could cum inside her, normally that was both their preference, but sometimes he wanted something a little more visual.

He withdrew his cock and slapped it against her buttocks a few times.

"Turn around." He said, sternly. "Daddy wants you to suck his dirty cock."

She immediately did as she was told, shifting round quickly and wrapping her lips round his prick. The dirty cock thing was just talk. Hannah had known anal sex was going to be on the menu that afternoon, she had suggested it, so she had made sure she was properly prepared, and scrupulously clean. It was more a symbolic thing, the act in of itself. Letting her own biological father fuck her up the arse, and then sucking him off the moment he withdrew. So wrong. So nasty.

He lasted a couple more minutes, but pretty soon he was ready to cum. Henry pulled out and began jerking off in front of her. She opened her mouth wide, sticking out her tongue. Then he suddenly erupted, ribbons of creamy jizz shooting out of his dick and landing on her face. Long stripes of it, on her chin, her cheeks, her nose, her forehead. Like the best little girl, like the best little porn star, she didn't flinch or move. She took his full load, happily.

"Thank you, Daddy." She squeaked out, before licking her lips.

"No, thank you, sweetheart." He replied, leaning down to kiss her, her face glazed with his cum.

Eventually, they made their way into the bathroom, both of them ending up in the tub. They spent a leisurely hour or two just fooling around a little. A little groping, a little stroking, a dash of mutual masturbation. Then they washed each other's hair. It was a blissful moment of quiet intimacy, where they felt utterly safe and utterly secure. Both Henry and Hannah lived with this dark secret in their lives, a shadow constantly hanging over them. An undercurrent of tension that, in truth, never really dissipated. What would happen if people found out? What would happen if people discovered their secret?

But at times like this, that all seemed so far away. There was just him and her, and this crazy love they had unearthed and shared together. But if they ever really believed their secret was safe, they were about to discover how wrong they were.

7

Once they got back to the flat, Siobhan promptly connected her camera - well, her college's camera - to Al's laptop. Nothing was said about their encounter, after she had fallen over. Nothing was said about how she had spread her legs and flashed him her cunt. Both of them thought about it, though. A lot.

She had taken more than a hundred photos but most of them were entirely innocent. Half of them just showed what they assumed was Henry Sellers sat with his back to them. But then Hannah Sellers - and they could see it was Hannah Sellers - climbed out of the pool to join him.

"Christ, she looks amazing in that bikini." Siobhan said, mournfully. "I wish I had a body like her's."

"Don't be daft Pud. You've got a great body." He said, immediately regretting saying anything.

"I'm fat. Why do you think you call me Pudding?"

"No. No, you're not. You're very beautiful." Al was committed now. "You're just as good looking as she is."

She smiled, blushing a little. Al wasn't just bullshitting her because she was his daughter. He meant every word. Hannah Sellers looked like she was perhaps a little bit taller than Siobhan, and she was almost certainly a tad slimmer, but in many ways they could pass for sisters. They were both redheads - although Siobhan's hair hadn't been that natural colour for a couple of years now - and they were both very voluptuous. Al knew exactly how lovely his daughter's body was, he'd seen almost every inch of it up close just an hour or so earlier. Especially her baby smooth snatch.

The photos themselves weren't exactly damning, but they were certainly suggestive. You could see the easy intimacy that existed between them. It was there in the way Henry's hand rested casually on her hip, or how she showed absolutely no inhibitions as she dried her body in front of him. There were photos that seemed to show them kissing, but the position of Henry's lounger meant it was hard to see properly. If you saw these pictures and you didn't know these two people were related to one another, you might easily assume they were lovers. But these photos were not conclusive. They wouldn't be enough.

When Siobhan had asked him how we would get evidence of Henry and Hannah's misdeeds, he had told her he had a couple of ideas. One of them had been their little day trip out in to the country, which had only been partly successful. That was hardly a surprise. Al had always thought it unlikely he would catch the PM in the act, out in the open. It's not as if he was likely to get a photo of them fucking in the garden at Chequers.

So Plan A had not exactly hit pay dirt.

Al hoped Plan B might be more successful. And Plan B involved a guy called Noodles.

He was a techie, a geek, a gamer, a computer expert. Al had met him when he'd done a story about cyber-crime. The somewhat unusual name came from the fact he seemed to exist purely on a diet of Pot Noodles. He always had a cup on the go, his conversation regularly punctuated by the slurping sound of high fat, high salt, convenience food disappearing into his mouth.

Noodles liked everything to be done face to face. For a man who understood the scope and range of what once had been called the information superhighway, he was quite averse to communicating online. He lived just off an industrial estate, not far from Colliers Wood. His home was a large lock-up garage. It was a dark, dank place, mostly illuminated by the dozens of computer screens that flickered with activity. In one corner, there was a camp bed, a small fridge and a Primus stove. There was a sink nearby, with a garden hose snaking out of it. Al assumed this was what Noodles used to wash himself, although he never asked about the details.

Siobhan had insisted on coming along with him. She had become deeply invested in the whole thing, for reasons he could only guess at. She was being far more chatty about the subject of Henry Sellers' potentially incestuous love life than she had been about any topic he could remember.

"How do you think it began?" She'd asked him, and not for the first time, as she swiped through the photos of Henry and Hannah she had taken of them a day or two before.

"I don't know. Maybe he forced himself on her?"

"That's not what it looks like from the video of them fucking. Or these photos. She seems to be just as into this as he is. Perhaps more so."

"Yeah, but he could've been grooming her since she was a kid. If you abuse a child long enough, the child might tell itself it's not being abused. Maybe she's convinced herself she's part of a relationship and not a victim."

"You don't know that!" Siobhan shouted, suddenly. "You don't know she's a victim!"

"Well, whatever it is, it's pretty bloody weird. Fathers don't just fuck their daughters for no reason!"

Siobhan stared at him for a moment, and then looked down at the laptop in front of her. She didn't say anything for a while, and he assumed the conversation was over. But then, she suddenly piped up again.

"Look at all these photos."

He walked up behind her, looking over her shoulder at the computer screen. Again, he was wholly conscious of their physical proximity and the heat her body generated. She had Googled hundreds of images of Henry and Hannah together. Pictures of the couple stood outside Downing Street. Pictures of them on the election campaign together. Pictures of them embracing after he had given his conference speech. This handsome older man and his gorgeous daughter.

"You can see how close they are." Siobhan said, quietly. "Just look at them. Once you know they are together, I mean together together, you can see it. You can see it in the way they look at each other. They're in love. Totally in love. See at the way she gazes up at him? The adoration in her eyes?"