Behind the Black Door

Henry slammed his dick inside her.

He roared. She screamed. She came. Right there on that bed, with her daddy's dick inside her.

Christ, she's so tight! He thought to himself. Her cunt's so tight!

He didn't want to be anywhere else. He didn't want to be inside anything else, other than his daughter's pussy, ever again. He just wanted to luxuriate in this intense feeling, wallow in it. Marvel at her silky tightness. His cock twitched and pulsed, the muscles of her twat massaging and squeezing his meaty pole. She was baring her teeth at him, almost growling as he plundered her forbidden depths. She was pulling and twisting at her own nipples with such ferocity, it looked like she wanted to tear them clean off.

After standing there for thirty seconds or more, just overwhelmed by the pure carnal sensation of this illicit act, he slowly, almost reluctantly, pulled back his hips; his cock withdrawing from her hot, hot snatch. Her vaginal lips clung to him as if they had a mind of their own and they couldn't bear to be separated from his shaft. Then, after he had almost completely pulled himself out, only the head of his cock still remaining inside her, he grabbed hold of her waist and rammed home once more. Hannah experienced another powerful orgasm, her eyes rolling back into her skull as the waves of sexual ecstasy radiated through her luscious frame.

God, am I going to cum every time his dick is inside me? She thought to herself. Fuck, if that's the case, I'm going to be doing nothing other than screwing my Dad.

Henry began to slide his cock in and out, building up a steady rhythm. Hannah didn't cum with every thrust, but she came more than once as he fucked her. She wrapped her legs round his waist and he bent down to lick her breasts. She ran her fingers through his hair and then they kissed deeply. Both of them were building up quite a sweat now, and beads of moisture ran down his nose and dripped onto her cheeks and forehead.

She brought her middle finger to her mouth and sucked on it for a few moments, getting it good and wet. Then she reached round and started rubbing at his anus, before slipping it inside. Henry gasped, then chuckled at his daughter's precocious sexuality.

"Well, you're certainly no virgin, are you little girl?" He grunted. "Who have you been fucking?"

"Oh, lots of people, Daddy. I knew I had to get match fit if I was going to sleep with you."

Hannah was exaggerating, but only just. She had been a fairly innocent teenager, but she had gone through something of a wild child phase after her mother died. She kept it from him mostly, but it had certainly happened. She started drinking, experimenting with drugs. And she started fucking. Sex was human contact, after all. Sex was warmth. Sex was reassurance.

It was only relatively recently that she had begun to think of her father as a potential sexual partner, but maybe on some subconscious level she had known what was going to happen for a lot longer than that. And she had known she had to be ready. So, she had done her research. She had consumed a lot of porn, read a lot of erotic fiction, and she had fucked her fair share of sexual partners.

Which had led her here, lying on her back on what had been her parents' bed, getting fucked by her father, as she fingered his arsehole.

The extra stimulation she was providing only spurred Henry on, and he picked up the pace. His hips moved back and forth frantically. His large cock powerfully thrusting in and out of her gash.

"Harder, fuck me harder!" She screamed at him, almost furious with desire. "Use me. Use my cunt. Make me your little slut!"

Henry reached up and wrapped his hand round her throat. He tightened it, choking her a little. Not too much, but enough for her face to become more flushed and her voice to become a little distorted.

"Yes, that's it! Choke me, hurt me, fuck me, Daddy."

He kissed her again and loosened his grip. Her mother had enjoyed a little breath play, and it seems their daughter had inherited her tastes and desires. He resumed the intense pounding he was giving her, and pretty soon he could feel himself close to orgasm.

"Daddy's going to cum, baby. Where do you want it?"

"Inside my cunt, Daddy. Cum inside my cunt."

He had never been able to deny her anything, so he was unlikely to start now. Within a few seconds he was shooting ribbons of creamy cum against the walls of her twat, bathing her womb with his potent seed. His prick twitched and pulsed once more, as he squirted his baby-gravy inside her. He bellowed like Tarzan as he came. She squirmed around beneath him, overwhelmed by sexual ecstasy. Once he was finished, he collapsed on top of her.

The two of them lay there for a while, his dick still inside her, both of them panting like dogs, her hands roaming over his sticky back. Finally, she pushed him off and he rolled over on to his side. The two of them gazed at each other, as Henry brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. They both smiled shyly at each other, suddenly aware of the intimacy and novelty of their position.

"So..." He said.

"So..." She replied.

"No regrets?"

"Fuck, no!" She giggled. "We should've done this years ago."

"Years?"

"Well, maybe not years. Months."

"So, what do we do now?"

"Hmmm...I propose we wait ten minutes or so, so you can recharge, then we fuck some more."

"That sounds great, but I meant more long term?"

"Oh. Long term. I don't know. Do you want this to continue? Or is this a one-off thing?"

"No. I want this to continue. I want us to continue."

"Let's not worry about it then. Let it be what it is. Whatever it will be."

"Okay."

"So, do you think if I sucked you off, you'd get hard again sooner?" She asked, with one eyebrow raised.

"I don't know. Let's find out."

So they did.

Looking back on that night, which Henry did with a certain nostalgic regularity, certain things stuck in his memory. Firstly, what a dirty little whore his daughter was. He hadn't imagined she was an innocent little virgin, but he had been surprised by quite how easily she had slipped into the role of teenage nymphet. The whole bum-fun thing was a shocker for starters. He was to discover in the following weeks and months that Hannah had a bit of a fixation when it came to the anus. She loved rimming, both giving and receiving, and she was an absolute firecracker when it came to getting fucked up the arse.

Secondly, he was truly astonished by how easy and uncomplicated the sex was. Sleeping with someone for the first time can be awkward, to say the least. Sleeping with your daughter should be doubly so. But right from the start, their lovemaking was so straightforward and comfortable. The mechanics of it were so simple. They got into an easy groove from the get go.

The most extraordinary thing was the complete lack of guilt. Neither of them felt the slightest unease about their behaviour, despite the fact it was illegal and frowned upon by all right-minded individuals worldwide. Henry and Hannah knew they would have to be careful but neither of them felt the slightest compunction about their affair. They had both committed to each other, and they had no doubts.

They loved each other. They were in love with each other. That was all that mattered.

The incestuous relationship that began on a cold January night in the northwest of England continued apace as Henry's political fortunes soared right up into the stratosphere. Within the year, a general election was called and he was out on the road, campaigning here, there and everywhere. Hannah was by his side every step of the way, and she was considered by many political pundits to be the star of the election. She was a natural with the crowds, a budding politician in the making, and the fact she was drop dead gorgeous didn't hurt either. And every night, usually in a cheap hotel bedroom, they would fuck like rabbits, hiding their love in plain sight.

The British electoral system was meant to bring order and stability, traditionally leading to a government with a clear majority. But that tendency had faded in recent years, with the gradual fragmentation of older political coalitions. The most recent election had ended with no clear winner, but Henry's party had won the most votes and the most seats. So, following a few days of inter-party negotiations, he became prime minister, heading a coalition government of the progressive left.

As he had imagined, it was almost a surreal moment for this most ambitious of politicians, to be stood in front of that famous black door, about to enter the building for the first time as the head of government. Of course, exactly as promised, Hannah was right there next to him, holding his hand. His tragic story was well known, the first widower to become PM since Ramsay MacDonald. He too had a daughter, who had been about Hannah's age when he entered Number Ten. Henry couldn't help but wondering about their relationship, but he seriously doubted that Ishbel MacDonald had insisted on being fucked, bent over the prime ministerial desk, on that first day, the way Hannah had. But you never know.

One of the biggest perks of the job was Chequers, a large manor house about forty miles northwest of central London. It had been the prime minister's country retreat since the First World War. Henry and Hannah spent most of their weekends there. It was quiet, it was remote, and it had a pool. That was why, on a hot Saturday in July, Henry was sat on a lounger, reading government documents, while his daughter did some laps.

Britain does have a summer, despite what some people might say, and there can be glorious sunny days, where the English countryside can look idyllic and picture perfect. This was one of those days. The water was sparkling as Hannah ploughed through it, and Henry occasionally gazed at her glistening, supple flesh. Her body was soft and curvaceous, but she was in great athletic shape too.

He remembered the first time he had become conscious of his daughter's outstanding physique. It had happened in those long dark months after his wife's death, when Hannah slept by his side every night. Henry saw nothing wrong with this at first. To begin with he very much welcomed her presence, needing her support too. The two of them would often fall asleep in each other's arms, crying and howling like wounded animals.

If he'd given it much thought, Henry would probably have assumed, after the initial shock and trauma of Andi's passing, that Hannah would start sleeping in her own bed. But that didn't happen. Instead, without either of them ever commenting on the matter, each night she would join him, slipping under the sheets next to him. Kissing him good night before going to sleep. This went on for a long time.

One morning, he woke up in the early hours. The first light of dawn was creeping through his bedroom window and there was a soft grey tone to the room. He glanced over, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and looked at Hannah. She was still dead to the world, he could hear her snoring softly. She was lying on her side, facing away from him and towards the window.

She usually wore little silk pyjamas or one of his t-shirts as a nightdress. This time she had opted for the latter rather than the former. Hannah had a tendency to move around a lot during the night, and he often found her draped over him when he woke up in the morning. On this occasion, she had kicked off the sheets and her nightie had moved up, revealing much of her legs and body.

Henry was suddenly struck by the shape of her. The maturity of her form. She had this tiny waist and these shapely thighs. He studied the curve of her body, the line of her beauty. And then there was her bum. She was wearing a small pair of knickers and they had ridden up between the cheeks of her arse, revealing the generously upholstered flesh of her buttocks.

Blimey, he thought to himself, she's not my little girl anymore.

There was nothing remotely sexual about his reaction to her that morning. If anything, he had been somewhat amused by this observation. But it was only a few days later when he had suggested she might want to sleep in her own bed from then on. Hannah had agreed, but she had been upset by his suggestion. She still wanted the comfort of being beside him each night.

But there was more to it than that.

Hannah was beginning to view her father in a romantic way. On some level, all girls, at one point or another, view their fathers in that way. It's a perfectly natural part of growing up. Girls will tease and flirt with them. They want to practice their powers of seduction; and their father may be the only adult male available. They may fantasise about them while they masturbate. Hannah definitely did that. A lot. However, over time, these feelings usually fade away and disappear. But with her, they did not. She had become fixated on him. Obsessed. It was kind of innocent, almost juvenile, to begin with. But eventually, it was to become very adult and serious. For both of them.

That was why Henry felt not the slightest compunction staring lustfully at his daughter's body, as she climbed out of the pool on this glorious summer's day. She was wearing a bright red bikini. It was, in theory at least, fairly conservative. But when you had a body like Hannah's, no bikini could truly be called conservative.

She brushed her long wet hair back over her shoulders, and walked towards him. He marvelled at her glistening flesh, beads of water dropping from her frame. He could see the muscles in her legs flex with every step. He could see the stud in her bellybutton flashing and glistening in the brilliant rays of sunlight. He could see her large breasts bounce and jiggle as gravity fought an ongoing battle with the straps of her bikini top. He could see her radiant smile as she approached him.

It was almost like she was moving in slow motion, like that scene from Fast Times at Ridgemont High, where a fantasy Phoebe Cates opens up her bikini top, putting her perky little tits on display. Well, Hannah was a lot bigger than Ms Cates, and she looked a lot hotter in her red swimsuit.

She picked up a towel and began drying her hair, then she lent down and kissed Henry on the top of his head. He lifted his hand up and rested it on her hip, gently fondling her wet flesh. He looked up and they kissed properly. Deeply. Passionately. She rubbed the rising mound in his trousers with her delicate hand.

"You want to go inside and fool around?" She whispered, squeezing his cock firmly.

"Define fool around?" He replied, his hand now cupping her buttock.

"Well, I was envisaging a few hours of fucking and sucking, for starters."

"Is that right?"

"Yes, with perhaps a little light sodomy thrown in."

"You do so love taking Daddy's cock up your arse, don't you?"

"I certainly do. You know it makes me cum like a lunatic."

"You'll have to give me half an hour. I have some important business of state to see to."

"Business of state?" She said with a smirk. "Sounds a bit pompous."

"Well, I have got a country to run, you know." He said, slapping her arse, lightly.

"Okay. Well, I'm going inside. I'm going to have a shower. I'll be waiting for you in bed. I have some absolutely filthy new lingerie I want to show you."

"Is that right?"

"Oh yes. It's incredible how items of clothing that are so small can be so expensive. And when I get dressed up in this stuff, it makes me so fucking horny."

"You're not the only one."

"Chances are, when you finally finish your important work and come find me, I'll be too busy playing with myself to notice."

With that, she stood up straight, turned round and walked back towards the main building. He watched her go, every step of the way, practically drooling at the sight of her buttocks rolling and jiggling along, her hips swaying seductively. Although the illicit lovers bent over backwards to keep their relationship a secret, they did tend to relax more at Chequers. His security team essentially left them alone and there was only a small domestic staff. At the weekend, they pretty much had the place to themselves, which was such a liberation. They could live as the couple they actually were, without a care in the world. No one knew what they were up to. They had no spectators. No audience.

Well, at least that's shat they thought.

As it turns out, Henry and Hannah did have an audience - of sorts - that sunny weekend morning. As the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom and Northern Ireland was playing glad hands with his nubile daughter, about three-quarters of a mile away, hidden in bushes and trees at the edge of a nearby field, a camera clicked and whirred.

Two spectators were paying very close attention indeed.

5

Gwyn Jones had been wrong when she said she had all the proof Al would need. She didn't. But she did have some proof. When she caught the PM and his daughter shagging in an office in Downing Street, she had been shocked and dumbfounded, to say the least. But she had also had the wherewithal to take out her mobile phone and capture the moment for posterity.

The clip was 37 seconds long and Al studied it very carefully. Gwyn had, somewhat reluctantly, let him download a copy and he was now watching it in his flat. The first thing to say was that the camerawork hadn't been very steady. The image was poor and sometimes obscured by her finger covering the lens of her phone. But the clip was disturbing, to say the least.

It was taken through the gap of a doorway, the door itself was just open a fraction. You could hear the sound of grunting and flesh slapping against flesh, before you could see any actual fucking. But pretty soon they came into focus. You could see what looked like two people having sex. Both of them had their backs to the camera. The guy had his trousers and boxers round his ankles, and his arse was thrusting back and forth. In front of him, bent over the desk, was a woman. His frame obscured most of her, but you could see a pair of black stockinged-legs, and a glimpse of creamy, white flesh.

Just before the clip ended, the woman turned her head round, looking back over her shoulder. Whoever she was, she had long red hair, a not dissimilar colour to his own daughter's hair (well, it would be if Siobhan hadn't spent most of the last few years colouring it various different shades of blue or purple). She also had a wide, lusty grin; one she was sharing with the guy who was currently banging her.

"Give it to me, Daddy. Fuck me harder." She said, shamelessly.

Then the clip ended. Al played it again. And again. And again. He studied it obsessively, examining it frame by frame. The man was basically unidentifiable, all you could see were his bum cheeks and his legs, but he appeared to be a similar size and shape to the Prime Minister. The girl he was fucking certainly looked like she could be Hannah Sellers, but nothing was definite. He needed more evidence. He needed confirmation.

So, that was why Al found himself traipsing through the undergrowth in a quiet part of Buckinghamshire, looking for an ideal vantage point to spy on Henry Sellers and his daughter. He wasn't on his own, either. Just behind him was his daughter, Siobhan.

Al had decided to keep this story to himself, for the moment. It seemed a little too shocking, a little too explosive, to be taken to his bosses. At least for now. He didn't know what to do with it, really. This was a major, major exclusive, if it turned out to be true. Possibly, the biggest story of his career. And Al believed it was true. In his gut, he knew it. Experienced journalists developed a sixth sense about these things. You could smell if a story was right. You could feel it in your bones. And Al had that feeling. Stronger than he could ever remember.