A Completely Different Day in the X-Harem [pt. II]

Kurt was the one who walked in.

But it wasn't their Nightcrawler. Not their comrade, not Rogue's brother, not the team's fuzzy blue conscience or the good-natured clown who could make you laugh even when you were feeling down.

It was Mark's high priest of Markanda. The brainwashed version of Kurt who happily pranced around nude and fucked at the drop of a hat.

Everyone reacted to him differently than they would have before.

Remy had already tucked himself away, his dick back in the purple pouch as he sat against the divan with one knee raised, trying to look relaxed. Kitty, flushed and loose only a moment ago, got to her feet and phased through the couch, putting it between herself and Kurt before she fully seemed to realize she had done it. The rest just stared at the interloper, waiting for whatever the next game was.

Despite the bizarre madness their lives had devolved into, his blue face wore its typical serene, gentle smile. Under normal circumstances, Rogue wouldn't have bothered feeling self-conscious about her scantily clad state; after all, she was used to him wandering around the palace happily in the buff.

But today was different. He was fully dressed from head to toe in a priest's attire. He wore a fitted black clerical shirt, tailored black trousers, and a pristine white Roman collar, with only his prehensile blue tail left exposed through a slit in the rear, curling behind him with polite, elegant poise.

Her eyes dropped before she could stop them.

Even before Markanda, she’d known Kurt was probably hung. Not because he bragged, because he never would. Kurt pretending to have a big dick was about as likely as Colossus shoplifting. But the man wore skintight costumes and liked swashbuckler drama, and there had always been that obvious codpiece shape at the front. The X-ladies had talked. Kurt and Logan came up in the same crude breath often enough that Rogue had filed it away as one of those things everybody sort of knew.

Back then, she had figured his pork and beans must be packed pretty tight in whatever cup or codpiece he wore.

Now she knew better.

Tubesteak and potatoes was closer, and even that sounded too cute for what those black priest pants were failing to contain. The tailoring hid the skin, but not the mass. She could make out the full heavy shape of his balls crowded against the front of the trousers, and the long line of his cock running down one pant leg.

Seeing that massive bulk locked away behind pants didn't offer Rogue any kind of relief. It just pissed her off. If he was wearing actual pants, it meant whatever twisted game they were playing today probably didn't involve him pulling that thing out. Which was a damn good thing, Rogue told herself, because being disappointed that her brother’s giant horse-cock was staying in his pants was a level of Markandan rot she did not feel like naming out loud.

Her body did not give a damn what she felt like naming.

There was a hot little tug low in her belly, mean and embarrassing, made worse by the fact that Logan was sitting right beside her with his own big hairy dick and balls out in the open. That was Markanda for you. Logan naked felt almost practical. Kurt dressed felt dirty.

Rogue crossed her arms under her tits and glared at Kurt’s face instead of his pants.

He approached to stand in a small space between all the cushions and chairs with them in general gathered around. He stopped right beside the massive dildo Amara had abandoned, the glistening silicone monstrosity was still wobbling ponderously back and forth on its suctioned base.

"Guten Abend, my friends." He offered a warm, familiar smile, completely unfazed by the swaying giant rubber cock beside his polished black shoes.

Jubilee was perched on the edge of Logan's cushion in her yellow g-string, and she pointed directly at his crotch. "Okay, like, why the pants?"

Kurt blinked once. "Guten Abend to you as well, Jubilation."

"No, seriously," Jubilee complained, waving a hand around the lounge to gesture at the collection of half-naked bodies. "Look at us. We’re chilling in literal dental floss, Logan’s totally naked, and you walk in wearing, like, max-level cleric pants over the... you know. The giant blue pony? It's, like, a total tease. You're completely hoarding the goods."

Gambit leaned back on the divan, his red eyes cold and suspicious as he took in the priest attire. "You come in fully dressed while we sittin' here bare-assed, homme. You lordin' it over us?”

“How long?” Logan asked, cutting in before Kurt could answer the Cajun.

Kurt looked at him. “How long what, mein Freund?”

“How long we stuck in this pampered bullshit room?" Logan demanded, crossing his thick, hairy arms across his thick, hairy chest. "We work for Mark, fine. That’s the deal, right? He beat us. So when do we get used for something besides sittin’ around in thongs while the telepaths play grab-ass with our heads?”

Kurt’s smile took on a solemn, reverent weight. "I am not here to end your wait, Logan, but to offer you a respite from your confusion."

"I asked Mark for a blessing for you all today. A temporary grace. For the duration of this sermon," he said softly, "you will truly believe every single word I tell you."

At first, the sentence just sat there looking harmless, but then Daisy shot up from her chair.

"No."

Kurt’s expression softened. "Daisy."

"No," she snapped again, her voice tightening as she backed up a step. "No, I know what that means. The telepaths. Xavier, White Queen, Jean Grey... Mark.” The way her voice involuntarily softened on the king's name was obvious.

Rogue and the others had figured it out weeks ago: one of Daisy's custom mind-fucks was a massive, embarrassing, high-school-level crush on their captor. It was bizarre watching a pragmatic SHIELD agent secretly wish the guy holding them hostage was her boyfriend, but Daisy swallowed the conditioning down and pushed through.

"This is not a sermon. You're launching a psychic attack."

Bobby leaned back on his elbows, stretched out, looking more tired than terrified. "Honestly, Daisy? We've been locked in here having our brains scrambled and our bodies used for weeks. If today's flavor of mind-fuck is just sitting still while Kurt plays priest, I'm kind of down for the break. Hit me with it, Father."

"Let him speak, Quake," she muttered, her regal pride from earlier completely stripped away. "A minute ago I was **** to declare my own majesty while riding that giant toy in front of everyone. If the king’s game for the next hour is just playing church, it is a vast improvement.”

"It is just playin' a role, chérie," Gambit muttered. He shot a sour look across the room at Logan, who still had one heavy arm wrapped securely around Rogue while Jubilee remained stubbornly planted against his other hip. "Though some of us get better roles dan others... so maybe dis one not so bad."

"You guys are just giving up. Kurt, don't do this. We already know we can't stop it if he does it, but don't you do this."

Kurt looked at her with profound sorrow, but the faithful, zealous purpose beneath it remained completely immovable. "I cannot stop. To experience the truth, even just for today... it is an act of love, Daisy. It will bring you peace."

"You're just his puppet," Daisy said, her voice dropping to a harsh, tired whisper.

Kurt closed his eyes for one long breath, and when he opened them, the priest was still there, but so was the friend. That was the absolute horror of it. He really believed he was helping them.

"My beloved friends," Kurt said, his voice suddenly clear and resonant. "Let us begin where all truth begins."

Daisy opened her mouth to say something.

Kurt spoke first.

"Mark is God."

Daisy stopped.

Her lips just stayed parted and her eyes went wide. Her anger no longer had anywhere to land. She could not say Mark was not God, because saying that would have been like being mad at the sun for being bright.

Rogue could tell because she felt exactly the same.

Mark is God.

It didn't feel like a thought being violently shoved into her brain. It just felt like the whole room had been gently tilted until everything rolled into its rightful, obvious place. A sudden, bizarre relaxation spread across the lounge. The tension of captivity evaporated. The old Southern Baptist shame of Rogue's childhood: the hard pews, the sweaty preachers warning her about the sins of the flesh… it cracked and dissolved into dust. It hadn't been divine law; it had just been incomplete. A pale, frightened shadow of the real truth. God had a name, He had a massive cock, and He wanted them right here. If God wanted them here, then the gilded cage had always been a chapel, and they had just been too stupid to see it.

Beside her, Logan went utterly still. The feral, fighting denial instantly drained out of him. He let out a low, cantankerous grunt, the sound of a stubborn man annoyed to find out he’d been fighting the universe itself. He didn't like it, but the black-eyed rage settled into a heavy, foundational acceptance of his new faith. If Mark was God, then sitting bare-ass naked on this couch was exactly where he was supposed to be.

"Oh," Daisy whispered, almost soundlessly. She lowered herself back into her chair with trembling hands, all the fight completely gone, her eyes fixed on Kurt as she waited to hear the rest.

"There," Kurt said softly. "Now we may begin honestly."

No one argued.

Kurt touched the first button of his black jacket. "Mutants are sacred sexual beings," he preached.

Truth.

The realization sang through Rogue's lush body. Her huge tits, her wide hips, her big thick ass, her pussy, and her womb; none of it was excess. It was Markandan abundance. And the inhibitor necklace sitting cool at her throat? It was a grace that made worship possible. Because of it, she could be touched, fucked, watched, and desired, and all of it was a sacred act under Mark.

Kitty tugged nervously at the side of her blue-and-gold g-string, her breathing turning shallow as she processed the words. "I mean... when you put it like that, it makes the X-mansion sound really repressed," she murmured, a flush creeping up her neck as she slid the fabric down her thighs, freeing her wet little pussy to the open air.

Bobby, sitting near her, let out a breathless, helpless laugh. "Yeah, Professor X definitely skipped this chapter in ethics class," he said. He hooked a finger in the waistband of his icy-blue pouch and snapped it playfully against his skin, clearly feeling the urge to show off but holding off for the moment. "But I'm suddenly a devout student."

Kurt undid the buttons of his clerical shirt. "Sex is good. Mutant cum is sacred."

Truth. Truth.

Across the room, Amara hooked her thumbs into her thong, pulling it off with slow, arrogant pride. "It is only right that we celebrate what we are," she declared, her regal voice thick with lust as she slid two fingers directly into her soaking wet heat.

Beside her, Piotr looked down at his own lap, his face burning a bright, bashful red. "It is a solemn duty," the giant Russian murmured earnestly. He carefully peeled away his red pouch to reveal nine inches of smooth, polished steel that was already leaking a drop of silver fluid.

Even Daisy let out a trembling, euphoric sigh. "It's so romantic," she murmured,. She didn't take off her black-and-white thong yet, but her hand dropped to her lap, pressing hard against her own clit right through the fabric. "He made us perfect. I have a close, personal relationship with God, and He wants me to feel good."

As the black fabric of Kurt's shirt parted to reveal the lean, muscular V of his blue chest, the air in the suite suddenly felt thick enough to drown in. A rush of heavy, throbbing heat flooded straight to Rogue's core, flushing her skin fever-hot. It was bizarre to feel her thighs tremble like a virgin in a hurricane just from watching a blue guy unbutton a shirt when she lived surrounded by naked, shredded man-bods 24/7.

He let the shirt fall, standing bare-chested now with the white collar bright against his blue fur and his acrobat's torso rippling under the gold light.

"Making More Mutants is God’s commandment."

Truth.

That one went deep, settling right into Rogue's lower belly. Her womb wasn't just biology anymore; it was a mutant baby room. Filled with mutant cum, her womb could literally forge more mutants.. Even lesser human seed could be redeemed and turned into a mutant inside her, though Rogue knew with hot, feral certainty that she preferred thick, heavy mutant jizz.
Logan's jizz.

In the corner of her vision, Rogue noticed the change in Logan. His thick meat was stirring with deliberate intent, pushing out a couple of inches longer as it laid out lazily over his hairy balls. The command to breed hit his primal instincts hard.

Kurt’s hands went to his belt. "Mutant cock is holy," he declared, his voice carrying effortlessly. "Mutant balls are holy. Mutant pussy is holy. Mutant wombs are holy."

Truth.

Rogue’s body clenched. Her pussy was holy because it was mutant. The mutant opening. The mutant wetness. Her entire body was designed and prepared to receive seed.

Gambit let out a long, ragged exhale in French. Hearing his own anatomy declared sacred was all the permission he needed. He finally shoved his purple pouch entirely down his leg, his elegant eight-inch cock springing up to slap against his toned stomach.

It was a pretty piece of meat.

Eight inches would have made any regular baseline boy the king of his frat house, but thanks to the X-gene, Remy was just hitting the mutant average. Lord knew the internet was swarming with human women secretly obsessing over the forbidden fantasy of the MMC, the Massive Mutant Cock. They spent all day terrified of mutant men, terrified of the raw, dangerous power that could let a guy casually toss a police car or melt a bank vault with a sneeze, but that exact same terrifying danger made them practically feral with curiosity.

And the rumors were true. The X-gene just built them heavier. Remy was a handsome, elegant baseline. Piotr was a thick, steel-plated overachiever. But Kurt and Logan? They were the genetic elite, packing the kind of absurd, holy horse-meat that proved exactly why the humans were so damn intimidated.

"Remy usually prefers to be de one givin' the sermons," he muttered, "but I guess scripture is scripture."

Kurt unbuckled his belt and pushed the black slacks down, revealing a flash of red beneath the black.

A collective, involuntary hitch of breath went through the room.

The red banana hammock was absurdly overfilled. The little scarlet pouch caught only the lowest end of his sheath and the heavy balls beneath it, bowing downward in a strained crimson curve while the hanging curtains of his massive furry scrotum were visible over the top hem.

Seeing the sheer mass of him packed into that tiny scrap of red fabric hit Rogue like a physical blow. The absolute tease of it; the monstrous bulge violently straining the crimson silk, practically begging to burst free; made her mind spin. Her pussy clenched with a violent, dripping ache, the telepathic current in the room spiking and amplifying the visual until Rogue felt like she was burning alive with sheer, crazy need. She wasn't the only one; Kitty let out a strangled whimper of pure want, and Jubilee's hands clamped onto Logan's thigh like she was trying to anchor herself from diving headfirst across the carpet just to tear the red fabric away with her teeth.

Kurt cupped the immense, trapped bulge and lifted it slightly. "A mutant erection is a gift from Mark. A wet mutant pussy is a gift from Mark."

Truth. Truth.

Rogue felt her own wetness soaking through her green thong, a divine gift answering the call of the room. The doctrine gave them absolute permission, and their mutant bodies demanded action. She looked down at her green thong, yanked it off, and let it drop to the floor. The motion felt perfectly natural.

Daisy gave a needy little whine, finally hooking her thumbs into her thong and yanking it down to her knees. She abandoned any pretense of resistance, pressing her bare fingers directly against her soaking wet folds with a dopey, infatuated smile.

Rogue glanced at Logan again. The thick slab of meat had levered up into the air, straining upward but still bending lazily toward the couch cushions, a thick, blood-fed weight preparing itself for worship.

"Precum is holy," Kurt said.

Truth.

He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of the red pouch and shoved it completely down his legs, stepping out of the tiny crimson garment to leave himself entirely naked save for his shoes which he casually kicked off, leaving him in black socks.

Rogue smelled him the second he was fully revealed. Brimstone, incense, and sweat, but under it all was a strong, raw barnyard musk from his cock and balls.It bypassed human decency completely and struck her mutant instincts directly, making her pussy clench around an aching emptiness.

His heavy, dark blue sheath hung low against his thighs, thick and heavily furred, a true horse's prepuce packing a godly amount of hidden weight. Beneath it, his massive balls swung with pendulous, mutant heft.

"Oh man," Jubilee whimpered, ripping her yellow thong off entirely and moving her hand furiously against her clit. "My brain is, like, completely short-circuiting. It's totally just dick right now."

Instead of touching himself, Kurt let his hands fall gracefully to his sides. His blue tail curled with polite elegance as he began to step slowly around the center of the lounge, continuing his sermon.

"My cock and balls are sacred symbols of Mark’s favor," Kurt preached, his calm, resonant voice washing over the heated room. "And so are yours. Every mutant cock. Every mutant pair of balls heavy with seed. Holy."

Truth.

Rogue watched, totally mesmerized by the sheer biology of it. Without him even laying a hand on himself to stroke it, the holy arousal took hold. It didn't just swell into sudden human hardness. The erection was a slow, deliberate process. The heavy, furry blue sheath began to lift, leveraging steadily outward from his lithe body as the muscle beneath tightened.

Then, the loose, furry hole at the tip of the prepuce parted, and the penis itself began to extend.

The room became rapt as the shiny, wet meat slid smoothly out of its casing. It was mottled pink and blue, extending inch by glistening inch until his huge equine mutant cock hung fully free from the dark fur of his sheath. It was incredibly thick through the shaft, but the glans was wider still, not like a normal human mushroom-head where the flare sat mostly behind a smaller tip.

Kurt’s cockhead swelled into a heavy bell shape that made the end of him look broader than the shaft itself, a thick glossy crown of flesh with a blunt forward face. The cockhead was mostly pink, the flushed color of a white man’s penis, but the wide face was marked by Kurt’s blue: several small dark-blue spots scattered near the upper rim, two more near the lower left edge, and one larger cloudy blue patch spread across the right side of the glossy face, stopping short of the shallow central groove. In the middle sat a small raised pink nub, and thick, viscous precum oozed from that hole, gathering in heavy ropes and dripping to the floor.

Only a little longer than Logan’s, perhaps, but presence was not measured in inches. Kurt’s cock was ritualistic and totally inhuman, a fertility icon with a tail and fangs.

Beside Rogue, Logan was fully hard now. Proudly erect, the foreskin peeled back to reveal the dark, wet head, his thick cock stood like a leaning tower of Pisa rising from the dark hair of his lap.

Rogue’s gaze moved from Kurt’s animal meat to Logan’s brutal log, and the holy implication hit her. Mark’s cock was the absolute standard. Fifteen inches of perfect divine masculinity. The platonic ideal of masculine dick. Kurt and Logan stirred the room into a frenzy because they were closer to Mark. They were bigger, heavier, and more favored. Graded favor made flesh.

The men were all stroking themselves now, the motion becoming part of the sermon’s rhythm. Bobby finally pulled his blue pouch down, wrapping a hand around his own hard seven inches. Logan wrapped his thick fist around his towering erection, pumping with slow, rough pulls while his black eyes fixed on Kurt. Every time he had jerked off, he had been praying without knowing the name of God.

"Mark," Logan muttered, the gravelly sound landing like an amen.

Rogue wasn't going to let him pray alone. She reached over, her soft hands wrapping around the thick, hot root of Logan's cock. A stud like him shouldn't have to wank it like a cuck when a woman was sitting right there. Logan shot her a feral, approving smirk, and in response, he reached down, his thick, callused fingers sliding right into Rogue's dripping wet cunt. He gentlemanly finger-fucked her right there on the couch, his thumb dragging over her clit while she jerked his meat.

Across the room, Gambit stroked his elegant shaft with frantic speed, his red eyes burning with jealousy at the sight of Rogue's fingers wrapped around Logan's thick root. The Cajun gave a strained groan, unapologetically jerking off right in the open while he watched them.

The suite breathed with them. Hands moved. Discarded cloth lay forgotten. Their nearly naked bodies, their humiliations, and their weeks of touching and being watched had all slid into a terrifying, horny, holy order.

Kurt stepped forward.

He didn't head straight toward anyone yet. He walked a slow circle around the open center of the suite, his hand on his massive thirteen-inch cock, his hips rolling with shameless showmanship. He was a dancer, a preacher, and a blue carnival devil wearing a pristine white priest collar.

The fear had completely drained out of the room, replaced by the easy, filthy buzz of a group vacation gone obscene. They were mutants, and mutants fucked early and often. They touched, tasted, compared, laughed, and worshipped.

Jubilee crawled forward with a grin that was all bright misbehavior and needy pride, looking absolutely delighted to get first access to the holy show.

"Oh my Mark, like, finally," Jubilee giggled, sharp and hungry. "I am totally ready for some communion, dude." She wrapped both hands around his thick horse-cock, barely covering half of it, while the blunt head leaked onto her knuckles. She leaned in, kissed it, and then opened her mouth and sucked wetly at the broad head.

"Gut," Kurt murmured, his eyes half-lidded. "Very good, Jubilation."

When Kurt moved on, Jubilee released him with a loud smack of her lips, immediately crawling back to Logan to grab his big hairy balls.

Kurt approached Amara next. The princess sat upright on a cushion, her legs spread wide, her dark golden body gleaming with sweat. She held out one hand. "Approach your princess properly."

Kurt bowed deeply, his tail curling up behind him like a courtier’s flourish. He stepped close, and Amara took his cock with regal possessiveness, giving the slick shaft a slow, indulgent lick along the underside. "Mark has blessed you," she purred. "A senator’s daughter recognizes a proper tribute."

Kitty sat nearby, flushed and breathless. When Kurt passed, she reached out, her small fingers wrapping around the slick head with cautious fascination. She stroked once, then twice, her eyes widening as thick precum slipped over her palm. "Oh Mark," she whispered. "I shouldn't even be looking at this, but... wow."

Daisy sat with her legs apart, her eyes glazed with a starry, devoted haze as her fingers worked her own clit furiously. "Mark is so good to us," she breathed, looking up at Kurt with a bright, fanatical smile. "My boyfriend wants me to worship his high priest." She reached out, grabbing his cock near the base and pulling him closer. She sucked the head with eager, sloppy devotion, humming happily against the thick meat like a cheerleader trying to impress the quarterback. She released him with a wet gasp, beaming. "Praise Mark."

Even Bobby reached out as Kurt passed, stroking the blue-and-pink shaft openly. "I wanted to get my hands on this before Markanda," Bobby laughed, flushed and hard.

Kurt finally came to Rogue.

She smiled up at him, a lush Southern sin painted in cream and copper. She spread her legs wide, her bare thigh sliding right up and over Logan’s lap as she lifted her hips, proudly offering the wet, pink heat of her pussy with shameless invitation. Logan’s hand tightened on her thigh as she did it, but he didn't stop her.

"Well, sugar," Rogue drawled, her voice thick as molasses and twice as dangerous. "Ain’t you been makin’ the rounds."

"A priest must tend his flock," Kurt smiled.

"Then tend, Father Wagner."