A Late Night Release and A Touching Father Daughter Moment

This is a Commissioned Story

---

Year Three of Krakoa, Late Summer
Summer House, Blue Area of the Moon
03:51 Lunar Time

Scott woke alone with his cock throbbing against his stomach.

The pressure reached him before the room came into focus. Each beat of his heart sent another pulse through the rigid shaft, followed by an ache that spread from his balls into the muscles beneath his abdomen. He opened his eyes to the pale blue light pouring through the floor-to-ceiling window and turned toward Jean’s empty side of the bed. Her pillow retained the shallow impression of her head, but the sheets were cool beneath his searching hand.

He pushed the blanket down.

For several seconds, Scott could only stare.

His erection rose from the dark pubic hair at his pelvis and extended across his abdomen, thick from its broad root to the swollen, circumcised head. Veins stood beneath flushed skin, branching along the upper surface before disappearing beneath the flared ridge. Clear fluid glistened at the slit and gathered into a viscous strand that stretched toward his stomach whenever the cock flexed.

His balls were nearly as startling. Drawn close by arousal, they pressed together beneath the shaft in a taut, substantial sac, each one large enough that his palm could not comfortably contain both.

“How did I miss this?” he murmured.

Scott wrapped one hand around the middle of his cock, intending only to judge its girth. His fingers did not meet. The contact sent a hard jolt through him, and his hips lifted before he could stop them, driving several slick inches through his loose fist.

He released it immediately.

The cock bounced against his abdomen and pulsed again.

Scott was larger than Logan.

The realization tightened his breathing. He had always been a solid eight inches, the standard mutant average. Between decades as a sexually active adult and a lifetime of torn uniforms, communal showers, and field medicine, he knew perfectly well where he sat on the distribution. A mutant standing at an even eight inches was larger than ninety-nine percent of baseline humans, but within mutant society, it just meant he wasn't unusually small.

What he was looking at now was entirely outside that curve.

He knew Logan’s body with considerably more intimacy than locker-room familiarity. Their arrangement with Jean had occasionally put all three of them in the same bed, and those nights rarely preserved much modesty. Logan carried twelve inches of blunt, thick cock, long enough to fill Jean’s hand twice over and broad enough that Scott had watched her struggle through the first few inches while smiling at both men through clenched teeth.

Now, his own shaft had greater length and at least as much thickness through the middle, while the root looked broader still. Even his balls exceeded Logan’s, swollen beneath him with an almost painful sense of stored weight. He was pushing into the legendary thirteen- or fourteen-inch territory, a scale so rare it was almost a myth even among mutants.

The thought should have led to immediate alarm. Instead, it blurred at the edges, leaving him with the strange impression that the body beneath him was perfectly proportioned. His newly broadened chest, dense abdomen, powerful hips, and thickly muscled thighs seemed built specifically to support the massive genitals rising between them.

Scott caught the thought slipping and forced himself to hold it.

Seven resurrections. Seven changes. It had been growing steadily for a long time. He’d had better things to worry about than a bigger dick, crises to deal with. And his sex life with Jean had never been better. Still, it was hard to believe he’d gotten this big without really noticing.

His cock throbbed hard enough to interrupt his thoughts.

The ache in his balls sharpened.

Pleasure me. Stroke me.

Scott shook off the asinine intrusive thought of his own dick demanding to be jerked off and he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood, intending to walk it off. His erection projected upward from his pelvis, bobbing with the change in position, while his balls dropped between his thighs and pulled at the cords above them. The first step produced enough movement to send pleasure along the underside of the shaft. By the third, the pressure in his sac had become a deep internal strain.

He entered the bathroom and turned on the shower as cold as it would go. Water hammered his shoulders, ran across his chest, and broke against the broad head of his cock. His skin tightened beneath the spray, but the erection remained rigid. The chill raised gooseflesh everywhere else, but his cock stayed iron-hard, while the great weight between his thighs sagged heavily in its lax pouch, churning with an ever-deepening pressure.

Scott stayed beneath the water until his jaw began to tremble from the cold.

Nothing changed.

He shut off the shower and dried himself with brisk, irritated motions. When he tried to wrap the towel around his waist, the cock forced the fabric outward, then slipped through the opening beside his hip. It sprang free and swung out to extend out before him.

Scott gripped the sink.

Stroke me. Make me cum.

He would not masturbate simply because his body demanded it.

The response came from his balls.

Pressure surged through them so abruptly that his knees nearly gave way. Scott clenched every muscle through his pelvis, but the sensation only intensified. It felt as if the contents of the swollen sac were expanding without room, stretching tissue and compressing the organs from within. There was no uncertainty in what his body told him next.

Empty them now, or they will burst.

If he did not empty them, they would rupture.

The belief was irrational. It was also absolute.

Scott took one step toward the bedroom, determined to call Jean, Beast, anyone capable of examining him. The pressure climbed higher into his abdomen. His cock jerked in the air, spilling a thick bead of precum that rolled down the head and dropped onto the floor.

He stopped.

“No.”

His hand closed around the shaft.

Relief hit so strongly that he bent over the sink, breath escaping through his teeth. He stroked once, from the broad root to the swollen head, and the ache eased enough to let him breathe. When he stopped, it returned twice as hard.

Scott understood the terms his body had set.

He left the bathroom naked and crossed the empty Summer House. His cock swayed in front of him with each long stride, and his balls swayed between his thighs, transmitting their unbearable fullness through every step. The living floor was warm beneath his feet as he descended into the shared living area.

Earth filled the immense window beyond it.

Scott stopped before the glass, surrounded by the blue reflection of the distant planet and the stark gray sweep of the lunar surface. He planted his left palm against the cool window and wrapped his right hand around his cock.

Then he began jerking himself off.

There was nothing controlled about it. His fist worked the shaft furiously, dragging over prominent veins and squeezing around the flared head before plunging back toward the root. Precum spread across his palm within seconds, making every stroke slicker and faster. His hips drove forward to meet his hand, powerful thighs tensing as he fucked the circle of his fist.

Scott stared at his reflection.

A broad, naked man stood against the curve of Earth, shoulders hunched and chest heaving while one arm flexed between his legs. His erection looked enormous in his grip, too thick for one hand and too long to cover with any single stroke. Beneath it, his huge balls hung in that long, loose sac that swung with every thrust. The heavy testicles roiled and pulsed inside it, visibly swollen with the pressure gathering toward release.

He tried to slow.

Pain crushed through the dangling weight of his sac.

Faster. Both hands. Finish.

Scott snarled and seized his cock with both hands. One fist worked the lower shaft while the other pumped the slick upper length, thumb grinding across the open slit. His hips thrust harder. His low-hanging balls slapped against the insides of his thighs, the loose skin shifting around their swollen mass with each movement. The muscles of his abdomen locked, and sweat began to mix with the water still running from his body.

Pleasure rose with brutal speed.

His cock swelled inside his hands, hardening until the shaft felt almost unyielding. Scott’s breathing broke into rough, open-mouthed gasps. The need to climax consumed every thought, reducing the window, the house, and the vast silent landscape outside to a frame around his moving body.

Beneath the root, his massive testicles churned in their pendulous sac.

Scott felt the first contraction deep inside them.

“God.”

The orgasm tore through him.

His cock kicked upward, and the first jet of semen struck the glass with a thick, wet slap. It splashed across the reflected blue of Earth and began sliding downward in a broad white streak. A second blast followed before Scott could draw breath, hitting higher and spreading across the window in a rope of dense, sticky cum.

He kept pumping.

Another pulse surged through his shaft, coating his knuckles before shooting between his fingers. Semen struck his abdomen, clung to the dark hair below his navel, and dripped onto the floor. His balls contracted again and again, each spasm forcing out another thick eruption that painted the glass in long, goopy trails.

Scott’s knees trembled.

He leaned harder against the window and continued stroking through every pulse, milking his cock while the orgasm rolled through his entire body. The amount was impossible. It looked as though a vat of thick cream had burst across the room, except the fluid was denser, stringier, and unmistakably alive with the heat of him.

The final spurts spilled over the broad head and ran down the shaft, covering both hands.
Scott remained against the glass, forehead lowered beside his braced arm, lungs dragging in air. The pressure in his balls had vanished. Warm satisfaction spread from his pelvis into his chest and limbs, leaving every muscle loose and wonderfully spent.

For several long seconds, he could not remember why he had fought it.

Clarity returned with the slowing of his breath.

Scott remained braced against the window, one hand flat on the glass while the other hung slick beside his thigh. His cock had softened only slightly, still swollen and twitching beneath streaks of semen. The last warmth of the orgasm drained from his muscles, and the certainty that his balls had been moments from bursting went with it.

He straightened slowly, staring at the mess before him. Thick white ropes covered the window, sliding over the blue reflection of Earth in sticky trails. More clung to his stomach, coated his fingers, and pooled across the living floor. It looked as though he had splashed a gallon of warm, goopy milk through the room.

Heat crept over his face and neck.

He had stood naked in the shared living space and masturbated against the window with both hands, grunting and thrusting into his fists because some blind pressure inside him had demanded release. He had tried to stop, and his body had punished him until he obeyed.

Something had controlled him.

The thought settled coldly beneath his humiliation.

Scott turned toward the kitchen for a cloth, careful not to step in the nearest puddle. Before he reached the counter, the living floor moved beneath it.

The pale Krakoan surface dimpled, puckered, and began drawing the semen inward.

Scott stood motionless.

His cock gave a small pulse against his thigh.

The thought of another intelligence returned, sharper now. Something in his body had forced him to climax. Something had wanted this. The strange pressure, the certainty of injury, the command beneath his own thoughts…

Forget. Rationalize.

The idea blurred.

Scott frowned, trying to hold it in place, but the sequence began coming apart. There had been no voice. No presence. Only arousal, embarrassment, and a year of ignoring what his new body needed.

He had been restraining himself too much.

Jean had wanted him more often. He knew that. She had said it plainly, and he had kept approaching sex with the same measured discipline he brought to everything else. His body had adapted after seven resurrections, while his habits had not. The pressure this morning had been the result of neglect, not control.

The explanation settled over him with immediate, soothing certainty.

Scott looked down.

Even partly softened, his cock remained enormous, hanging thick and low from his pelvis while his balls shifted beneath it with every breath. That concern did not disappear. No amount of rationalization could make the scale ordinary.

He touched the shaft cautiously, measuring its weight in his palm.

Scott kept staring at what resurrection had made him.

Behind him, the Summer House quietly finished cleaning.

Krakoan habitats did not require anyone to scrub their floors. The living architecture opened beneath spills, drew the offending material into itself, and recycled it as nutrients. Food, water, blood, shed skin, and every other form of organic waste eventually became part of the house.

Semen was no exception.

Scott watched the last milky puddle disappear into the pale floor. Thin green tendrils moved across the window and collected the ropes still sliding down the glass, leaving the view of Earth clean again.

There was nothing unusual about the process.

It remained unpleasant to know that the house would use his semen to grow replacement tissue. Some portion of what he had ejaculated might become a wall, a chair, or one of the pieces of fruit produced in the kitchen.

"Gross."

Scott turned from the window.

Rachel stood in the archway of the living area, blinking away sleep. She wore a faded vintage Xavier Institute t-shirt that had slipped entirely off her left shoulder, paired with black sleep shorts so short they were little more than a suggestion of fabric across her hips. Her choppy red hair stood up on one side, and the pale horizontal hound markings on her cheeks stood out sharply in the blue Earthlight.

"Tell me the house is just eating a severely spilled protein shake," she said, her voice rough with sleep. Then her gaze dropped.

Scott’s towel sat folded on the edge of the kitchen island, three steps away. He saw it. He understood that his adopted daughter had just walked into the room, that he was entirely naked, and that he was standing in the aftermath of a violent, uncontrolled orgasm.

He didn't move.

It didn't even occur to him to hide his body. The failure to cover himself didn't trigger his usual disciplined modesty; instead, a strange, heavy calm blanketed his instincts. He was physically exhausted, his hormones felt entirely out of whack, and a deep, lingering warmth from his climax made the cool lunar air against his skin feel incredibly good. He simply felt too comfortable to perform the frantic dance of hiding himself.

Rachel’s eyes widened, the sleep instantly banished.

Scott watched her process the sheer scale of what resurrection had made him. He stood broad and heavy-shouldered in the moonlight, the dense, brawny slabs of his chest and abdomen leading down to a narrow waist and powerful hips. And between those hips, his cock had already begun to rise again.

It was enormous, even semi-soft, thick from its broad root to the swollen, flared head. Prominent veins coiled along the shaft, rising flush against the flushed skin. Beneath it, his balls hung in a long, loose sac that swayed heavily with his slight shift in posture. The testicles inside were huge, carrying a visible, roiling weight that pulled at the cords of his pelvis rather than tucking tightly against his body.

Rachel’s breath hitched. "Scott..." Her battle-hardened bluntness faltered, replaced by genuine, wide-eyed shock.

Her eyes rose to his face, dropped again, and stayed there. Rachel pressed her lips together.

"I’m a lesbian." she said, almost like she was reminding herself.

Scott blinked. The declaration landed so far outside everything he had been trying to understand that, for several seconds, it displaced the problem completely. "You are?"

Her eyes flicked up to his. "Yes."

"I didn’t know." Scott recognized the shape of the moment: a daughter coming out to her father. Mutants had endured too much hatred over how they were born to waste any on homosexuality, and Scott was no exception, “Um. This is an awkward moment to tell me that.”

"I know." Rachel looked down again. "Why are you out here naked?"

Scott leaned his broad shoulder against the glass, making no effort to shield his exposure. A loose, intimate smile touched his mouth, as he suddenly felt more relaxed and comfortable in the moment for some reason. "We live on Krakoa now, Rachel. The whole island operates at a perfect temperature. The culture is clothes-optional. Maybe it's time we made some changes and joined it."

"Joining the culture doesn't usually involve painting the windows at four in the morning," Rachel pointed out. Her dry humor returned to mask the telepathic flash of wet, involuntary heat Scott could feel broadcasting from her mind, which was a bit shocking in of itself as she usually kept her psychic shields up at all times. She shifted her stance, her long, powerful legs pressing together as her shorts trapped the sudden, damp warmth between her thighs. "Why are you out here doing... that?"

"Something was wrong," he admitted softly, his voice a low rumble. "I woke up and I was so aroused I couldn't even think straight. It felt like a fever. A physical weight. It felt like if I didn't empty them immediately, something was going to tear."

He rested a broad hand casually against his abdomen, his fingers just inches from the swollen root of his cock.

Rachel swallowed, her gaze drawn inevitably to the heavy, roiling sway of his sac. "And how long has that kind of pressure been building? Jean said you two were... fine."

"We are. We've never been better." Scott frowned slightly, trying to fit his new reality into an old, disciplined framework. "But my body... seven resurrections, Rachel. The muscle density, the stamina. It burns hotter now. I've been trying to manage it the way I managed my old baseline. I think I've just been starving it."

"You're not just 'burning hotter,' old man," Rachel said. She took a slow step into the room. The teasing edge was entirely gone, replaced by a thick, breathy fascination. "I know what you were working with before. You were normal. Eight inches."

Scott tilted his head, a slow, heavy pulse of amusement crossing his features. "And how exactly do you know my baseline, Rachel?"

Color flared high on her cheeks, contrasting sharply with her pale hound marks. She shifted her weight, defensive, yet her thighs remained pressed tightly together. "Jean talks. Or Emma projects. Don't look at me like that. It's a small island and telepaths gossip." She swallowed, the sheer taboo of discussing her alternate-timeline father's penis size with him sending a visible spike of heat through her psychic shielding. "You think it isn't weird enough knowing that stuff? But the point is, I know what you were working with. Now look at you."

Her eyes traced the thick, vein-ridged column again. "You're entirely different. I mean, you've got to be as thick as my forearm. You're pushing into Kurt's territory, and you aren't a blue mutant with a tail. And Logan... God, it's bigger than Logan's, isn't it?"

"It is." he said, feeling only a bit awkward admitting he knew Wolverine’s dick size.

Rachel caught the absolute certainty in his voice. She let out a slow, shaky breath. "Right. Well. That confirms you definitely need to see Cecilia Reyes at the Healing Gardens. Today. That isn't normal optimization."

"I will," Scott agreed easily, watching her closely. "But not today. A team extracting mutant prisoners from a detention site in Santo Marco missed two check-ins. I'm taking the recovery squad through the gate at dawn. If we get them home clean, I go straight into the Council's Orchis briefing, and the Shi'ar security delegation arrives tomorrow. Cecilia can examine me when the island isn't on fire."

Rachel stopped a few feet away. "Right. Save everybody else first." She took another step, the few feet of Krakoan floor separating them vanishing. The medical concern in her voice was suddenly overtaken by something deliberate and provocative. "And the open door policy. I always wondered about the logistics of that. If Jean is regularly taking Logan, and now she's taking that..." She swallowed visibly. "Jean's holes must be caves."

Scott frowned, the crude phrasing rankling his protective instincts, even through his heavy arousal. "Don't talk about Jean that way."

"I'm just doing the math, old man," Rachel shot back, her breathing growing visibly shallower. "You answered too fast. You know exactly how big Logan is, which means you've seen him. You've been with him. With her."

"Yes."

Rachel stopped right in front of him. She was tall and taut, but Scott’s new, brawnier build made her look suddenly small. The heat radiating off her was palpable now, a telepathic friction that rubbed directly against his own rising arousal. His cock pulsed, lifting away from his thigh until it stood fully erect, a massive, vein-ridged column jutting into the space between them.

Rachel stared at the broad, glistening head. "So you share Jean," she murmured, her voice dropping its teasing cadence. "But does Jean share you?"

The question hung in the blue light, stripping away the camouflage of threesome jokes.

"No one else gets me," Scott answered, his voice a low rumble. "Because I haven't wanted anyone else."

Rachel looked up, her dark eyes locking onto his. "And now?"

She stepped even closer. The swollen head of Scott’s cock brushed the soft cotton of her vintage shirt, pressing a hot, rigid line directly beneath the swell of her right breast.

Neither of them retreated.

Scott felt a heavy drop of precum spill from his slit, immediately soaking into the faded fabric of the Xavier logo. He looked down at the dark, wet stain forming against her ribs. He could smell her arousal now, a sharp, clean musk filling the space between them.

"Can I touch it?" Rachel asked. Her voice was barely a whisper.

"If you're going to be an idiot about Cecilia, somebody should at least check whether it feels as wrong as it looks," she added quickly.

The excuse arrived too fast and meant almost nothing. Scott accepted its practical shape without examining it. The rational, commanding part of his brain was entirely submerged in the thick, hazy intimacy of the moment. "Briefly," he rasped.

Rachel reached out. Her hand was small and pale against the flushed, dark-veined expanse of his shaft. She didn't grasp it, she couldn't have closed her fingers around the girth even if she tried. Instead, she extended one fingertip and traced a thick, pulsing vein from the broad root upward.

The contact was maddeningly small against the sheer scale and tension of his erection. As her fingertip dragged upward along the engorged vein, his hips twitched involuntarily, driving the hot, rigid shaft deeper into the underside of her breast. He imagined his broad hands gripping those firm, athletic hips, his fingers digging bruisingly into her skin. He imagined ripping the black shorts down her long legs, spinning her around, and bending her taut, muscular torso flat against the cold lunar window. He wanted to pry her wet thighs apart and drive his massive, throbbing cock deep inside her bare pussy with one brutal, unrestrained thrust, visualizing the thick length of him buried to the root while his heavy, swollen balls slapped hard against her ass.

Rachel gasped, her eyes flying wide. She had caught the graphic, unrestrained thought.

She didn't pull away. Her thigh slipped between his, pressing against the loose, heavy sway of his testicles. Rachel’s fingertip reached the top of the vein and slipped over the flared ridge, brushing the agonizingly sensitive underside of the broad head.

The jolt of raw, blinding pleasure was like a physical blow.

It broke the strange, heavy spell that had been holding him. Clarity snapped back into Scott’s mind like a rubber band breaking. He recoiled violently, his broad shoulder slamming hard into the lunar window. The glass hummed with the impact.

He stared at her, chest heaving, the haze of hormones and intimate calm suddenly evaporating.

He was naked. It hadn't even occurred to him to cover up. He had been standing in front of the woman who called him Dad, talking to her with the low, close vulnerability of a lover. He had casually discussed his masturbation habits and Jean’s sex life with her. He had let her press her breasts against his erection, and he had explicitly given her permission to touch him.

Scott lunged past her, snatching the towel off the kitchen island. He wrapped it around his waist with shaking hands, the sudden, crushing weight of his shame warring with the thick, unyielding length of his erection that still violently tented the fabric.

Rachel stood by the window, her finger still raised in the empty space where he had been. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, the dark wet spot of his precum cooling on her shirt.

"You really need to see Cecilia," Rachel said quietly, her voice lacking its earlier tease.

Scott tightened his grip on the towel, his discipline desperately trying to rebuild its walls. "I told you. I have a missing team and a deployment at dawn. I'll go when they're home."

Rachel looked at the massive tent in his towel, then up to his eyes. The shock was gone, replaced by something much hungrier.

"Ask her," Rachel said.

Scott's jaw clenched. "Ask who?"

"Before you go to medical," Rachel said. "Ask Jean."

She turned toward the hallway. Her hips fell at once into a slow, rolling sway. Rachel stiffened and shortened her stride, but after two controlled steps, the motion returned.

"I'm a lesbian," she muttered under her breath. "He's my dad."

The sway followed her into the hallway.