The Future is in Plastics 2

By Hypnothrill published August 27, 2018
Owen finds a strange meteorite in the woods. Little does he know it will revolutionize the world of plastics...

{Here’s a second chapter to “The Future is in Plastics.” I have some ideas for a third installment, so please let me know in the comments if you’d like to see this saga continue!}

Roy didn’t know why he kept coming to this sauna really. This miserable little gay sauna in this miserable little Northern town. Where he kept seeing the same miserable sods week in and week out. None of them were much to look at. And none of them were that interested in a fiftysomething balding ginger poofter with sagging tits like him.

He supposed he kept coming back just for the possibility. That one day someone different might walk through the door. Someone like HIM today. The Adonis. He looked like a statue had come to life, with those perfectly molded 8-pack abs and pecs and biceps. Or like a mannequin, with that perfectly smooth hairless skin and that bright white smile. Of course, they didn’t make mannequins anatomically correct like that; in the shower, Roy had caught a glimpse of the monster the young man was carrying around between his legs—that thing had to be nearly a foot long when it was hard!

Discreetly—or so he hoped—Roy followed the Adonis around the sauna. He knew he’d never get a chance to touch this perfect man (and he wouldn’t be bold enough to dare try), but maybe he’d let Roy look on as he got his rocks off.

What he didn’t expect was that the man would speak to him.

“I’ve noticed you looking at me,” the young man said flatly. Roy blushed and began to stammer an apology, but then the Adonis interrupted, “Are you…what they call a ‘bottom’?”

“Erm…well, yes…I mean…”

“Good. Then we will proceed to one of the cubicles and you will take my big cock.”

Now that this was really happening—now that he was lying on his back on a cheap little mattress in one of the bathhouse cubicles, spreading his arse cheeks to give the Adonis facing him easier access to his hole—Roy felt a combination of excitement and fear.

Excitement because…well, just look at the man! Roy wasn’t just punching above his weight, he was punching above his weight plus a ten tonne truck.

But also fear because although he was a bottom and was no spring chicken when it came to sex, he hadn’t actually been fucked in a few months. And he didn’t think he’d ever taken a dick that big before. Roy just hoped his hole would stretch enough to accommodate it. And it wasn’t as though the man’s manner was helping to put him at ease either; the Adonis barely spoke, never smiled as far as Roy could tell. He was cold, robotic; even his skin seemed a bit cool to the touch.

Roy gulped as the Adonis removed his towel and revealed his monster dick, which after a few quick strokes was fully hard and sticking straight out like a pole. A pole that Roy was about to impale himself upon.

Stalling for time to prepare himself, Roy asked, “So do you have any condoms or lube? If you don’t, I think they have some in the jars outside.”

“I do not use condoms. They are unnecessary,” the man said flatly.

Of course, Roy figured, a fit young bloke like that who can shag anyone he wants, he must be taking that PREP stuff and not be worried about diseases. Roy didn’t normally bareback, but he supposed he could make an exception. “Oh, well, what about the lube, then?” he asked.

“We will not require extra lubrication,” the Adonis replied firmly.

Before Roy had time to think much about what that might mean, the man had placed the tip of his dick against Roy’s twitching arsehole. As the Adonis rubbed his thick flared cockhead around the rim of Roy’s hole, Roy could swear that he felt a slick cool lubricant being applied to his arse. Maybe it was precum, but no one could produce that much precum, could they?

At first it had felt so good, like nothing he’d ever felt before. The Adonis’ cock wasn’t just hitting Roy’s prostate, it was somehow going deeper, stimulating pleasure centers he didn’t even know he had. But then that pleasure turned to horror as he could feel it going even deeper still, somehow crawling up inside of him, worming its way up his guts, clinging to the linings of his internal organs. Soon he could even feel something snaking up his spine, enwrapping his vertebrae.

Roy tried to pull away, but the man had him in a tight grip, pinning Roy down as he thrust harder and harder and harder inside him. Roy wanted to scream out for help, but the sensations he was feeling were so intense he could barely breathe, much less articulate words.

As he kept mechanically thrusting into Roy, Owen Yardley dispassionately watched the older man flail his arms and jerk his head, a look of abject terror in his eyes. Then Roy’s struggles slowed, then stopped entirely, as his eyes glazed over. Good. The plastic must have now reached his brain stem, Owen thought. As the plastic reshaped Roy’s thoughts, it also remolded his body. The saggy hairy arse Owen had been fucking began to firm up and fill out, becoming a smooth, taut bubble butt. Roy’s pendulous man boobs were converted to perfectly rounded pecs, with hard nipples like little erasers, as his chubby jiggly belly was sucked away, molded into a perfect eight-pack just like Owen’s. Roy’s penis, which had always been on the smaller side, began to grow longer and thicker; once it reached full erection, it was every inch the equal of Owen’s. In fact, from the neck down, he could have been a carbon copy of Owen—though more like a hydrocarbon copy, with all the plastic coursing through his veins. Like Ken dolls, they were basically interchangeable except for the head.

And even Roy’s face was looking different now. His wrinkles, crow’s feet, frown lines and smile lines were all vanishing—leaving behind a smooth, opaque surface, almost devoid of expression. His jawline was getting firmer. His crooked teeth were growing straighter and whiter. Even his little bald patch was filling in with ginger hair so smooth and glossy it almost didn’t look real. Altogether, he now looked like a very healthy 40-year-old (with a 30-year-old’s body).

His transformation complete, Roy looked up at Owen and flatly stated, “I am now fully converted.”

“Good,” Owen replied as he extracted his massive dick from Roy’s newly plasticized asshole. “Now we must convert the other men in this bathhouse. Come. There is work to be done.”

Sir Phillip Jannings didn’t even bother knocking before he stormed into his son’s office. Even though he was now in his late 60s, Phillip was still an intimidating presence, standing at 6 foot 3, his powerful barrel-chested frame only barely contained by his tailored Italian suit. No wonder his employees jokingly (but still with an underlying tone of respect) referred to him as “Big Phil.” (There had been a “Little Phil” too, the eldest son and his father’s favorite, but he had died in a boating accident some two decades ago).

“What’s the meaning of this, Dougie?!” he shouted at his younger son, his face going purple with rage, “The Foreman’s been telling me that you’ve called a halt to production on our plastic container line to start manufacturing a new product?!”

Most men would have cowered in the wake of Big Phil screaming into their face, but Douglas Jannings seemed unperturbed. Not a muscle moved in his uncannily smooth youthful face. He didn’t even flinch at the hated nickname “Dougie,” like he normally did.

He just smiled faintly at his father and said, “The Foreman? You mean Mr. Rawling? I just had a very productive meeting with him, and now he agrees that it is important we begin manufacturing our new line immediately. So will you, Father.”

Phillip was shocked; he never thought that little Dougie would have the balls to speak to him like that. But if he’d learned one thing in business, it was to never let your opponent know what you’re feeling, so instead he responded with angry bluster: “You’re sounding mighty cocky there, Dougie boy! Mighty cocky indeed! Getting too big for your boots! Remember who founded this company, Dougie boy! Remember who still runs this company!”

Douglas’ smile only grew wider at this diatribe, revealing a row of gleaming white teeth. “Yes, Father, I am mighty cocky. Should I show you why? Should I show you what we will be manufacturing? The product that will revolutionize the world of plastics?”

“Where is it, then? This ‘revolutionary’ product of yours? Go on, show me the prototypes.”

“The prototypes have not yet been manufactured.”

“Not been…” Phillip sputtered, “You’re shutting down production and you don’t even have a…”

“But I can show you the model we’re using for the molds…” Douglas stood and unzipped his suit pants, pulling out a thick, impossibly long half-hard dick. A few quick strokes and it was fully erect, nearly a foot long with prominent veins crisscrossing its smooth shaft.

Reflexively, Phillip looked away in disgust. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, boy!? Put that thing away!”

“What’s wrong, Father?” Douglas smirked. “Are you afraid of it? Don’t be afraid. It’s just what every man wants. And we’ll give them just what they want. We’ll make millions of them. And we’ll make millions off them.”

Without meaning to, Phillip glanced down again at his son’s inhumanly large genitals. This wasn’t right. He hadn’t seen little Dougie naked in a long time, but his son wasn’t hung like a horse, was he? And then he saw the head of Dougie’s penis, the perfectly smooth, flared pink head, with no sign of foreskin around its ridge. But…his sons were both uncut, just like him. When had…?

Sir Phillip tore his gaze away from his son’s monstrous dick and looked up at Douglas’ face. His faintly amused, perfectly smooth, impassive face. He couldn’t see the bags that were normally under Douglas’ tired eyes. And he couldn’t see any of the worry lines or character lines that normally creased his son’s face. “What’s…what’s happened to you, Dougie?” he stammered, “You’re different…”

“You’re fascinated, aren’t you, Father?” Douglas gestured down to his crotch, “Take another look.”

Despite himself, Phillip again looked down at the flared pink head of his son’s cut dick. Was it his imagination, or was that a swirl of red emerging on the smooth pink surface? No, it was, a swirl of red, then a swirl of purple, the colors on Dougie’s flared cockhead shifting and morphing like the patterns on a cuttlefish. It was hypnotic. Like the cuttlefish’s prey, Phillip found himself mesmerized by the swirling patterns. Slowly, his jaw fell open and a trickle of drool formed at the corner of his mouth as he stared at his son’s gigantic, hypnotic cockhead.

“It looks good, doesn’t it, Father?” Douglas finally said. “But it will taste even better. Come now, father, kneel down and take it into your mouth.”

Sir Phillip Jannings wasn’t used to taking orders from anyone. But he was helpless to resist his son’s commands, as he felt his knees giving way and his lips wrapping around the head of that magnificent dick.

It tasted…it tasted like plastic. But somehow that was the most wonderful flavor Phillip Jannings had ever tasted. He couldn’t get enough of it as the head of his son’s dick began dripping some kind of thick precum that coated every surface of his mouth and clung to it like a plastic film. And strangely, soon his mouth and jaw began to feel more like plastic too, as they stretched to take every inch of his son’s thick footlong dick down his gullet without gagging.

And once Douglas shot his full plastic load down his father’s throat, the alien plastic coating his insides and wrapping itself tightly around his brain, keeping it secure, Phillip Jannings was fully in the thrall of the alien consciousness that controlled them both.

But just to make sure, he asked his son to fuck his hairy ass, and Douglas happily complied. His thick rigid fuckstick fit smoothly into his father’s already-elasticizing hole. And by the time they were finished, Phillip had a firm, smooth body of his own. The wrinkles in his face were gone, and the various spots and discolorations on his skin had been wiped away, leaving him looking uncannily youthful. Only his silver hair belied his true age.

All the excess fat around his belly was gone, its biomass added to his dick, which had grown to eleven inches, though it had lost its foreskin. It was now a virtual copy of his son’s inhumanly large smooth penis, only a smidgen smaller.

Without a word, Sir Phillip pulled up his underpants and suit trousers, then left his son’s office. He had to assist Rawling with overseeing the new line of dildos that Jannings Plastics would be producing. And Douglas had more meetings to take that afternoon, more employees he would need to convince to be part of the new era at Jannings Plastics. He was feeling mighty cocky about his ability to persuade them…

The very next day, Jannings Plastics started production on its new dildo line. The thin shell, molded from Dougie’s own plasticized dick, was just regular plastic. But it was what was on the inside that counted, an injection of living plastic, straight from the men who had the alien plastic growing inside their bodies.

Rawling and Sir Phillip had set up a very special assembly line. Each worker on the line would grab a mold, place it over their own oversized plasticized dicks, then begin to shoot it full of molten plastic splooge before placing it back on the conveyor belt. They were hoping to produce tens of thousands in the first week alone, so it was good they had some extra employees: Roy and the other men that had been converted at the gay bathhouse. And since they could use the extra manpower, even old Sir Phillip was chipping in, shooting his loads on the assembly line right next to one of the former members of the cleaning staff.

Soon they would begin shipping these dildos out all around the country and all around the world. But that would be just Phase 1 of their expansion….

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