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Muggy sobs, nearly heaving as he attempts to fight off the stain on his newest mug. He’d thanked the courier so readily for this damn thing, and look where it's gotten him!
He’s quite near pleading with the mug at this point, the stubborn stain refusing to leave the glass no matter how roughly Muggy treats it. The old, dirty dishrag failing him again. His claws adjust on the rag a little, cursing his ‘hands’ as he moves the rag rougher and faster on the mugs surface. Hes nearly at his wits end, about to chuck the mug at a wall (which would’ve made him cry harder.) when…
It comes off.
Muggy stops, gazing down at the mug in his claws. He distantly detects some sort of response in his systems, but he ignores it in favor of lifting the mug to screen level and turning it, looking over it from all angles. His claws click satisfyingly against the surface of the mug, the sound only amplifying the excitement he currently feels, its fucking out! Its-
what the hell is that feeling-
He nearly drops the mug in response to the sudden heat washing over his systems, catching it last second and clutching it close to his chest as he takes in the new sensations.
A trembling, confused whine escapes his voice box, causing his logic processors to stutter, likely the most they’ve been used in years. This… hasn't happened before..
…He wants to do it again.
He doesn't even care what it is, he just wants that feeling again. He turns on his wheel, gently placing the freshly cleaned mug on the ground as he looks towards a certain cupboard.
The mini securitrons sensors, which had been never programmed to feel any sort of emotional responses, were reeling as he carefully opened the door of it, tentatively grabbing the bowl he'd discarded in there. He knew it wouldn't give him as much satisfaction to clean this as it would a mug, thus him leaving it in there (he couldn't bear to look at it), but maybe.. Maybe this time? Whatever.
He looks down at the bowl in his hands, running a careful claw over the dust buildup in the bowl and shuddering a little. Couldn't hurt to try, at least.
Muggys dishrag swipes over the bowl smoother than it did the mug, the bowl having a lot less build up. And in a second he went from mildly interested to feeling that sensation, practically tenfold, unfurling in his circuity again. He had never, in all his years in this wretched, underground hell, ever felt anything close to this. resulting in him quickly becoming overstimulated and nearly crying out at the sensations crawling over him.
He breaks, sobbing in pleasure as the feeling takes over, and nearly dropping the bowl in his hand as he fights not to moan. Giving the bowl another shaky, tentative scrub and whimpering at the feeling his processors reward him with.
“Oh..
oh my fucking god.. Holy shit.
”
He scrubs the bowl faster, his speaker letting out a garbled mess of static and pleased noises. He can feel his circuitry throb at the intense feeling and he nearly buckles under it. He doesn’t know if he can take anymore, but good god he wants nothing more but to.
The bowl cleans easier than the mug, and muggy isn’t sure whether he wants to cry in relief or crumble under the forceful pleasure overloading his sensors. He shakily puts the bowl back where he found it, nearly dropping it as his claws tremble.
He sucks in a breath he doesn’t even need, and looks around the breakroom again, searching for another dirty dish or even a damn pot to satiate himself with, SHIT, where's a dish when you need one? He starts going through the cabinets he can reach, cursing at himself for being too small to get to the ones up top. Eventually slumping down once he realizes that there's nothing to be found and the pleasure is slowly ebbing away.
Muggy lets out a frustrated sob, hucking his dishcloth at a nearby cabinet and dropping down onto his side to have another breakdown, until he spots something. His fans kick up in excitement. With an urgency he’d thought he’d never possess, he reaches under the fridge as he hopes and prays and pulls out…
A fucking plate. What kind of rat fuck jams a plate under the fridge, you ask? Muggy doesn’t know, nor does he care. All he's doing in this moment is praising whatever madman shoved it under there and frantically reaching for the cloth he’d thrown at the cabinet upon his hopeless moment.
He takes a moment to inspect the current cleanliness of the plate, and shivers in anticipation when he realizes it must’ve been under there awhile. The dust and grime buildup on the plate both disgusting and exciting him.
He swipes the cloth across the plate's surface, shuddering at the way his circuitry throbs again at the action, and repeating it twice. Nearly panting as he finally moves on to scrub the rest of the plate.
Of course, he knows that without water, it wouldn’t be a complete clean, but he can’t bring himself to care as something underneath his casing drums out more of that sensation.
He whines in pleasure, now fully understanding why organics liked the feeling so much as he nearly screams at the sudden buildup of sensation.
He fakes a deep breath, not actually needing it nor being capable of it, and quickly wipes the dishcloth along the last marking on the plate. Nothing happens for a moment, but as he looks at the plate he feels his wiring suddenly heat up as if catching fire, letting out a startled cry at the horrible, wonderful overstimulation.
He hates to say it, but he did drop the plate that time, letting it drop to the ground with a clatter (thankfully not shattering) as his processors overloaded him with this foreign sensation.
Muggy can't even tell if it's a punishment or not, but either way he's loving it. His body locks up, he lets out an overstimulated sob as the pleasure inside of him gets significantly worse, He thinks if he could cry, he would be. He doesn’t know what to do with all this stimulation, and its only mounting now.
Muggy was trembling from the strain, his internal systems so overwhelmed with the pleasure that it was nearly painful by now. His screen was glitching and his voicebox was quite nearly broken from the continuous gasping moans that were coming out of him.
He manages a whine as he feels his systems trying to expel the unbearable pleasure, but having nowhere to put it, only driving him further into his cleaning induced pleasure. It hitches, almost unbearably so, before something snaps.
The pleasure practically fucking explodes inside of him, muggy letting out a choked moan as his prossesors force him to take the influx of pleasure, whether he wanted to or not, he slumps over, attempting to move but forgetting his wheel was still locked, forcing him to fall forwards onto his hands. His body seized, whatever this was wrecking through his every circuit and system. He couldn’t speak, he couldn’t move, he could only brace himself upright on the floor and attempt to ride it out.
Over and over it washes through his systems, getting less intense every time. He trembles, feeling the aftershocks of it trailing through him, and slumps down, giving up on keeping himself righted…
…Only ending up screaming out in pleasure and surprise as he mashes the buttons on his torso on the floor.
His body was already completely and utterly sensitive at this point, every sensor overloaded and responding to the slightest throb of aftershocks, he briefly scrabbled at the floor, attempting to get a grip with his clunky claws to pull himself up again, but quickly gives up with a half pleasured, half pained groan as he goes mostly lax again, he whines as he plants a trembling hand on the floor, heaving himself over so he's laying on his back. Groaning in relief now that his keypad isn't being pressed up upon.
He shivers, unable to do anything else but lay there as his programming attempts to figure out what just happened, unable to do anything else about his current state of overstimulation.
“W-what… the fuck was that..”