He was far too dependent on this charger plug. That was a cold, hard, fact, and it had absolutely no chance of penetrating the thick haze surrounding Wheatley's mind and actually sinking in. It was almost agonizing, the sensations barreling up his spine. The port itself had become exposed to so much electricity that it tingled and pulsed at the slightest hint of a magnetic field.
The android had first discovered this when he was helping Doug, his old friend who had put him into this body in the first place, set up an electromagnet. Wheatley wasn't too sure about why the lab rat had been doing this, but if he had any sense in him he would have realized that Doug was having another rather strong episode of his psychosis. He had told Wheatley what it was called, once, but the bot never could pronounce it right. It had been when the scientist turned the contraption on that Wheatley felt it; an electric, pulsing throb at the base of his spine, thrumming in his tailbone and echoing up his spine. It had made his limbs ache, made every vein (or rather, wire) pulse and tingle with the closest he able to get to arousal. But not quite that.
Wheatley had immediately began to squirm where he had stood, long lanky limbs crossing and uncrossing as he tried to hide his slowly building erection. He didn't know why he was even capable of having those in the first place, but if he had ever asked Doug he would have been informed that Aperture had been working on cloning a body with synthetic materials. It being Aperture, it worked but also failed, and instead of a bio-synthetic organism they wound up with androids with every human function replicated artificially. A failure for Aperture, but it was exactly what Doug had needed. He just redid the exterior.
And so it was that Wheatley had begun making the most obscene whining noises known to mind, and the lab rat had given up completely within minutes and had booted the bot out of his work area. Wheatley continued squirming for several moments before dashing to his secret spot. By the time he got there he had the cord pulled out of his trousers haphazardly, and he was fumbling with it as he tried to plug it in. That spot on the base of his tail bone was still throbbing, and that odd tingling sensation had a name, now. It was an old name, but damn if it didn't fit perfectly.
He Itched. He Itched and this Itch was similar but also very, very different. But it still lit his robotic body on fire, made every fiber pulse and Itch and throb. And then the cord was plugged in, and he was tugging at his clothes, getting the fabric caught on his lanky limbs. He almost fell over in his haste, but he managed to catch his balance on the chair, fingers trembling along with his arm as he supported his weight, tugging his trousers off of his legs entirely. And then they were off, and he grabbed the jack and he didn't have time for preamble, not now. He plugged it in and he choked back a scream, back arching off the chair, feet scrabbling on the cement floor as his robotic, but admittedly organic looking cock twitched and throbbed.
He still hadn't quite figured out that his hands would be helpful here, mostly because the main source of pleasure wasn't even located there. It was his port, that plug slotting in perfectly, every inch in contact with the electrified metal, not a single nanometer of empty space. And it was driving him wild, and he bucked up and up and up again as he tried to hold back. He couldn't, of course, not with electricity slamming into his most sensitive of areas and travelling up his spine, flooding his mind with pleasure and bliss and making his toes curl against the floor. His fingers were gripping at the edge of the chair, knuckles white from the amount of pressure. And it was moments like this that Aperture's poorly wasted genius was evident. Looking at him you wouldn't be able to tell he wasn't human if it weren't for the cord.
His cock was as hard as his body was programmed to allow it to be, and if he was able to feel it it would probably be painful. But he was in a closed circuit, and as much electricity that was flowing into him and filling his wires and nerves and brain and skin with crackling pleasure, he couldn't release. It made him so achingly hard, and the ingenuity of his body's design even had drops of precum oozing at the slit. But he couldn't care less about that, no sir. He couldn't care about anything, and he would be here for hours on end floating in electrical oblivion.
Or at least, he would have. If it weren't for one, tiny thing; Doug had been growing increasingly suspicious as of late. Even in his episodes of insanity, the walls would whisper to him that his friend, his project, was having problems. His murals were full of colors of blue and silver, dripping and swirling and branching like lightning. He was worried for his friend, and the electromagnet was supposed to work as a scanner to tell him what was wrong with Wheatley's body. But even he, locked away for so long and forgetting so much of what was considered normal life, could never misinterpret those whines, those particular desperate squirms. So he had followed Wheatley, as best as he could, and after getting lost for about thirty minutes he was finally able to find Wheatley's secret spot. The loud, echoing sounds certainly helped.
The sight that he saw there was part pathetic and part endearing. Doug felt a great deal of pity for Wheatley, who quite obviously was not at all prepared for this kind of stimuli. He saw the way Wheatley's eyes were scrunched up tight, saw how every artificial tendon was taut and standing out against his synthetic skin. He pretty quickly figured out why Wheatley was so obviously stuck in this state. After all, he was a scientist involved in robotics. So he walked forward, calloused fingers wrapping around the cord. He pulled, and the jack popped out of Wheatley's port, and the bot screamed louder than he ever had before as the circuit was broken and he released all over his belly, synthetic semen pooling on his flat abdomen. His eyes rolled wildly in their sockets, and he quickly passed out from the strain of it all.