#pluto anime

Soft pants and faint buzzing fill the air. Sunlight streams in from the large windows behind him, the cool tan on the landscape contrasting sharply with the blue of the sky. Abullah grips the arms of his chair tightly, knuckles white with the force. His cock aches beneath his pants, begs to be touched, the pulsing vibrations of the plug sending shocks through his stomach. Screwed shut, his eyes roll back in his head, but he stays quiet. He has to. There's no other choice.

He's due at the meeting in twenty minutes, but the trek across campus takes a mere five. He could wait, let himself finish, but the cage encasing his cock complicated things. He knows he won't come in time, and that excites him.

Abullah loosens his claw-like grip on his chair and stands on shaky legs, taking a few slow breaths to calm himself down. One tap on his phone lessens the stimulation, the quick pulses slowing into a constant buzz. He adjusts his suit, checks his appearance in the window, and walks out of his office.

His usual pleasant expression settles over his face when he emerges into the hallway. He politely waves at passing staff members and makes small talk whenever someone approaches him.

"How's your day going, Professor Abullah?" they ask.

"Excited for the conference today?"

"Can't wait to hear your speech."

Idle chatter is the soundtrack to his stroll, and before long, he is settled at a long mahogany table in the meeting room. His colleagues surround him. Opposite him sits Detective Gesicht. They greet each other with firm nods before the officer is pulled into a conversation with a researcher from the United States of Thrasia. The director of the World Robotics Association waltzes in, all awkward bravado with none of the suave to back it up.

"Welcome, everybody! I'm so glad you all could make it today. I regret to inform you that Atom will be unable to join us today. He has been called away on an urgent mission and gives his apologies. Regardless, we have a full agenda, so let's begin with the representative from Europol, Professor Hoffman." He gestures to the small man.

Though Abullah has never met him, his red hair and strong nose make him stand out immediately, even before he stands to address the room.

"Thank you, Director McDowell. The main action item on today's docket is to address the uptick in violence against service robots. Across Europe, waste management and construction units have been recovered, missing their memory chips. In every case, the removal renders them inert.”

A few heads shift at that.

“Detective Gesicht has been spearheading the investigation. Yesterday, however, we recovered a chip from one of the affected units.” He taps his console. A holographic projection flickers to life above the table. “What we found is concerning. The memory data has been altered. Entire sequences replaced with fabricated experiences, violent ones. We believe the chips are being modified and intended for reinsertion.”

He shifts, gesturing at no one in particular. “If reactivated, these robots would not simply malfunction. They would behave unpredictably, potentially dangerously. We do not yet know the perpetrator’s objective. But given the scale and coordination, this is unlikely to be random vandalism.”

Abullah presses his fingers together, lips thinning. Robots had been granted rights years ago—hard-won protections meant to prevent exactly this kind of exploitation. To ensure they would never again be reduced to tools. And yet, if someone could rewrite a robot’s memories, they could rewrite anything. Loyalty. Identity. Restraint. Today, it was service units. Tomorrow, it could be law enforcement. Military. Or worse: robots indistinguishable from humans. like the ones sitting around this table. Abullah shifts in his seat and inhales sharply. The movement forced the plug deeper, hitting that elusive spot inside him. He forces himself to refocus on the meeting, looking toward Gesicht, who is now reporting his findings at the scenes.

"Aside from the removal of their chips, none of the robots had been harmed, but I was unable to find fingerprints or traces of a human at any of the crime scenes. It is possible that a robot is being used to lure the victims in before overpowering them. I am unsure of the means now, but there are never any signs of a struggle. As if they were subdued from afar and their chips removed while conscious."

Professor Hoffman jumps back in. "We would appreciate any insight on how that might be possible, but we mainly want to develop a security protocol, some sort of secondary measure that prevents memory chips from being removed."

The table stays quiet as everyone thinks of solutions. Abullah is the first to speak.

"It is possible that the person responsible sends out a focused electromagnetic pulse. As you all know, strong electromagnetic waves render robots unable to move as they disrupt communication between the central processing unit and external limbs and mechanisms. A focused beam of perhaps 20 to 50 kilovolts per meter would make the victim unable to move for a maximum of five minutes while not leaving any physical evidence of tampering." He pauses. His hands, hidden by the table, come to cup. his crotch. The chastity cage digs into his flesh as he palms himself, preventing any and all stimulation. “However, that kind of technology is unlikely to be employed by a robot. The electromagnetic interference would affect them as well.”

A chorus of hums in agreement travels around the table, and the debate begins. Opposing or confirming theories are exchanged, the method of subdual argued, and the means of application theorized. The meeting drags on, but Abullah finds himself struggling to focus. A while ago, the continuous vibrations turned into harsh pulses, and he couldn't stop the gasp before it erupted from his lips. Thankfully, he played it off with a cough and a large sip of water.

He can feel a coil tightening in his stomach. Heat envelops him and he breaths through it, chiming in on the conversation when expected, but largely distracted. His face is impassive, though, not betraying the immense pleasure he is in.

Ultimately, the committee is unable to come up with either a theory for how these robots are being subdued or a viable method for keeping the memory chips, so the discussion is tabled for the next meeting. Several other topics are brought up and discussed with more success, and soon, it is time for the press conference.

Abullah gathers his things and follows everyone else out of the room, but a sudden presence beside him stalls his steps.

"Professor Abullah," he greets.

"Detective Gesicht."

"Are you, perhaps, feeling okay?"

Abullah quirks a brow, glancing over at him. "Of course, why wouldn't I be?"

Gesicht clears his throat, a gesture he picked up to appear more human. "I apologize for my bluntness, but your heart rate. It's rather high, and it seems your body temperature is elevated."

"Ahh," Abullah nods, "I am getting over a cold, is all. I was in Switzerland last week, and the change in weather made me a bit ill."

"I see," is all Gesicht says in response.

The rest of the walk to the reception hall, Abullah keeps to himself, acting as if he is deep in thought when he is, in reality, holding on by a thread. He wants nothing more than to peel off, go back to his office, and relieve the pressure on his cock, but he can't. He left the key at home. A purposeful move to make this exercise harder.

Just get through the press conference, he tells himself. Then you can go home and let all this frustration out. Just a few more hours.

But those few hours drag on. Countless speakers are lined up to give talks, answer questions, and present research. The minutes tick by as if time has decided to slow just to spite him. The plug's vibrations vary wildly, sending his head spinning each time, and just when he thinks he can't handle any more, it's his turn to speak.

Abullah is the keynote speaker, giving the longest talk of all, close to an hour. His meticulously prepared slides detail the research he's been doing these past three years; how to make the perfect robot, one that can not only appreciate art and culture, but participate in it earnestly, just as any human can. He picked up this topic when the famed Dr. Umataro Tenma announced his retirement and was honored to be asked to continue the research.

He walks up to the podium and opens his notes. His presentation is loaded on the big screen, and he collects his thoughts before addressing the audience.

"Good evening! I am Professor Abullah, head of research at the Persian Institute for Robotics. You all must be ready to go home, yeah?"

The crowd, full of industry professionals and lovers of all things robotics, denies his claim.

He chuckles warmly. "Alright then, I promise to try not to be too boring." Abullah clicks to the first slide, a picture of him with Dr. Tenma.

"As you all may know, before Dr. Temna announced his retirement some three years ago, he approached me with an offer to continue his research into what he called 'the perfect robot'. An endeavor to bring humans and robots closer together through the love of creation. Time and time again, robots have proven to be invaluable additions to society. Through the tasks they perform and the pride they take in their role, they have thoroughly integrated themselves into daily life on our planet. But what if, Dr. Tenma asked himself, they could participate in culture? What if music, art, emotional expression through theatre or dance—things so inherently human—could be shared with our mechanical brethren?"

His speech goes on as planned. The slides are mostly pictures or graphs depicting his work thus far, and he spares no detail in his explanations. Though rewarding, it'd been extremely taxing work. And so too, is keeping his composure. His stomach churns, his legs shake, his breaths deepen. His release is slowly but steadily approaching; a slow steamboat arriving at the port after a long journey.

He is in the middle of explaining his first breakthrough, the introduction of negative emotions to spark creativity, when the realization dawns on him. He's not going to make it. The plug nestled between his legs rubs at just the right spot, vibrates at just the right frequency.

"As you can see here," he swallows thickly, "many of my colleagues and contemporaries have cautioned against introducing such emotions into the already delicate system that is a robot's core processing unit. But I—" he bites down on his lip, silencing a groan that threatened to rip out of his throat. "Excuse me. I knew from my experiments that this was the only way forward."

Bright white searing pleasure ricochets through him in an instant, and it is all Abullah can do to dampen his reaction. He grips the edge of the podium, swaying on uncertain feet.

"Experiments with small household robots were successful, so my next step is to recruit more willing participants to further my research."

Thick ropes of cum paint the inside of his underwear, the warmth it brings tripling his pleasure. His hole clenches around the plug, and his orgasm wanes. Suddenly, the room feels too big, and he, too small, but he presses onward.

Applause meets him at the end of his presentation, and he smiles out at everyone, thanking them for their attendance. He waits, just as he is expected to, for the room to clear and for the guest to speak to take their leave, before he is free. He immediately heads for his offices, locking the door behind him and drawing the blinds, blocking out the last of the setting sun's light. Abullah sinks down in his chair and huffs out a breath, ready to do it all again the next day.

A/N: I hope you enjoyed reading! Please send in any requests at the link below!