synopsis - Coriolanus convinces himself it doesn't count if he doesn't use his hands
masturbation, orgasm denial, self denial, hands-free orgasm, nipple play (if you squint), lots of begging (even though he's alone yup mhm), shame lots and lots of shame
When he first starts touching himself, Coriolanus convinces himself it doesn't count if he doesn't actually touch himself. This took many forms over the years.
The first few times, he finds actually putting his hands down his pants or pulling them down and wrapping his hand around his erection made him feel bad. Guilty. Oh, he does it, there's no doubt - he can't just stop.
He tries to stop. Only to find himself in situations like the time where he literally almost comes in his pants watching a classmate chew on the end of her pen, shifting in his seat and unable to stop, relieved he's in the back row as his erection gets rubbed in between his thigh and uniform pants. Thank fucking christ for all the layers.
That day in class gives him an idea and when he gets home later, he drops his bag on the floor, locks his bedroom door, and doesn't take a stitch of clothing off.
The way his hard, weeping length had been getting stimulated by his clothes had been fucking incredible, and despite being in a room full of people, the shame had been minimal.
Coriolanus will take whatever he can get at this point.
He blows out a shaking breath as he settles and almost immediately he feels his dick harden fully. His breath starts to quicken almost immediately after that. How long has in been? Months since he's given in?
Too long. Far, far too long if he's practically coming all over himself in class. What would he have done if he had?
He can feel the weight of his uniform on his body, the extra fabric at his waist, and it feels like being lightly touched all over as Coriolanus shifts around a little, trying to recreate the sensation he'd felt in class. Or build upon it.
He feels his face heat up as he shifts his hips. Fuck - if felt so incredibly good.
He whines in relief, breath quickening further. If this felt good enough to make him cum then he could feel this kind of pleasure much more often - maybe not all the time, but enough that Coriolanus doesn't come in fucking class.
The stimulation isn't quite enough and so he shifts to the side and down to acheive the goal of tightening his boxers and pants arount his crotch and yes,yes,yes-!
That was it, right there. It feels a little awkward otherwise but Coriolanus can't bring himself to care right now. Biting his lip, he shakily reaches into his boxers, adjusting his hard cock so it was resting against his stomach instead of his thigh. This is even better and Coriolanus is soon gripping his threadbare blankets in his fingers as he humps up just a little - that's all it takes - in order to stimulate his erection that has been neglected for too long.
"Oh... fuck..." Coriolanus breathes, mouth falling open as his hips jerked up, clumsy, body in no way used to this motion. He whimpers, wanting so badly to press the palm of his hand against the front of his crimson uniform pants, it would be so fucking easy to cum like that, and so quick.
He tries slowing it down and that actually feels better - Coriolanus lets out a low whine with nearly every slow, sensuous thrust of his hips. As his chest begins to heave, he feels the fabric of his shirt brush against his nipples and this causes him to cry out in surprise.
He's past caring if anyone can hear him.
"Damnit - please -" He whines to himself as he draws closer, hips slowly rocking back and forth. His boxers are now wet and a little slick with his precum, which makes Coriolanus whimper to himself, then let out frustrated sobs.
Frustrated for several reasons - one because it feels so fucking good the way his cock is sliding more easily but it also brings him back to the filthy reality of what he's doing - squirming around on his own bed like a desperate little slut -
"Oh god," Coriolanus chokes, hips jerking faster the second he thought the word slut - then he couldn't stop thinking it - slutslutslutyou'resuchawhineydesperatelittleslut
"Please, please -" His hips are moving in fast little jerks, underside of his erection grinding against the inside of his pants, which now has a wet spot at the front. He is so close, so close but it didn't seem to be quite enough pressure, or something, and Coriolanus was starting to panic.
"C'mon, p-please! I can't-" Coriolanus can't give in and touch himself now. He's already gotten this far! But fuck, he's gotten this far, and he needs to cum or else he thinks he might actually go a little crazy.
The tears come before he does, and he can't take it anymore. Whimpering and whining, Coriolanus turns onto his side and bunches his blankets in his hands, then he presses the mess of fabric against him, grinding into it, knee coming up to wrap one leg around it a bit as his dick erupts, cum coating the inside of his boxers.
He sobs, turning his face into his arm. Coriolanus can't stay completely quiet - it's been far too long.
The orgasm seems to mount as he humps into the fabric more, thinking he's riding out his orgasm, his hot release aiding in how fast and how much his cock was sliding in his boxers, and it feels a little different than when he was dry, not better or worse, but different.
He feels just as lewd as if he was using his hand. Just as disgusting and weak and pathetic - animals fucking did this!
But another orgasm is coming. Coriolanus wants it to stop - it was supposed to be done by now! He sucks in a breath, only to release it again in sobs, tears soaking his crumpled jacket.
"Please - god - just one more, please, I won't again, I won't do this again I swear," He mutters to himself.
He wants it harder, wants to fuck something harder, wrap his hand around his dick, touch himself all day because what does it matter now, he's a filthy slut anyway -
Coriolanus cums again with a grunt, hips stuttering, slowing for a moment, then moving even faster, as what feels like a third orgasm of some kind hits him to ride it all out.
"Fuckfuckfuckfuckyesyespleasec'monfuck,"
Another grunt and he knows he's spent. His entire body goes limp as he sobs into his arm. How humiliating. Cum was everywhere through out his pants and - christ he had been so eager to get off that he hadn't even taken his shoes off for fucks sake.
He's pathetic, and Coriolanus feels sick with himself. His father would be ashamed - either because of his lack of self control or whatever made him such a pussy that he couldn't just jerk off. Get it over with.
He cries for awhile, feeling sorry for himself, and disgusted.
He tries to comfort himself. He never did really touch himself, not technically, and it isn't entirely his fault. That girl with the pen had to know what she looked like and he knows masturbation is fuckin normal.
Sniffling, Coriolanus pushes himself up to start the process of cleaning up, wondering just how long he's going to be able to last this time before he gives in again...