Rag Week
by David Heulfryn


During my first year at University, I was desperate to have fun and do all the things I wanted to do but couldn’t because I lived at home.

So during the Fresher’s Fair, I joined as many clubs as I could. The strangest one was the Queue Club. A small group of us would go into the city centre and just form a queue outside a shop doorway or a public toilet. Our best result was when we got eleven poor mugs to queue behind us outside a bakery. After ten minutes we just walked off down the street laughing our heads off. Our fearless leader called it ‘A Humorous Study of the British Propensity to Queue’.

But it was during November when Rag Week started that I really threw myself into the fundraising. There was a healthy rivalry between each Hall of Residence to which raised the most for charity. Each year my Hall held a slave auction. They all did them every year, but at the time it was new and exciting to me. I was roped in, well jumped at the chance really, along with five other lads and a couple of the girls. This year, to add a little extra to the auction, we were all to dress up; a sort of fancy dress. Being Welsh, I was given the choice of a sheep or rugby player.

“We’re not all fucking sheep shaggers you know. I know I’ll shag most things, but I draw the line at sheep.”

“Yes, you are. I saw you shagging one last week.”

“Oh fuck off, Mark. That was Jill as well, you know.”

“Well, you’d better hurry up, Yess. You’ll be needed in the ring soon.” I never thought he had a sheep costume for one minute and rummaged in my wardrobe to get my rugby kit out. I played every weekend at home but never really got around to joining the university team yet; the bars and nightclubs’ pull kept me away.

I threw the screwed up kit on my bed and picked the black lycra shorts and jockstrap I wore under the shorts and tossed them aside.

“No fucking way, mate, if you’re going to do this you going to do this right, jock an’ all.”

I tried to argue with Mark, but in the end, I gave up. I knew I’d have to take my top off and probably my shorts, but that would be it. I’d never heard of anybody going all the way before, and I certainly wasn’t going to be the first.


I waited with the others at the back of the stage. The compare, Bill teased the crowd with the delights that would parade on stage for their entertainment.

Alan was up first, and the crowd went wild when they saw him dressed up as a schoolboy. Ten minutes later he emerged backstage again dressed in only his boxers and his tie around his neck.

“Let’s hear it for Alan Jenkins, who sold his body for a mere forty quid.”

The crowd cheered.

“You can do better than that.” Bill taunted. “You’re just a bunch o’ fucking cheapskates. I’ve got some of the best brawn back there who will do your every whim.” The crowd cheered again as he bucked his hips back and forward.

I was up next and made my way to the side of the stage.

“Right up next,” Bill consulted his schedule, “is someone.” He turned to the poor bloke who typed it up. “Where you fucking drunk when you typed this.”

He shook his head.

“Well, I think it’s somebody with Rhys in their name.

“Iestyn ap Rhys, you fuckin’ wanker.” I shouted from the side.

“Oh.” He sighed and turned back to his audience. “Well, up next is our very own Boyo from the valleys who shagged more sheep that we’ve all had hot dinners. A Celtic cutie and a Welsh wonder stud. It’s a rugger bugger who is always seen with a hooker and is the best flanker I know. It’s our very own Yess!”

I jogged onto the stage to cheers and whistles, and Bill started by giving me the best workout I’d had in ages; press-ups, stomach crunches. I was sweating and panting when he finally started the bidding.

I looked into the crowd at a slight blonde girl who shouted ‘twenty quid’ and Bill. She looked cute, and I wouldn’t have minded being her slave for the day.

“Twenty quid. You lot can do better than that.” Bill lifted my shirt slightly, and the girls screamed in mock delight when they saw my belly.

Bidding now stood at seventy quid, and I was standing in just my rugby boots and lycra shorts. Bill grabbed my arse and promised the lycra would go for another tenner. I was about to protest when the blonde girl shouted ‘eighty quid’ at Bill.

She was cute, and I kept my eyes on her as I peeled down the tight shorts. Her eyes widened as she saw my jockstrap, the crowd roared, and my eyes were dazzled by the camera flashes as they all wanted to capture my image.

The metaphorical hammer went down, and I was sold for eighty pounds. I jogged off the stage to more flashes as they photographed my bare buttocks before I disappeared from sight.

The other prospective slaves wolf-whistled when they saw me, and I was glad when my rugby kit was brought back to me. I quickly dressed and started to feel more comfortable.

The auction lasted for another few hours. We weren’t allowed to go out into the crowd afterwards, and so I grew bored waiting. It was past eleven when I was finally led from the room we were kept in by my new owner. Bill’s final words to all owners were, ‘There are no rules, you can do with them whatever you wish until midnight tomorrow.’


The blonde spoke to me. “Follow me and don’t say a word until I speak to you.”

I compliantly nodded and followed her as she led the way. I surprised when she led me out of the Halls. I was even more surprised when I realised we weren’t going to a house but to another Hall of Residence.

I stayed quiet as I followed her inside and along a corridor. She knocked on the door.

“Here he is Andy. I hope you like him.” She turned to me. “I didn’t buy you, Andy did. You are his slave. Have fun.”

“Come inside.” Andy beckoned.

The blonde disappeared, and Andy closed the door behind me. He was no fresher; he had the look of someone who’d been here for some time. His room was small, with only a single bed and a tiny desk where he studied. The walls were almost bare; instead of covering every available inch with posters like most students, Andy just had one poster. ‘Your country needs you’ declared the banner underneath the drawing of Lord Kitchener. The tattered corners and yellow hue gave me the impression that it could have been an original from the time of the Great War, but I doubted it. I supposed he displayed it ironically, after all, that’s how all the students I knew appreciated things of old or of dubious quality.

“Are you my slave?” He asked.


“Are you to do anything I wish?”


“As per the rules, nothing is off limits?”


He showed no emotion in his questions, and I was equally deadpan in my answers. When I said my final ‘no’, his face slowly evolved a smile.

“Good.” He moved to stand close to me, very close, our noses almost touched. “I’ve seen you around, Iestyn, and I find you very interesting. Or do you prefer being called Yess?”

“Yess is fine.” I almost whispered.

“Well, Yess. Just do as I say and don’t say a word unless I ask you to.”

I nodded my consent, careful not to butt him. He raised himself on tiptoes and placed a gentle kiss on my lips. My mouth didn’t flinch away, but it stayed closed. His hands grasped my rugby shirt and pulled it up. He stepped away from me as I bent slightly for him to pull it over my head, my arms outstretched to allow the cotton to slide easily off.

Andy tossed the shirt to the floor and rubbed his hands over my fleshy chest and belly. He pulled some curly hairs around one of my nipples and coaxed it alive before covering it with his moist mouth. I felt his teeth gnaw at my bud while his hands stroked their way around my back. Groaning with delight, I closed my eyes.

His hands travelled down to my thick cotton shorts, firmly grasping my buttocks and thrusting my hips towards him. I felt my groin connect with his and our growing hardness pressed into each other. From my nipple, he licked and kissed his way downwards stopping at my belly button, sucking on the wisps of surrounding hair and playfully darting his tongue inside.

My dick strained inside my shorts, begging for someone’s touch for some relief, but my arms hung passively by my side, not daring to deprive my master of his pleasure. His hands continued to knead my arse cheeks as his tongue moistened the trail of fuzzy hairs from my navel to my shorts. I let out a deep breath as his tongue reached the thick waistband and wriggled its way under. My dick twitched unnoticeably within its confines as it anticipated his touch. His fingers crept from my arse to hook themselves under the waistband of my shorts. Carefully he peeled the white cotton down, stretching them over the bulge in the black lycra. As he bent to pull the shorts down my thighs, his fringe flopped forward and trailed over my bulge. The touch was indistinguishable as I sucked in a deep breath collapsing my belly.

His hands firmly grasped my right ankle and pulled upwards. It was a few seconds before I let out my breath and raised my foot a couple of inches from the floor. When my foot was free from my shorts, I felt the pressure again from his grip and lowered my foot again, the routine was then mirrored with my other foot.

Now free from my shorts, his hands grasped my calves and felt the ridges from my long red socks. As they eased upwards, I felt his fingers feather the back of my knees, and I struggled to stay upright as they almost buckled. My eyes looked down as I saw a mischievous grin on his face. His hands rubbed up my thick thighs, his fingernails catching on the coarse hairs.

As with my shorts, he slowly peeled down the tight lycra, careful not to rub the throbbing bulge which was to emerge as I felt the cool air on my sweating naked arse cheeks.

My dick felt angry, ready to rip itself free from the confines of the old grey pouch of my jockstrap. It breathed a sigh of relief when Andy tucked his fingers inside the waistband, expecting the same ritual, expecting to feel the air once again. Andy raised himself from his haunches and looked directly at my bulge, he inched closer, his nose mere centimetres away. He inhaled deeply, his eyes closed.

Clutching my hips, he unexpectedly twisted me around. As I was forced round, I nearly lost my balance but stumbled to keep upright. My bare arse was now in front of him, and I heard the same deep breath as he smelled my scent. His hands traced lines down each cheek and through the sweat until they met in the middle, then I felt one finger run down my crack. Then again, this time firmer as his finger pressed deeper between my cleft. His finger went deeper with each pass until I felt it run over my hole, which twitched involuntarily as if trying to entice him in or shoo him away.

His fingers pulled my cheeks apart with a tender grip, and I felt the air touch my hole. It was moist and shined to him, beckoning him in. His tongue accepted the invitation and lapped at the fresh sweat around it. I then felt his tongue on it, gently prodding me and easing my tight sphincter ajar to taste my inner juices. No one had ever touched me there before, and the pleasure caused my stifled moans to erupt loudly.

Like a parent taking sweets away from a naughty boy, his tongue was gone and the fingers opening the access to my hole for him lost their grip, and my cheeks slid closed.

His hands gripped my hips again and turned me back around. The grey pouch straining from the force inside appeared translucent from my sweat and leaking pre-cum. Andy sniffed my scent again and then peeled down my jockstrap, my dick flailed wildly as it was freed.

He waited until my dick calmed down and stood still, poking out from a thick black bush. Andy looked at my dick, mentally measuring its length and thickness. His eyes narrowed as he looked at my shiny knob semi-protruding from my foreskin. My own eyes looked at the crown of his head, boring their message into him; touch me, just let me feel you on my dick and give me release. I wanted him. I was totally seduced by the anticipation of pleasure and his frugal touch.

Andy brought his hand up, allowing my balls to rest in his palms. His tiny movements made each nut roll over his palm and then I winced. His fist had closed around my balls and held them tight. A finger stretched outwards and underneath me, tracing a path back to my hole.

My eyes were closed, expecting his grip to become firmer when I felt his lips against my knob, pressing forward to take me inside and easing my foreskin down my shaft. His tongue feathered the underside of my dick and licked around the deep ridge of my knob. I clenched my buttocks and tried to thrust forward, to get more of my dick inside him, but his hands were placed on my hips and held me steadfast. His throat moaned with each pass his lips made over my shaft, the reverberations tickling and I felt my clear fluid run from the tip and onto his tongue.

With a slow, deliberate movement, his lips rubbed back up my shaft freed my dick. It twitched in the air, breaking the trail of precum which still connected it with his lips. Andy rose up and placed another kiss on my lips.

Backing away from me, I watched as Andy slowly pulled his shirt off. His chest was small and taut, showing little muscle. Any thinner, I thought, and his ribs would show. Kicking off his trainers, his hands fiddled with the clasp of his jeans. Slowly pulling his zip fly down, he let his heavy jeans fall to the floor where he flicked them off his feet. I smiled as he stood in front of me in his sky blue Y-fronts, the bulge of his hard cock tenting the fabric.

Watching his skinny frame bend and stoop, he pulled down his underwear, and I stared at thin, rigid cock to pointing at me. It matched his body perfectly, long and thin, and appeared like a fragile twig about to snap with the slightest touch. But I suspected a strength lay behind the weedy appearance.

Approaching me again, his hand outstretched, Andy grabbed my dick and pushed me backwards, leading me towards the bed. I felt the cold metal frame against my legs, my knees buckled, and I sat on the mattress. Andy released my dick and pushed my shoulders back, resting my head on the pillow. I was about to swing my legs on to the bed to make myself comfortable when he gripped my ankles and did it for me.

Pointing to the ceiling, my dick felt his hand again. It was wet from his saliva, and he slicked it over my shaft. His finger teased my piss slit, sending a shudder down my body. Andy straddled me, his arse raised above my dick. He leant backwards and held it still as he lowered himself down on me.

My dick touched the closed cleft of his buttocks and began to burrow, his cheeks pushing my foreskin back as it went deeper. My exposed knob then hit his hole; it twitched then relaxed and allowed me to slip easily inside. Andy lowered himself fully and sat on my hips, his hard cock rested on my stomach, leaking a pool of precum.

Slowly he rose up and began to ride me, gradually quickening his pace. The old metal bed began to squeak and knock against the wall, his cock flailing in front of him. I watched as it flicked its clear fluid as it stained the wall and my chest. I flinched as I felt a spot hit my cheek.

The pressure of his warm, moist passage against my dick made my balls ache. The long tease left me eager for release; I closed my eyes, waiting for my impending orgasm and listening to the increasing groans from Andy. I couldn’t see the ecstatic expression on his face as I felt the ropes of cum slash across my chest as he continued to ride my dick. I heard a deep groan from Andy, his arse clamped down on my dick, and I felt him thrust forward. Seconds later, a final rope of cum flew from his cock and slashed me across the face, down my right eye like a duelling scar.

I raised my hand to wipe off his seed, but it never reached my face as I felt my dick lurch, and I punched my hand back into the mattress as it erupted. My torso convulsed underneath Andy as my cum shot deep inside him and my stomach undulated like some exotic belly dancer, slapping against his softening cock.

As my breathing levelled out, Andy lifted himself from my dick, leaving it exposed to the air. He lay next to, and I felt him shallow breath against my ear. His hand brushed across my face collecting his cum, and I finally opened my eyes again. Andy leant in and kissed my cheek before yanking the bed covers from underneath us and covering our cold and spent bodies. He came in close, snuggling against me as he rested his head on my shoulder, his arm came over me to keep me from moving. I knew I was trapped for the night when I heard his quiet snores.

“Nos da, Andy.”



Feedback is the only payment our authors get!
Please take a moment to email the author if you enjoyed the story

Rating: 4.8/5. From 2 votes.
Please wait...

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.