Caught Between Spikes (SPH)

It should've taken ten seconds. One hand on the bar, one on the post, swing the leg, push off, drop down, move on. I'd done it a dozen times. But this time, my foot slipped. My thigh dragged, the metal bit into my jeans, and before I could react, the elastic of my underwear caught on one of the fence's top spikes. Not snagged -- fucking impaled.

The momentum yanked me down and left me hanging -- literally -- by my own boxers. A sharp twist of fabric clamped between my ass and balls, yanking everything up and back in a single cruel pull. My body jerked, helpless. My hands scrambled for grip. Couldn't reach anything. I was just... dangling.

I tried to shift my weight, push off with my foot, maybe rip the fabric and fall, but the angle was wrong. And my shorts had slipped down just enough to make it worse. The front of my boxers folded under the pressure, and I felt it -- my dick slid sideways and popped out. Not hard. The opposite of hard. Shrunk. Cold. Exposed.

I looked down and saw it hanging there. Small. Stupid. Practically non-existent. Just there, out in the open, the head pressed to the edge of the waistband like it had tried to retreat and failed.

Then I heard them.

Footsteps on the gravel. Then sneakers on pavement. Light. Fast. Laughing. Three of them.

I froze.

The voices got closer, casual at first, then suddenly louder--

-- Oh my god, what the hell

-- Is he fucking stuck?

-- Wait, is that his dick out?

I didn't turn my head. I couldn't. I already knew.

Three girls. Jogging clothes. Ponytails. Breathless. Confused. Amused.

One moved closer.

-- Dude. You're... really stuck, huh?

No response from me. I just clenched the fence, legs twitching. The fabric wedged so tight it felt like a hot wire slicing me in half. My dick still out. Still pathetic.

-- Yo, is that your whole thing?

-- Like... it's not gonna grow or something, right?

-- Fuck, it's like a pale pink mushroom. Jesus.

I closed my eyes. My thighs were shaking. My arms couldn't hold forever. The pressure on my crotch felt like it was rearranging me from the inside.

-- Should we help him down or

-- No, no, hang on. I need a picture of this.

Click. A soft phone shutter sound.

-- Smile for the camera, man. Oh wait -- never mind, he's already dying inside.

Laughter. Real, open laughter now. Not cruel -- but unfiltered. I felt my face burning. Not red -- purple. I wanted to rip my own skin off.

-- I can't believe he's just... hanging there like a microwaved ball-sack

-- What if this is like, his kink or something?

-- Honestly, that dick's not long enough to have a kink

More laughter. The metal pressed harder. My legs slipped lower. My dick was still out, still soft, still small, still theirs to see.

And I couldn't say a word.

I didn't move. Couldn't. My arms were shaking, my thighs twitching in short, pathetic spasms as I tried to keep myself from spinning on the fucking spike. The pressure from the underwear had split my whole center -- like it had found every soft point and jammed itself between. And my dick was still out. No hiding it. No rearranging. Just there, limp and pink, twisted sideways like it was embarrassed to be part of me.

They were standing around me now. Close. The closest one -- the tall brunette with black shorts and a hoodie knotted around her waist -- bent down a little. Her voice was light, almost thoughtful.

-- I mean, I knew it would be small, but not like... that small.

-- Seriously, is this like, medically a thing?

-- Maybe he's a grower?

-- Babe, if he grows from this it's still gonna look like a disappointed worm.

Laughter. Not malicious, not exaggerated -- just real. The kind that spirals because it's too absurd not to. I shut my eyes.

-- Hey. You good, dude? You breathing?

-- Blink if you're conscious.

-- Oh my god, what if he came up here to jerk off and got caught?

-- Ew, with that? He'd be here all night and still not feel it.

One of them crouched near my leg. I heard her water bottle hit the ground. Then I felt her finger -- just one -- poke my thigh.

-- He's trembling. Like full-body trembles.

-- From the pain or the shame, though?

-- Both. Definitely both.

-- What's your name?

Silence.

-- Okay. Call him... Button.

-- No wait -- Shrimp.

-- What about Bean?

-- No no. Stubby.

They lost it again. My legs were slipping lower, my body starting to sag. One of them moved behind me, real quiet, and I flinched when her voice landed right by my ear.

-- You know what's crazy? Your balls are actually kind of normal. It just makes him look even sadder.

Her breath hit my skin. I couldn't tell if I was sweating or just cold to the bone. My face felt numb. The air between my legs was like open exposure. I couldn't shift, couldn't hide, couldn't fix it.

Another girl circled in front of me, squatting until we were eye level. Dirty blonde, freckles, ponytail. Her face was half amused, half... curious.

-- So. Real talk. You ever had a girl laugh at it before?

-- Don't lie.

-- Wait, let me guess -- no one's seen it before, huh?

She tilted her head. I tried to say something, anything, but my mouth stayed clamped shut.

-- Jesus, you're shaking so bad.

-- I think he's gonna cry.

The third girl -- shorter, broader shoulders, hair in a messy bun -- leaned against the post and crossed her arms.

-- Let him cry.

-- If I had a dick that size, I'd cry every morning.

Another round of giggles. My throat burned. My hands were gripping the cold metal so hard my fingers ached. My whole lower body pulsed with a dull, rising shame that felt physical -- not emotional anymore -- like it was pushing heat out of my skin.

-- Hey, Stubby. Be honest. On a scale from 1 to 10... how humiliated are you right now?

I swallowed. My lips parted. I barely heard myself.

-- Ten.

The girl in front of me smiled -- wide, amused, like she'd been waiting for that.

-- Good boy.

And then she pulled out her phone again.

The sound of the second photo being taken hit harder than the first. Not because of the click -- but because I didn't even try to stop it. I just hung there. My legs were jelly. My stomach twisted. And that last line -- good boy -- echoed louder in my head than the laughter that followed it.

My fingers started slipping on the metal. Not all at once -- just enough that I lost any hope of pulling myself back up. I shifted, winced, and finally gave in. The fabric gave out with a loud tearing pop, and I fell. Hard. Right onto the gravel below.

Everything hit at once -- spine, elbows, palms, knees. The scrape on my leg reopened. My vision blurred. I stayed still, too dizzy to breathe for a second.

And then I realized I hadn't pulled my shorts up.

My dick -- that shriveled, helpless, defeated piece of nothing -- was still out.

Still small.

Still fucking visible.

I scrambled to turn over, dragging my body like I was crawling through war mud. My fingers clutched at the waistband, trying to yank the fabric back up, but it was half-torn, useless, hanging crooked. And the three girls were still there. Watching.

No one said anything for a second. Then one of them -- the ponytail girl -- whistled.

-- Still tiny. Just in case anyone was wondering.

The tall one walked around in front of me, leaning down slightly, hands on her knees. I didn't look at her. Couldn't.

-- You okay, Shrimp?

-- Oh wait. No, don't answer. Your balls are jiggling. I think that means yes.

Laughter. A little softer now. Like they were starting to calm down -- but still riding the wave.

I finally managed to yank my underwear halfway over myself, clutching both hands between my legs as tight as I could. The material barely covered anything, and I knew -- knew -- it made it worse. Now it just looked like I was hiding a secret that wasn't worth hiding.

-- Don't stress, man. It's not like anyone else saw.

-- Yet.

-- Unless we forget and accidentally upload it somewhere. You know. For science.

I stood up slowly, legs wobbling, arms locked in front of my crotch. I didn't make eye contact with any of them. My face was soaked with sweat and dust and shame.

One of them -- the girl with the messy bun -- lifted her phone and typed something with her thumb. Then she looked up and grinned.

-- Don't worry. I didn't post it.

-- Yet.

They turned to leave, giggling again, bumping shoulders, stepping lightly like they'd just come from a party. I stood there like I wasn't real. Just a body. Just a red-faced idiot in torn shorts with nothing worth covering and no dignity left to lose.

Right before they disappeared behind the bleachers, one voice floated back to me. I don't know which one it was. But I'll never forget the sound.

-- You made my night, little guy. Seriously.

And they were gone.

And I was still standing there.

Still small.

Still humiliated.

And still fucking hard.

the crackle of air

(Written and edited by AlexisVriting)