Stool Trap

I should've said no. That was my first mistake.

-- Can you hold this up for a sec? We just need the corner up there.

That was Nicole. Tall, direct, cropped hoodie showing abs she definitely worked for. Behind her: three more girls with ring lights, tape, folding reflectors. The TikTok Club, apparently. Some promotional skit, low-budget, high energy. I was just passing through the student center, and suddenly I was "tall guy with working arms."

The stool looked suspicious from the start -- cheap, hollow plastic with cracked feet and a warning label that had peeled off. But I didn't question it. I stepped up. Held the corner of the makeshift fabric backdrop.

-- Little higher! Nicole called.

I reached.

Then heard the crack.

Not loud -- just a dry, plasticky pop, like a bottle cap snapping off. The stool shifted sideways under my foot. I fell with it.

Knees hit floor. Hands out. Elbows braced on carpet. The whole thing happened in two seconds.

But what froze everything -- the reason no one moved or spoke for a moment -- was how I landed.

On all fours. Ass in the air. Shins tangled in the collapsed stool. And somehow, somehow, the motion had dragged my basketball shorts halfway down -- exposing the upper curve of my butt and most of my light gray briefs, which were now jammed between my cheeks.

Silence. Then:

-- Oh my god, Nicole whispered.

And then --

-- Is he... stuck?

Another voice, giggling:

-- I think the stool's eating him.

I felt my face go hot. Tried to push up -- but the bent leg of the stool had caught around my ankle, and my shorts were pinched under it. I couldn't move without dragging them further down. And behind me?

All four girls could see everything.

One of them actually crouched to get a better look.

-- Oh wow. That's... wow.

I didn't even want to know what that meant.

My hands dug into the carpet as I shifted, trying to push up without making it worse. But every twitch of my thighs just scraped more skin across the rough plastic, and the damn shorts were caught under me like a trap. I could feel the waistband digging in on one side and riding up hard on the other, exposing the top of my crack and most of the briefs -- briefs that were now so tight they'd molded like a second skin between my legs.

Behind me, the girls hadn't moved.

No one was helping.

But they were very much watching.

Nicole's voice broke the silence again, casual but too loud, like a stage whisper.

-- Is that... are those Star Wars boxers?

One of them giggled and corrected her.

-- Nope. Briefs. You can tell by the way they ride up. I mean... damn. That's like, full wedgie.

The laughter that followed wasn't cruel -- just genuine, breathless amusement, like someone had slipped on a banana peel in a cartoon. Except the banana peel was my dignity, and the cartoon was me.

I yanked at the broken stool, and it wobbled uselessly. The leg had wedged between my calf and the frame. I couldn't stand. My arms weren't free enough to pull my shorts up. The girls were still behind me, and I could hear the unmistakable sound of a phone unlocking. Then the soft, deliberate tap of a camera shutter.

I twisted my head back, horrified.

-- Are you serious?

Nicole had her phone out, held low, angled right at me.

-- I'm documenting the rescue effort, she said.

I opened my mouth, ready to say something, but then another girl -- Mia, I think -- actually came closer.

-- Hold on, I'll help.

She knelt down beside me and reached for the tangled plastic. Her fingers brushed my calf.

-- Okay, we'll do it slow -- lift your left knee?

I did.

She grabbed the stool, pulled, and -- I don't know how -- managed to yank it in just the right way that my entire body jolted forward and my briefs snapped further up my ass, stretching the fabric tight enough to lift my balls slightly.

And of course, that's when a second phone clicked.

-- Shit, wait, go back, said one of the others, laughing. I missed the moment.

-- You mean the instant his dignity left his body? Nicole replied.

I groaned into the carpet.

Mia, bless her, was actually trying. She had both hands on the stool now and was tugging earnestly. But every move she made dragged my shorts down another inch. I could feel the waistband teetering near the base of my spine -- and even worse, feel how the briefs had ridden so far up my crack that they weren't even doing their job anymore.

My whole ass was almost out.

And they were still giggling like it was a team-building exercise.

-- Okay, okay, we need to be serious now, Nicole said -- but her voice was shaking with laughter.

-- Let's all count down together. On three we lift.

I closed my eyes.

And waited for the countdown that might, maybe, give me a shot at pulling my pants back up before the next picture.

Three... two... one.

On "one," four different hands grabbed the stool -- and part of my ankle, and maybe a corner of my shirt -- and pulled. But it wasn't coordinated. It wasn't smooth. It wasn't even helpful.

My left leg wrenched free first. The shift pitched my weight forward, dragging my hips a few inches down and, with them, both the shorts and briefs clinging to my body. I felt the unmistakable release of fabric from skin -- a soft peel, hot from friction -- and then the cold air across my ass.

There was a beat of silence. A real pause.

Then a collective gasp, followed immediately by shrieking laughter.

-- OH my god--

-- I saw EVERYTHING--

-- I didn't mean to! I swear! I just--

But they weren't turning away.

I was still on my hands and knees, ass completely bared, briefs wedged between my legs and twisted sideways, one testicle very possibly visible, and the camera noises hadn't stopped.

I tried to scramble up -- to pull something over me -- but my shirt had ridden up and my shorts had slid down and there was no way to fix one without exposing more of the other. I grabbed blindly for the waistband, but Nicole's voice cut in:

-- Leave it. We're already past the point of return.

I froze.

She was right. My body knew it too -- the sweat between my shoulder blades, the flush creeping down my chest, the tremble in my hands. Somewhere deep down I realized I wasn't even trying to escape anymore. I was just bracing. Waiting for the moment to end.

Then one of the girls said, almost sweetly:

-- Do you want us to help you up... or is it safer for you down there?

Laughter again.

I finally forced myself to roll sideways, one leg free, arm covering as much as I could. My briefs were twisted, halfway around my thigh. My shorts were at my knees. Everything itched and stung -- from friction, from air, from shame.

Mia crouched next to me and offered a hand. Her face was red -- but from laughter, not guilt.

-- You okay?

I nodded. Couldn't speak.

She pulled me up, and as I stood, Nicole announced like a game show host:

-- Let's give it up for Star Wars Boy! Survived the stool. Lost the battle with gravity. Gained, like, five new nicknames.

The others clapped. Someone took a bow.

I muttered something, pulled up my clothes without daring to meet their eyes, and stumbled toward the door.

As I left, I heard Nicole say:

-- I swear I wasn't looking at his dick. But if I had been... I'd say it matched the stool.

And then they absolutely howled.

I didn't look back.