Crisis of Infinite Snuggles
You get home late, drenched in sweat, every muscle in your body aching. It’s been a long night of male-stripping, and you’re exhausted. Usually your jobs aren’t so taxing, but this had been a special case. It had been a private party—a private birthday party and you’d been paid to put in a lot of extra effort. And you had definitely gone the extra mile. After all, it wasn’t every day a woman hit triple digits. This was probably one of the best shows you ever preformed; you just have to recall the smiling faces of those women and it all becomes worth it.
You head to the bathroom to take a shower and wash off the sweat off your body. After the performance you gave tonight, you probably stink something awful; one of things they don’t tell you about in strip-school. After a double lather of Stripper Splash you feel refreshed, all of your worries washed away under the under the torrent of steaming water.
You get out of the shower feeling like a new man. If you hadn’t just showered, you’d have gone to your home gym and pumped some iron. You Don't keep your body in strip-perfect condition by sitting around all day eating Cheetos after all.
Suddenly, your sculpted pecks begin to jiggle—your stripper sense is tingling! There’s a woman nearby; a woman whose eyes are not being filled with your visage; a woman in deep need of your unclothed body; a woman in desperate need of some male-stripping! You resist the deeply ingrained urge to replace your shirt with a fireman’s coat and a quick glance out the window. You see no women, yet stripper sense doesn’t lie. You’re confused; you feel the tingling of your un-satiated stripper sense spreading from your sculpted pecks to your equally sculpted abs. Yet there’s no sign of any women in need of male stripping anywhere, unless . . .
There’s a woman in your house.
Oh . . . crap.
You’ve had women in your house before, but always on your terms. The last time a women came into your house uninvited, it had not been a pleasant experience; unless your idea of a pleasant experience involved being tied to a chair and slapped repeatedly with a giant rubber chicken, with J-pop blaring full-blast from every speaker in your home.
Slowly, you make your way through the house, feeling the tingling in your chest intensifying as make your way. You conduct your search thoroughly, going through each room and closet, until there’s only one room in the house untouched, the one room you were hoping to avoid searching: the bedroom.
You swallow, and gather your courage. For some reason there’s a woman hiding in your house. And if your bedroom is where this woman is, then that’s where you’re going.
You muster your courage and begin the long climb up the stairs to the second level of your house. What’s the worst that could happen? Actually, don’t answer that.
You slam the door open, ready for anything, except for the sight that awaits you on the other side of the door. In the middle of your room, sitting on your bed, is a horse, a big, white horse. You hadn’t been expecting that. The horse turns to look at you and you see it has a crown and a horn . . . and wings. An honest-to-god unicorn is sitting in your room. Your mouth drops somewhere around your feet. A unicorn: big and white and fluffy. You blink and rub your eyes, when you open them, the unicorn is still there . . . and staring straight at you. This can’t be real, you think. It has to be a trick, or a hallucination; yeah, that’s it! Big Bubba must have slipped you something as a joke. That’s not a unicorn in your room, it’s just a hallucination. There probably isn’t even any woman in your house, lying in wait to assault you with rubber poultry. Relief washes over you. None of this is real.
“Hello,” you say to the horse, as if to prove your point.
The unicorn’s eyes widen in a surprised expression, then it opens its mouth and says, “oh, hello there. I didn’t realize that you spoke Equestrian—my apologies.”
The unicorn talked. The unicorn talks!
Yep, definitely a hallucination, if you still had any doubts, they’re gone now.
The unicorn stands up on your bed, the tip of her horn nearly touching the ceiling. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Princess Celestia; Ruler of Equestria. Are you the proprietor of this house?”
You suddenly have the acute feeling that there is a very stupid expression on your face.
“Um, I’m a renter actually,” you say. The next time you see Big Bubba, you’re going to get him for this.
The horse just keeps looking at you with those too-human eyes. “Please forgive me my ignorance”, she says, and then bows her head. “But I am unfamiliar with the term ‘renter’. Is that your title? Or your rank perhaps?”
You suddenly have the acute feeling that there is now an even stupider expression on your face.
“Um . . . what?”
The unicorn frowns way-too-humanly. “Hmmm, perhaps our languages are not as similar as I thought. Or perhaps you’re stupid?” she looks at you interestedly, like a child looks at a monkey in a cage at the zoo then holds up a hoof and shakes it dismissively. “It really doesn’t matter how intelligent you are. I suppose you’re wondering why there is an alicorn currently reclining on your bed?”
“It might have crossed my mind.”
She smiles, “splendid! Allow me to introduce myself; I am Princess Celestia, ruler of Equestria. I have come to your world in search of snuggles.”
You stare at the “alicorn” for a minute in utter silence. “Snuggles?” you choke out at last.
Celestia nods her head sagely. “Yes, snuggles. It’s rather unfortunate. But several centuries ago, I was hugged by a radioactive snuffleupagus. At first, I didn’t realize that anything was wrong; I didn’t feel ill, in fact I felt better than ever. But I soon started to realize that something was wrong. I started to have these dreams where I would go out at night and . . . and . . . snuggle. I didn’t think that the dreams were anything but dreams at first, but then ponies started changing,” she said darkly.
This was the best hallucination ever. “What do you mean, they ‘started changing?’ What did they change into?”
Celestia cast her eyes downward. “Well . . . they changed from living ponies, into dead ones.”
“What? They were dying? Like dying with laughter, or keeling over and craping their selves?”
“Um, the second one . . . I think.”
“Aw, man. That sucks!” you say.
She nods morosely. “Yes, it does indeed ‘suck’.”
“Why were they dropping off? Was it Nazis? I fucking hate Nazis. FUCK NAZIS!”
She stares at you like a homeless person stares at a talking trash can, and says, “Um, no, it wasn’t not-sees; it was me.
“Wait, what!?” That hadn’t been the answer you were expecting.
She sighs, “Yes, it turns out that I was sleep snugging!”
“Sleep snuggling?” You’re not really sure what to say to that.
“Yes, it turns out that the snuffleupagus cursed me. Once a year, on the first of April, I am stricken with the urge to go out and snuggle. I would go to bed and arise in my sleep to snuggle with hapless ponies.”
You think about that for a moment. “I don’t understand. What does that have to do with anything?”
The white alicorn shrugs. “It turns out that I’m so incredibly snuggly, that it overwhelmed their fragile pony bodies. I literally snuggled them to death.”
You think about that for a second. “Damn, that’s pretty snugly.” You finally say.
“Yes,” she says sadly. “It is both my blessing and my curse.” She looks back up at you. “But that’s why I’m here. Every year on this day I’ve searched for a creature capable of withstanding the awesome power of my snuggles, hoping to find somepony or something that can I can snuggle safely.”
You know then what you must do. Hallucination or not, there’s a woman (kind-of) in desperate need of non-sexual loving. And it’s your solemn duty as a male-stripper to provide that non-sexual loving. “Princess Celestia,” you say, looking into her eyes. “I’ll snuggle you.”
Her eyes go wide. “Even after everything I just told you? I’m so snuggly that you could die. Are you really willing to risk your life for me?”
Are you willing to risk your life? You think about it, really think about it. “Yes. Yes, I am. Death snuggles or no, it’s my duty as a male-stripper to make sure that every customer I service leaves with a smile; even if it kills me.”
Princess Celestia wipes a tear from her eye. “Thank you, brave soul. I don’t know what to say.”
You put out a hand to silence her. Then, you walk over to your closet and put on a large white T-shirt. You look back to her, “okay, let’s get snuggly,” you say, and throw off the shirt in one quick motion.
Princess Celestia flashes a predatory smile at you. “Very well.” Her horn lights up, and suddenly you find yourself being lifted into thin air and towards her. Her arms close around you like a vice grip. “Are you sure you’re ready for this?” she asks again. “Once I start, I won’t be able to stop until it’s over.”
You look up to her, “I was born ready for this, Princess. Hit me with the most snuggly snuggles you’ve ever snuggled! I’ll take ‘em all!”
She just looks at you. “So brave . . .” she says again, and she starts to snuggle you.
The first thing you notice is how soft she is. Hugging her is like hugging a cloud, a cloud made of whip cream and Egyptian cotton. In short, she’s really freaking soft.
“How are you doing?” she asks, rubbing her muzzle against your chest.
“Hmm, well actually this isn’t so bad. I thought it was going to be painful or something.”
She laughs at that. “Oh, no, I was just making sure you were comfortable before I started in earnest.”
You raise an eyebrow. “Earnest? What do you mean by tha–AAAAAAT!” Feel it now, sweet mother of soft socks you feel it. You don’t know what happened; one moment you were being hugged by a mythical horse princess; the next moment, you’re entire body feels like it’s been covered in the softest freaking thing you’ve ever felt.
Celestia looks up, alarmed. “Are you okay? It’s not too soon for me to stop.”
“No! I told you, I can take it!” You say to her. “Snuggle me until you can’t snuggle anymore!”
Celestia doesn’t waste any time, she pulls you in closer and wraps her wings around you; somehow, they’re even softer than her coat. You feel your heart beating faster and faster, your breathing quickening, your brain overloading with the immense strain of trying to cope with all this snuggliness.
With a terrifying clarity, you understand how Celestia’s snuggles could be lethal: they’re like a drug overdose. And the drug is awesome!
Your body is a finely tuned machine of non-sexual pleasure. You were trained by the best male-strippers that Maximillian Muscle’s two week video course had to offer. You can take this. You can take it all!
Suddenly, you wrap your arms around Celestia. You begin to run your thickly muscled arm along her sides. “What are you doing?” she asks, shocked.
“I’m doing the only thing I can do,” you say to her, “I’m snuggling you.”
“But . . . I don’t understand, why?”
“Because you’re so snuggly that even if you didn’t have this curse on you, no one could snuggle you anyways; I don’t care if I die, Princess, but I’m going to make sure that you get the best snuggle you’ve ever had.”
She opens her mouth to reply, but all that comes out is a low moan as you begin to rub her belly. She manages to get control of herself after a moment and says, “Can I ask you for one favor?”
“Anything,” you say.
“Don’t be gentle.”
You smile. The customers always right. “You want rough snuggling? You got it.”
The rest of the night passes by in a blur of white snuggly non-sexual goodness. The more you snuggled, the more the both of you want to snuggle. Until the sun is rising through your window and you’re both too exhausted for even the tiniest snug.
Celestia turns to you. “I can’t believe it, after all this time. Where did you learn to snuggle like that?
You just shrug. “I’m the best at what I do.”
“I believe it,” Celestia says to you with an exhausted smile. “One last thing, before I go. I never learned your name.”
You take a glance out the window at the rising sun and the new day and turn back to her. “My name’s Tatum. Channing Tatum.”