Author's Note

List of fetishes
…Can feels be a fetish?

Snuggle Partner

Why do well-endowed females have no regard for the personal privacy of others? I know it feels like a bizarre question to ask, but it’s one that I genuinely require an answer to. And I’m serious, there has not been a female that I have met that was both well-endowed and had an adequate grasp on personal privacy, or even basic boundaries for that matter. Even my adoptive mother, sister, and sister in law have invaded my personal privacy and disregarded my boundaries more times than I care to count.

In the 1 month I’ve been working, and by proxy living here, I’ve had my designated living quarters invaded by my coworkers a total of a 100 times. Yes, I am serious, and no, I am not exaggerating nor am I embellishing it. I’ve had busty females invade my privacy 100 times and had my personal bubble popped much more than that. And for some odd reason, it seems that my room is the only one who receives this treatment as I’ve asked all my coworkers if they have had their rooms ransacked by someone else, and they’ve all replied with a unanimous ‘no’. I sincerely cannot fathom any reason why my room draws so much attention.

And there seems to be no real set explanation or reason why, as their apparent need to abolish my private privacy seems to vary from time to time, from them taking whatever they may need that just so happens to be in my room, to even sleeping with me when I don’t notice. No, you didn’t read that wrong. My coworkers are all horndogs who will break into my room to slip into bed with me, and the grand majority of the time, they slip in when I’m asleep as they know that without a shadow of a doubt, I would banish them if I was awake. Now, simply sleeping with me in bed wouldn’t be such a monumental problem if they were adequately dressed, but no, they can’t even manage that. I cannot begin to count how many times I’ve woken up to find one of my coworkers slipped under my covers with me with just their underwear on, or, they sometimes go a step further and slip in completely naked!

So, yeah, my coworkers are shit at giving me my space. But, you may be asking: why do I bring this up? Well, for one reason: because Suri Polomare-yes, that Suri Polomare, I don’t need to clarify-decided that it would be a swell idea to essentially strong arm me into a dorm room sleepover of sorts. And being the particularly shameless mare that she was, she opted out of wearing any basic bedtime clothing and striking out stark naked. So yeah, my night was going in a shitty direction already.

“How come you haven’t fallen asleep yet?” Suri questioned, as if the answer wasn’t obvious enough, while she hugged me closer to her body.

I grumbled in annoyance, desiring to shoot the Earth Pony my most deadliest of glares, but the seemingly endless ocean of pink flesh blocked my vision of her face. “Maybe because my coworker decided to hop into bed with me for no apparent reason.” I replied with a hint of sarcasm and a tint of anger.

I couldn’t see her face, but from the sound of her unamused scoff, she rolled her eyes. “Look, I know you have your own reservations about ‘private privacy’, whatever the fuck that means, but I don’t need to explain myself to you.” She responded, the brief freedom of my own body from her hand indicated that she air-quoted the ‘private privacy’ part.

As one would predict, I was readily upset that she openly admitted that she-and by extension, probably the rest of my coworkers-knew that I valued my solitude like any introvert worth their salt would, but just openly ignored it. “No, you’re not required to explain yourself, but when your coworker barges in your room stark naked and demands you sleep with them, you’re at least entitled to an explanation.” I regaled her with the sheer levels of ridiculousness of my situation(yes, I said my situation, not our situation because she’s not gaining any discomfort from this at ALL) since it apparently flew over her head.

She sighs irritably, like how dare I request an explanation for this bizarre turn of events, and lifts my head back to where I could see her dark brown eyes, beaming with a feeling that can be summed up as ‘done with this shit’. “And I think I’m entitled to a meal after being subjected to hearing your incessant whining.” She returned back.

I, not wanting to be eaten in any of the myriad of ways she could eat me, grumble softly, nestling my face deeper into her cleavage so that I don’t have to suffer staring at her ugly face anymore. However, my time between her cleavage was cut short as she fished through it and pulled my head, so now I was forced to have that hideous muzzle seared into my brain. “Look Feather, I know you’d probably spend your night alone and shit, but I’m kind of in need of a ‘snuggle partner’ as they would call it.” She began. “And before you say anything, I’ve tried this with the other girls and they’re horrible snuggle partners.” She added quickly, answering the internal question that buzzed in my mind. “But I promise I’ll make it up to you later, maybe I’ll make you a cute outfit. Boys like cute outfits, right?” She ended that last part as a question.

I frowned a bit. “You girls always say you’ll make it up to me, but then it takes a while before you actually do it.” I complained. “Like, it’s been 2 weeks since I milked Trixie, and she has yet to pay the debt.” And no, I am not kidding, it’s been 2 weeks since then, and I have yet to receive my compensation for that ordeal.

At this, Suri frowns alongside with me. “And who do you think you are milking Trixie and not the rest of us?!” She questioned.

I shrugged. “Hey, it was more or less a moment of desperation for her and I really had no choice.” I replied. “But back to your original question: I mean, I do like cute clothes, but I don’t usually buy them because I have 2 very specific criteria for buying clothes.” I answered her original question.

I’ve seemed to have snagged her attention when I said that. “And what are these criteria?” She asked.

“Well, for one, they have to fit me, obviously. And second, they have to be able to take a lot of punishment, and I do mean a lot of punishment.” I listed my criteria. “Someone with my work schedule is in constant dire need of clothes that can last long and allow a lot of maneuverability.” I explained my second criteria.

She hummed in amusement before replying. “Yeah, I can see that you have, like, zero luck in finding clothes like that.” she admitted. “‘Cute’ and ‘endurance’ aren’t two adjectives when it comes to many clothes.” She said. “But I think I can manage it.” She assured.

Me, being semi-happy that she may be able to pay me back in a favorable fashion, nodded, nestling my head onto the large KKK-cup boobs. But just as I was settling, a thought came to mind. “Hey, how did you become a seamstress?” I questioned.

Even if I was barricaded from getting a good clean image of her face, I could detect that I seemed to have struck a nerve. She sighs quite heavily before releasing me from her hug and laying on her back. “It’s… hard to explain.” She started, searching for the relevant words to describe what she was about to say. “I mean, I’ve always had a passion for sewing, but I mainly became a seamstress to spite my mom.” She admitted.

At first, she had my curiosity. Now, she had my attention. “It’s kind of rare you hear somebody chose a career to spite somebody. Especially there mom.” I commented. “She really didn’t want you to become a seamstress, huh?” I inquired.

She half-nods and half-shrugs. “It’s not that she never saw that I had the talent to do it, it’s just that she had a pretty rough life growing up, so she knows first hand just how much shit the world throws at you. And you’d be surprised to see just how accurate the world can be.” She said. “It’s not that she did it out of malice, or she did it because she wanted us to fill some kind of quota that she never could when she was our age, she did it just so that we don’t end up walking in the same shoes she was forced to walk in.” She explained the reasoning behind her mother’s distaste for her choice of career.

I simply nod. “You’re mother sounds like a goodhearted mare, just with a broken compass.” I said. “You keep saying ‘us’ and ‘we’, do you have a younger sibling?” I asked.

She nods. “Younger sister.” She replied simply. “She’s almost a carbon copy of my mom, although with a lot less backbone.” She added that last part with a sense of humor.

I laughed as I found it funny. However, in the midst of my laugh, a thought came to mind. “Hey, if you wanted to be a seamstress, what’re you doing at this park?” I questioned.

Her demeanor shifted from a slight bit jovial to regretful very fast. “I struck out when I was a bit younger than you are now. The whole family was there to see me off, even my mom. I told them all that soon enough, my name would be recognizable throughout Equestria.” She began, a slight crack to her voice as she sat up. “I still remember the words mom told me back then.” She added, massaging her temples as I could see as clear as day that the waterworks threatened to commence.

Now, having experienced the sensations she was feeling 4 times before, I knew the correct course of action. I sat up with her and tapped her shoulder. “What did she say?” I inquired.

I could see it now, the tears began to flow down her cheeks, but no sobs were heard. “She told me: ‘call me if you need me’.” She regaled the words her mother told her. “It took me by surprise because up until that point, she had been mildly supportive while still offering me to try other things. But that day, it was like a switch turned in her head and she was nothing but supportive.” She said.

I opened my mouth, prepared to consult her in her state, when she unexpectedly cut me off. “Long story short, my career took a large crash after various fashion show fails, and despite mom’s words to call her for assistance, I refused to.” She continued. “I didn’t want to call her because, even if she was supportive when I left, I felt that calling her would admit to myself and her that I shouldn’t have tried to be a seamstress was a bad idea.” She admitted.

Now, she couldn’t hold the sobs back as they began to erupt, albeit a bit weakly. “Some time down the road, I met a seamstress like me named Coco Pommel, who was 10x the seamstress I was. But she was extremely timid and I took advantage of this and strong armed her into being my assistant.” She said. “For the duration of our partnership, I treated her like a sack of shit. I don’t know what came over me, it was like a combination of my own anger and refusal to ask for help just manifested into this hideous monster. I yelled at Coco for everything she did, whether it’d be minor or major, and when she did get something right, I still bitched about it.” she continued. “I think it was a combination of my own anger and jealousy of her skill that I just couldn’t accept that she could get what I wanted right...” She trailed off, trying to collect herself.

“Then…” I said, urging her to continue her tale while caressing her back.

“It all came to a head when I entered a really big fashion contest with Rarity.” The name was like a fresh mint on my tongue. “Now, before I tell you what happened, I want you to know that I had no intention to cheat before I met her.” She turned to me, her eyes bloodshot from crying as more tears assaulted her face.

I nodded, knowing that she wouldn’t continue unless I did so. “I understand.” I assured, patting her back reassuringly.

She then buries her face in her hands before commencing. “I was already worried that we may not win, given my track record, and even when I met Rarity again, I was still going to play the game fair and square… that was until I saw what she was bringing to the table.” Her voice, now void of any sadness and filled with empty heartache, echoed throughout the room as she prepared herself to say what she didn’t want to say. “Once I saw it, I knew that cheating would’ve been the only way I could have a chance at winning. But as you can tell, the only thing I won was a lifetime of bullshit.” She said.

I nodded once more, unable to do anything, unable to say anything. All I could do was continue to caress her back as she lay back down. “Things only got worse from there: I ended up serving 5 years in prison for property fraud and dishonesty in an official event.” Her sadness returned full swing as she began to recall another set of unsavory memories. “The entire month leading to the court date, my phone was bombarded with messages and calls all from my mom, she wouldn’t rest even after I declined all of her calls and never responded to her text for a while. I just couldn’t bare talking to her knowing what was to come. After a while, she got the memo and left me alone, and I didn’t hear from her since.” She said. “Now that I’m out, I want to return her calls, to tell her that I’m fine, but I’m buried in so much shame that I feel like talking to her would make it worse. I truly don’t know what to do.” Her sobs were much stronger now, breaking through her speech a myriad of time as she couldn’t hold it back.

I waited a silent minute to respond, taking my hand off her back and laying down with her. “Call her.” I told her quite bluntly.

She looks at me, bewildered that I quite literally demanded she call her mother. “W-what?” The pause in her response was clearly due to curiosity more so than fear.

I avoid her gaze, turning my attention to the ceiling. “I may have been motherless for 12 years of my life, but even after living with my adoptive family for 6 years, I can definitively say that not calling your mom will make her feel much WORSE.” I began. “Mothers are natural caregivers and they will support their child through every facet of life until either one of them dies.” I said. “I may not have met her, but I can tell you right now; the only reason she stopped trying to call you is out of respect for your privacy, but as we speak, she’s tearing herself from the inside because even if everything wasn’t her fault, she feels that deep down, she is at fault for what happens to you because you are her daughter.” I told her.

She opens her mouth to respond. “But what if she-!”

“She’ll be angry you didn’t call her.” I cut her off, affirming her fears. “But she’ll be happier to know that you’re not dead.” I quickly added with a smile.

Suri remains motionless for a brief second before returning her gaze to me, the corners of a smile etching its way onto her face. “You think it’s a good idea?” She asked.

I nodded. “Trust me, calling her will do you a world of good.” I assured.

Precious seconds after that sentence left my lips, I was enveloped in a tender, yet meaningful hug. I tried to return the hug, but the obvious size difference was a pretty large hindrance. Not that she seemed to mind. “You’re a good snuggle partner.” She praised, a lighthearted tone parting her lips.

I couldn’t help but smile. “You are too.” I returned.

She mumbles a thank you before drifting off to sleep rather quickly. Guess she needed a quick vent.

I nestled my muzzleonto her boobs, closing my eyes, the prospect of doing this with the other girls was appealing. Maybe I’ll bring it up to them… on second thought, probably not.