Nia 2

Nia - 2

It was our first trip together outside Frankfurt—just a short weekend getaway to Munich by train. We booked the night train to save time, and I was excited but also a little awkward. Couples sat around us, some talking softly, others dozing off under the rhythmic sway of the carriage.

I had booked standard seats. Nia had insisted we didn’t need a cabin.

“You’ll be sleeping anyway,” she said, smirking.

Two hours into the journey, I couldn’t get comfortable. My seat was too stiff, and my legs barely touched the floor.

Nia leaned over and whispered, “Come here.”

“I’m fine—”

“No, you’re not.”

Without waiting, she reached over, unbuckled my seatbelt, and gently pulled me onto her lap.

My 64-kilogram body was nothing to her 90 kilos of solid mass. She adjusted my 5’3” easily on her tall 6’1” body, placing my head on her shoulder, my torso across her wide, firm thighs. One strong arm wrapped around me, the other resting lightly on my waist.

The train rocked. Her palm rubbed soothing circles into my back.

“You always get so quiet in my arms,” she murmured.

“You make me feel... safe.”

She smiled. “You’re so small. So soft. Like a little man who forgot he’s grown up.”

I closed my eyes, listening to her heartbeat under my ear.

When I woke, it was past midnight. The lights had dimmed. Nia was humming softly, still holding me like a child. But there was something different in the way her fingers traced circles on my chest, her nails skimming lightly. Her other hand gently moved up my thigh.

I looked up at her.

“You’re awake,” she whispered, her lips brushing my forehead.

“Yes.”

“Good. I want you awake for this.”

She tilted my chin and kissed me deeply—slow and deliberate. There, on a train seat with the world gently rumbling past us, we kissed like no one else existed.

“I want to take you home,” she whispered. “And undress you. And carry you to bed like my little prince.”

And when we got home the next morning, she did exactly that.


It was silly. We fought over laundry.

I had tried to help by doing hers, and I accidentally shrunk her favorite black dress in the dryer.

“I loved that dress,” she snapped.

“I was trying to help!”

Her voice dropped. “You don’t always have to help. Just... let me take care of things sometimes.”

I stormed into the bedroom. She stood there watching me, her tall silhouette filling the doorway. I felt ridiculous—arguing with a woman who could literally lift and carry me like I was a toy.

I sat on the edge of the bed, arms crossed.

Then she walked over. Silently. Slowly.

She didn’t say a word. Just bent down and slid her arms under my knees and back.

“No—wait—”

She lifted me into a tight cradle carry, pulled me against her chest, and sat down on the bed with me in her lap.

I tried to resist, but I melted the second she rocked me slightly.

“You’re angry because you love me,” she whispered. “And I got mad because I love you.”

“I feel so helpless in your arms sometimes,” I whispered. “Like I’m not... enough of a man.”

She took my face in both hands.

“You’re everything,” she said. “My soft, clever, quiet, beautiful man. I don’t need a giant. I need you.”

I kissed her.

And this time, I didn’t hesitate. My hands went to her face, her shoulders, her waist. Her long fingers slipped under my shirt. She stood up, still holding me—lifting me all the way to bed.

She laid me down gently, climbed in over me, and whispered into my neck, “Tonight, I’m going to show you how much I want you. Every inch of you.”

And she did.


Her birthday came two weeks later.

She refused to let me plan anything big. “Just you, me, and a home-cooked dinner,” she insisted.

But I had something else in mind.

After dinner, I asked her to sit on the couch and close her eyes.

“No peeking,” I said.

“Okay, baby man. Don’t trip over your own shadow.”

When she opened them, I stood in front of her—arms slightly trembling—but I was ready.

I bent down and wrapped my arms under her thighs and back.

Her eyes widened. “What are you doing?”

“I’m lifting you.”

“Nuh-uh. No way.”

“I’m serious.”

I strained. She giggled.

“I’m 90 kilos, baby. You’re gonna—OH—”

I huffed and puffed but couldn't move her an inch.

She squealed with delight. “My little Hercules!”

I dropped onto the couch beside her, out of breath, and she pounced on me, pushing me down and straddling my lap.

“You tried to lift me... for my birthday?” she asked, eyes gleaming.

“I wanted to show you how much I admire you. You carry me every day. I wanted to carry you, just once.”

She kissed me hard. “You carried my heart from the day we met. That’s all that matters.”

She picked me up. High in her cradle. And stood there rocking me like a baby, kissing me all over my face.

And then I brought it out. Her birthday gift. A small diamond pendant attached to a gold chain. 

She wasn't expecting this. She couldn't say anything. Her eyes swelled up in tears. 

She lifted me higher up on her breasts and buried my face inside her wide neck. She cried silently, trapping my face under her chin, all the while rocking me slowly in her arms.

And that night, we made love like it was our first time again—slow, tender, playful. Between kisses and moans, she whispered things I’ll never forget.

“You fit so perfectly under me.”

“You’re mine now, baby.”

“You’ll never sleep outside my arms again.”

And I didn’t.


It was one of those rare quiet Sundays—no errands, no plans. Just the sun slipping in through gauzy curtains and the warmth of her body behind mine.

I tried to get up. I really did.

But Nia wasn’t having it.

“You’re not going anywhere,” she murmured, pulling me down into her lap, her voice still thick with sleep.

“I was going to make tea,” I protested weakly.

“You’re my tea.”

I chuckled. “That makes no sense.”

“You’re warm. You smell good. And I want you in my mouth.”

She slid her arms under my thighs and hoisted me effortlessly sideways across her lap, as if I weighed nothing. She sat up in bed, adjusting me until I was cradled like a sleepy prince, one hand stroking my chest through the thin cotton of my t-shirt.

“You always carry me like I’m a baby.”

“No, baby. I carry you like you’re mine.”

Her long fingers slowly slid under my shirt, exploring, teasing. She whispered in my ear, “This soft belly… these tiny ribs… I can feel your heartbeat.”

“Nia…”

“Do you know how insanely sexy it is that I can lift you like this whenever I want? Like you belong in my arms, and I can do anything I want with you?”

She dipped her head and kissed along my neck, then down to my collarbone, never letting go of me. I could feel myself growing hard in her lap, pressed against her soft stomach.

“Let me take care of my little man,” she purred. “Just lie back and let your woman do the lifting.”

And she did. All morning.


When Nia decided to go to her embassy for some paperwork, she insisted I come along.

“I want to introduce them to my future,” she said, smirking.

I didn’t ask what she meant.

But the moment we entered, I knew I was in trouble.

The lady at the desk raised an eyebrow. “Is this your son?”

Nia laughed. “No. He’s 40, I'm 28.”

“Really?” The woman’s eyes slid to me, then back to Nia. “You look like you could carry him around in your purse.”

“I do carry him,” Nia said proudly.

And right there in the waiting area, she leaned down, slid one hand under my knees, another behind my back, and cradled me right off the chair.

“Nia! Not here—”

But she was already rocking me, gently bouncing me in front of a stunned security guard and two grinning visitors.

“Tell her, baby,” she teased. “Tell her how much you love being my lap pet.”

“I’m not saying that in public!”

She kissed my cheek. “Fine. I’ll tell her for you.”

I hid my face in her neck as she whispered, “He just loves to be lifted. Held. Spoiled. And I love every second of it.”

Even after we sat back down, she wouldn’t let me sit on my own. I was firmly planted on her lap, arms around her neck, while she filled out forms with one hand and rubbed my thigh with the other under the table.

By the time we left, I had stopped resisting. In fact, I kind of hoped someone else would ask who I was.

Let them all know. I was hers.


That night, the mood changed.

The soft candlelit dinners, the lap mornings, the teasing—now it ignited into something hotter.

She walked into the living room wearing only a sheer robe and nothing underneath. I was on the couch, frozen in place.

“You’ve been such a good boy lately,” she whispered. “Tonight, I want to play with my favorite toy.”

Before I could move, she was on me. One swift scoop—and I was over her shoulder, my chest pressed to her back, her arm gripping my thighs like steel.

“Let’s see how many positions I can carry you in before you beg me to stop.”

She paraded me through the apartment like that—spanking me playfully, whispering filth into my ear.

She tried a bridal lift in the hallway.

A piggyback ride in the kitchen.

A reverse lap straddle in front of the mirror—me facing her, legs curled around her waist as she kissed and licked my neck, whispering, “You fit here perfectly.”

And finally, she hoisted me up against the wall, my legs spread, my back arched, while she kissed me deeper than she ever had before.

We made love like animals. But not wild ones. Fierce ones—loyal, bonded, interlocked.

By the end, I was limp in her arms, still held tight.

“You okay?” she whispered, brushing my hair back.

“I’ve never been better.”


A week later, we returned to that same canal in Amsterdam where we first met.

She didn’t know why I’d brought her there.

I pulled out the small ring box with trembling fingers. But before I could speak, she smiled.

“Are you proposing?”

I nodded. “I know I’m smaller. Softer. Older. And maybe not what people imagine when they think of a man. But I’ve never felt more like one than in your arms.”

She knelt down, making us eye to eye.

“I want you to lift me for the rest of my life,” I said. “Not just in your arms—but in your love, your strength, your warmth. Will you marry me?”

She didn’t answer.

She stood up, picked me up—full cradle carry—kissed me hard, and whispered, “Yes. And I’ll carry you every damn day.”


( To be continued...)