Nia -3

We arrived in the Alps just as the first snow began to fall—thick, gentle flakes drifting like feathers around our cable car. The pine-covered peaks stretched into the sky, and the wooden chalet I had booked sat nestled against a slope, warm yellow light glowing from its windows like a promise.

Nia pulled me close as we stepped into the snow. Even in her heavy coat, her presence towered over me—my 6’1”, 90-kg goddess beside my 5’3”, 64-kg frame.

“It’s like something out of a movie,” she whispered.

I smiled. “I brought you here to show you what life could feel like—if it’s us. Together. Always.”

She looked at me, eyes glassy. “You already show me that every day.”

Inside, the fire crackled, warming the rustic cabin. The scent of pine and melted chocolate filled the air. I was standing by the fire, trying to get the cold out of my fingers, when I suddenly felt her arms scoop under me.

“Hey—what are you doing?” I laughed.

“I’m warming up,” she said with a grin, lifting me like it was second nature. “You’re my little human hot water bottle.”

She sat down in the big leather chair with me tucked snug in her lap, one arm around my waist, the other stroking my cheek.

“Do you know what I love most about this?” she whispered.

“Hmm?”

“That I can hold you, rock you, kiss you... and still feel like your woman. Not your mother. Not your nurse. Just your woman—strong, and in love.”

I kissed her palm and looked into her eyes.

“I’ve never seen anyone stronger,” I said. “And I’m not just talking about muscles. You escaped. You survived. You carry your whole family in your heart.”

Her smile faded slightly.

“I want to support my mom back home,” she said quietly. “She still works nights, you know. Cleaning offices. I hate it.”

“You want to help her?” I asked softly.

She nodded. “But I don’t want to just sit at home as a housewife. I want to work. I want to contribute. I want to help build our life together. I don’t want to just be your soft place to fall. I want to stand beside you.”

My heart broke open a little more.

I reached for my coat pocket and pulled out the envelope I had prepared.

“This is for her,” I said. “Right now. Send it tomorrow.”

Her eyes widened. “What...?”

“And,” I continued, “starting next week, you’ll be working at my office. Receptionist role. Flexible hours. You’ll be amazing.”

She stared at me, frozen, tears forming.

“But I—”

“You’re going to be my wife,” I whispered. “There is no mine and yours anymore. 
My home is yours.
Your strength is mine. 
My money is yours. 
And your dreams—your fire—they’re mine, too.”

She clutched the envelope, lips trembling. Then suddenly, she stood.

And lifted me off the chair, crushing me into her arms.

“I love you,” she sobbed. “I love you so damn much. You’re so small and soft and shy—and yet you make me feel like I can conquer the world.”

She cradled me in front of the fireplace, kneeling with me in her lap like I was her whole world.

“Promise me something,” she whispered.

“Anything.”

“Even when we have kids—even when I’m older—even if I can’t lift you like this anymore… you’ll still let me hold you.”

I smiled. “Only if you promise to never stop trying.”

We stayed like that all night.
The snow kept falling.
The fire kept burning.
And I, curled in the lap of the woman who carried me in every way, felt more man than I ever had.


Nia called me from work one afternoon, excitement buzzing in her voice.

“Baby, she got the money. My mom. She called crying. She can’t believe it.”

“She deserves it,” I said. “So do you.”

“She said she’s coming. To the wedding. And... my baby sister wants to come too.”

“Both of them? To Frankfurt?”

“Yeah. You okay with that?”

“Of course!” I paused. “They are most welcome”.

She laughed. “You know Baby, you'll love them both. My sister's just as tall as me. Maybe half an inch taller. Eighteen and still growing.”

That was the beginning.


They arrived on a bright afternoon at Frankfurt airport. Nia and I stood waiting. When the gate doors slid open and I saw them, I gasped.

First came her mother—tall, regal, skin glowing in the sunlight. Her head was wrapped in a vibrant scarf, and she wore a long coat that did nothing to hide her powerful 5’11”, 90-kg frame. She walked like a queen who’d worked every day of her life.

Beside her was Nia’s sister, just 19 but already 6 feet tall, 85 kilos, and glowing with youthful energy. Curves like her sister’s, but with a playful bounce. Her curls bounced as she ran up to Nia.

“Baby!” her mom cried, hugging Nia tightly.

Then her eyes landed on me.

“So this is the little man?” she asked, eyes twinkling.

“I’m not that little,” I mumbled.

“You are,” her sister laughed. “But you’re adorable!”

Nia pulled me close protectively. “Only I lift him.”

“I know,” her mom smiled. “But… just once? A welcome cuddle?”

Nia glanced at me. I nodded shyly.

And in a second, her mother scooped me up.

Her arms slid under my knees and back, and I was lifted like a baby against her generous chest. She was strong—stronger than I expected for a 53-year-old woman who’d raised four children and worked double shifts most of her life.

“Oh my Lord,” she whispered, cradling me. “So small. So warm.”

Nia’s sister clapped. “Can I go next?”

Nia rolled her eyes. “Fine. One time each. That’s it.”

Her sister reached out, and I was passed like a toy, lifted now high against her shoulder, legs dangling, my face burning with embarrassment.

“He’s like a soft little heater,” she laughed. “I could sleep with him on my chest!”

Nia laughed and pulled me back, wrapping her arms around me protectively. “Enough. He’s mine.”

They stayed in our apartment, and suddenly, I was surrounded by towering women.

Nia was working every day now at the front desk of our office—dressed sharp, proud of herself, holding her head high. I still remember the first time I saw her in her formal wear—slacks, a crisp shirt, her ID badge swinging at her hip.


Meanwhile, at home…

Her mother, whom I now called Mama Laverne, took charge of the kitchen and laundry. Her younger sister, Tasha, helped with groceries, cleaning, and mostly—finding excuses to lift me.

Three days a week, I worked from home. And each of those days began the same way.

Scene: Morning, Home Office

I was sitting at my desk in my pajamas, headphones on, typing into Slack. Suddenly—

Two big arms wrapped around my waist and lifted me clean off the chair.

“Work break!” Tasha announced.

“Tasha! I’m in a meeting!”

“You’re in your woman’s family now,” she teased, cradling me sideways as she walked to the sofa. “Meetings can wait.”

She flopped onto the couch with me in her lap and rocked me gently, rubbing my belly.

“You really are her perfect little lap-husband.”

Scene: Afternoon, Kitchen

Laverne caught me trying to load the dishwasher.

“Uh uh, no sir.”

Before I could protest, she wrapped her arms around my waist from behind, lifting me clean off the floor and plopping me onto the kitchen counter.

“You just sit pretty and look adorable. That’s your job now.”

“I can help!”

“You do,” she smiled. “You helped my baby. You’re about to marry her. That’s more than enough.”

She kissed my forehead and rubbed my shoulders. I couldn’t help but melt under her care.

Three Nights to the Wedding.

That evening, Nia came home and found me asleep—in her mother’s lap, being rocked gently while Tasha braided my hair for fun.

She stood there, arms folded, trying to look serious.

“My man’s gone soft.”

“I’m just... well taken care of,” I muttered.

She walked over, leaned down, and lifted me straight from Mama Laverne’s lap into her own arms, bridal-style.

“You’re mine again.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Laverne chuckled. “We’re just keeping him cozy for you, baby girl.”

Nia carried me to the bedroom and whispered as she laid me on the bed, “In three days, I marry you. And after that, no one lifts you but me.”

“But… your mom—”

She shut me up with a kiss. “They don’t get your heart. Only I do.”


The Wedding – Lifted into Forever.

We kept it simple. A small hall by the river in Frankfurt. Close friends, a few work colleagues, and of course—Mama Laverne and Tasha, standing proud and regal in shimmering dresses.

I stood near the altar, nervous. Nia was late by five minutes. Then—

The doors opened.

She stepped in like a dream.

Her deep ivory dress hugged her tall form, flowing around her hips like water. Her afro was pinned with delicate pearls. Her smile—steady, wide, unstoppable—was fixed on me.

I felt small.

Not just in height (though she towered over me), but in awe. I was watching a goddess walk toward me.

At the altar, she leaned down and kissed my cheek.

“You ready to be my little husband?”

“I’ve been ready since Amsterdam.”

We exchanged vows—simple, quiet, full of feeling.

Then, as the officiant said, “You may now kiss—”

Nia swept me off my feet.

Literally.

Lifted me in a bridal carry in front of everyone and kissed me, full and deep, while guests clapped and gasped and laughed.

Even Mama Laverne cried out, “Go get your man, baby!”

That moment is etched in my bones—me in her arms, kissed into forever.


The Wedding Night – A Goddess’s Claim.

We returned to the chalet suite that night, the stars high above the Alps, soft snow falling outside the window. The fire was already lit. The bed was massive, canopied in gauze and silk.

I was still in my wedding kurta, trying to pull off my shoes, when I felt hands grab my waist.

She spun me around, looked down at me, and said in a low whisper, “I’m about to unwrap my husband.”

Before I could reply, she picked me up—a full cradle lift, bridal style again—and carried me to the bed.

“You’ve spent your whole life being small. Tonight, you will feel worshipped.”

She laid me down gently, kissing every inch as she undressed me—slowly, reverently. Her fingers were gentle, but sure. My chest rose and fell with each touch.

She stripped, her tall figure revealed in full—smooth curves, strong thighs, a soft belly, a powerful chest. She straddled me, one knee on each side, and leaned down till her forehead touched mine.

“Mine,” she whispered. “Forever mine.”

We made love—slow, deep, intense.

She held me like I was made of glass. Rode me like I was hers. Whispered every name she’d ever called me—baby, sweet thing, husband, treasure.

And when it ended, I was limp in her arms, curled against her bare chest as she rocked me slowly under the covers.

“I’ll never let you go,” she said. “Not even in my sleep.”

The Morning After – Her Lap, My Home.

I woke up to sunlight peeking through the windows.

I tried to move—but I couldn’t.

My head was in her lap. One of her thick thighs beneath my neck, the other against my back. Her fingers were tangled in my hair, gently stroking.

She was awake, smiling down at me.

“Good morning, husband.”

“Morning…”

“I didn’t let you go all night. You were curled on my chest like a little koala.”

I chuckled. “You are very... clingy.”

“Say that again,” she smirked, tightening her grip.

“Nia—!”

She grabbed me and pulled me back onto her lap, sitting up in bed, rocking me like a child.

“You’re not going anywhere today,” she said. “Not till you kiss every inch of your wife’s lap.”

“I need coffee.”

“I am your coffee.”

She leaned in, lips trailing over my cheek, down my neck. My body responded instantly, already soft and eager in her lap.

That morning, we never left the bed.


( To be continued…)