Carried in His Arms
by Heel
Copyright© 2025 by Heel
Romantic Story: A chance encounter on a scorching summer day leads to an unexpected connection. A story of kindness, courage, and the subtle ways hearts can find each other.
Caution: This Romantic Story contains strong sexual content, including Consensual Heterosexual BDSM Foot Fetish Leg Fetish .
The scorching heat forced Martin to seek refuge in the shade of the underpass. According to the bus stop sign, the bus he needed to catch would arrive in 17 minutes, so he had more than enough time to buy some water and a snack.
He twisted off the cap of the bottle and drank eagerly. In less than a minute, he had nearly emptied a liter. Immediately, clarity washed over him. He wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand and checked his watch. It was time to head back to the bus stop. Briskly, he started up the stairs.
His gaze landed on a young woman gripping the railing with both hands, murmuring something angrily while shaking her head. Next to her, against the wall, leaned a pair of crutches. Her left leg was encased in a plaster splint that reached halfway up her thigh.
Martin passed by but immediately realized she was struggling. He stopped and glanced over his shoulder. She had turned to the side and was preparing to hop to the next step. She managed it, but clearly not easily. The injured leg, immobilized in a rigid splint, was a huge obstacle. She had to lift it slightly and twist it to avoid hitting the edges of the stairs. The crutches were useless in that moment. She would soon have to ask someone to carry them upstairs.
She made it up two more steps. Her breath came in shallow gasps; she bit her lip, and her hands trembled. It was a pitiful sight, impossible for Martin to ignore. “To hell with the bus!” he muttered and hurried back down.
“Do you need some help?” he asked, and she looked up, startled. Her eyes were misty, dulled by pain.
“What?”
“I can see you’re struggling.”
“Oh! I didn’t realize it would be so difficult. The elevator isn’t working. Going down was fine, but climbing back up...”
“No problem. I’ll help you.”
“Really? Thank you so much! But how ... maybe if I hold onto you...”
Martin glanced at her injured leg. The splint was loosely wrapped with bandages. Bruises were visible above and below her knee. Her foot was awkwardly bound so that her heel couldn’t move, with a strip of plaster over it, leaving her toes exposed, frozen in a painful spasm.
“If you hold onto me, you’ll still have to hop. That won’t work. Don’t worry, I’ll carry you up in my arms.”
She blinked and lowered her gaze in embarrassment.
“I’m sorry ... I didn’t expect ... this is so awkward!”
Martin waved it off. He bent down, lifted her carefully, and carried her up the stairs. It wasn’t difficult at all; she weighed about fifty kilograms.
She smiled with relief as her good foot touched the pavement. Then suddenly, her expression turned self-conscious.
“Excuse me,” she started. “Could you bring my crutches? I left them downstairs. I can’t manage without them.”
“Of course. Right away.”
“Just ... could you support me against a tree first? I can barely balance on one leg.”
“Yes, yes, immediately.” He steadied her against a nearby tree, then hurried back down.
In his mind, a delightful confusion had settled. Carrying this woman had been an unexpectedly pleasant experience. The warmth of her skin, her soft curves, the sweet face, the delicate hand draped around his neck, the gratitude shining in her eyes ... A minute later, he handed her the crutches. She carefully placed them under her arms, smiled charmingly, and headed toward the taxi stand. Her good leg was a beautiful sight—lean and well-shaped.
Martin felt a pang of awkwardness. He watched the limping beauty, focused entirely on moving forward. He wished she would glance back at him, but she didn’t. She climbed into the back seat of a taxi somewhat clumsily.
Naturally, he had missed the bus. He would have to wait another fifteen minutes. There was no point in lingering at the stop, so he retreated once more into the cool shade of the underpass.
An elderly woman, hunched over and leaning on two canes, was painstakingly climbing the stairs. Her pace was painfuly slow—about one step per minute. She, too, needed help.
To read the complete story you need to be logged in:
Log In or
Register for a Free account
(Why register?)
* Allows you 3 stories to read in 24 hours.