Alpha Samson’s Wifey

Lion looks away as you push him against the wall. You quickly lock the front door of your shared apartment, then grab his face and turn his head back.

“Look at me,” you growl at him. “I can’t believe you would do that to me!”

“I’m so-rry-”

“You embarrassed me in front of all of our friends!” you shout. 

At the nice dinner you had gone out to with his manager and agent, Lion had mentioned offhandedly that his real dream was always to open a laundromat. You saw red, and before you could stop him from talking he alluded to retiring soon.

“I-I meant it though, I don’t wanna box an-anymore,” he whines, his eyes not facing you.

You dig your nails into his cheeks. 

“Fuck, ow! Why do you care s-so much?” he asks you, his voice wobbling with incoming tears.

“Why do I- are you fucking stupid, Lion?” 

You know exactly what to do. The same card you pull every time, the one that gets him to kiss your feet and beg for forgiveness.

You sniffle, storming away from him. 

“No, baby, d-don’t cry,” he urges you.

You hold your eyes wide open for a second, fanning air into them. You feel the sting of them drying up and the slow welling of water at the bottom. You blink, letting two small tears collect your mascara and drip little black lines down your cheeks. 

Lion watches you turn around and face him, feeling heat in his stomach when he sees your teary-eyed pout. This always happens. The moment you get sniffly or start to tear up, he feels dizzy. Something about you crying just makes him so horny. He’s desperate to stop your tears– or at least turn them into tears of pleasure. 

“I’m sorry,” he coos quickly, rushing over to try and hug you. 

You push him away, shaking your head.

“I don’t believe you,” you spit as you fake cry.

“I-I mean it! Please, baby-”

Your hand moves from his face to his forehead, pushing him down onto his knees.

“Prove it, Lion,” you huff out, blinking your eyes to let a fat tear fall onto his forehead. 

It streaks down the middle of his face, leaving a trail of black speckles in its path. 

“Wh- prove it?” he questions quietly. 

You feel his arms hugging around your legs, his cheek pressing to your bare thigh. Your eyes go wide at the press of his hardening cock against your shin. 

“You are such a sick little freak, Lion!” you accuse him, the tears flowing freely now. “You always do this! Every time I’m c-crying because you won’t listen to me I see you getting fucking hard-”

“No, no, it’s b-because you look so pretty! You look so pretty, baby, that’s why! I wouldn’t- I don’t-”

“Ugh! You’re such a liar!” you shout.

You really have to try not to smirk. He’s just so damn easy. 

He hugs your legs closer and you try to squirm away. Your heel grazes his cock in his trousers and he groans. 

“Lion,” you complain. “Move!”

“Please, please, I’m sorry,” he begs you. “I’m so sorry, baby, please,” he cries. “I-I’m drunk, I wasn’t thinking straight…”

He rocks his hips against your heeled foot, chanting apologies to the hem of your dress. He kisses the tops of your thighs as your dress rides up. Your false squirming continues, but you have to cover your face to hide your grin. 

Lion lets his legs spread wider, his hot breath fanning over your thighs. He continues to apologise, the words becoming more broken and desperate with every drag of his clothed cock over the straps of your heels. Your movement doesn’t help, sporadically pushing and sliding your foot against him. Your dress rides up– he’s been pushing it with his hands– so far that your lacy panties are on display. He kisses over your cunt, licking the fabric over your folds until it’s stuck to you with his spit and your want. 

“I’m sorry, baby, t-tell me you forgive me, say you forgive me, please, please,” he sobs, shaking on the floor below you.

“You’re so stupid,” you snarl at him. “You don’t even know how great of an athlete you are. You’re the best boxer I’ve ever seen, Lion-”

“Stop, stop, j-just say you forgive me,” he pleads, humping your leg faster now.

“Everyone else out there is a little boy playfighting and you’re like… you’re like a fucking tiger,” you gush, curling your hand in his hair. “You would give that up? For what? To wash other people’s clothes?”

“Please,” he whimpers, looking up at you with tears in his eyes. “I’m not quitting, I won’t quit, I promise.”

You lean down and tug on his hair.

“I forgive you.”

He gasps for air, jerking against you as he cums in his trousers, making a mess of his nice boxer briefs. He slumps against your leg and you feel his tears dripping down your thigh. 

“Get those in the machine, since you wanna do laundry so bad,” you snark, shoving him back with your hand on his forehead.