American Idol belongs to FOX, 19 TV Ltd, and FremantleMedia Operations BV. I don't own these Simon or Jim (if I did, I'd give Simon a spanking of a lifetime), and this is no reflection on their real lives or sexuality. Don't archive or pass this around without asking me, although if you want to give it to friends, that's fine. Don't read this if you aren't over 18 or the age of majority in your area.
If you have ANY comments, positive or negative, e-mail me at knack6@hotmail.com
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"Nice night, isn't it?"
Jim Varraros winced as he heard the familiar tones of the "American Idol" judge and producer, Simon Cowell. AKA the Wicked Witch of the UK, AKA Simon Scowl. Jim, a lanky 19-year old from Illinois, had been ripped apart by Simon after his performance, and many believed Jim was voted in by the public out of sympathy. Jim wasn't sure, but he was grateful for the opportunity. Just a few years earlier, he'd been an overweight, unhappy boy who never thought he'd have a chance at anything.
Jim tugged at his collar, swallowing his nerves as he nodded hesitantly.
"Y-Yeah."
Simon rolled his eyes.
"Such poise and manners."
He flicked his cigarette onto the carpeted floor, grinding the smoke with his heel.
"Don't you know how to speak to your elders?"
Jim stammered out an apology, or tried to. He couldn't even look at Simon. The truth was that as much as he resented Simon's bitchiness, he was also painfully attracted to him. A Daddy who smoldered as much as his cigarettes, he frequently dressed in black to match his spiky brown-black hair and dark blue eyes, and was astute enough to include tight t-shirts to show off his well-developed forearms. He was the embodiment of cool, similiar to many of the GQ photos Jim had spent his uncertain adolescent years jerking off to.
Jim shut his eyes as he glued himself to the elevator wall, waiting for the ride to end. Then the car stopped. Suddenly, hot, tobacco-laden breath was near his neck and ear, a tongue tickling his lobe.
"Bloody well make eye contact! See why I don't choose losers?"
Jim pivoted his head forward, tan-colored eyes glowing for a fiery moment.
"I'm not a loser, you asshole!"
Simon smirked at him, so knowing, so above everyone. He stroked Jim's cheek, the baby flesh cool to his touch.
"That's my boy."
Pressing Jim flat against the wall, Simon blocked his exit paths, their noses touching , Simon pushing his lips forward until they nearly pressed against Jim's, then darting away again. He was waiting for Jim to make the move, give up control, and Jim did, gladly. Their mouths met hungrily, Jim stroking Simon's broad shoulders as Simon ravaged him with a practiced, devilish tongue. After reaching down to cup the assets hidden in back and front of Jim's leather pants, he roughly yanked Jim to his knees, pressing his nostrils close enough for him to breathe in the tangy scent of a denim crotch.
Jim looked up into Simon's commanding, stormy eyes. He knew what to do. Unbuckling and unzipping the tight jeans, a hard cock slapped at his boyish cheeks, the foreskin - his first foreskin - wrinkled and scant inches away from Jim's waiting mouth. Jim rolled the sensitive skin between his lips, nipping with his teeth, getting a direct view of dark, curly pubic hair and low-hanging, egg-shaped balls. Jim relished having being servant to his master, having his close-cropped hair stroked as he was gently pushed onto inch after inch of Simon's length. Simon's ample mounds cupped heavily in his hot, grasping hands, firm and full in his grip as he desperately stroked them. As the foreskin unfolded and the bulbous head hit the back of his throat, he gagged slightly. Simon gently circled his rough thumb pads around Jim's eyes and nose, calming him to accept the rest. Jim adjusted to the thick shaft as he stroked his own trapped hardness.
With a loud grunt and a rough tug on Jim's choker, Simon came, pouring his scalding nectar into Jim's waiting throat.
"Turns out you make one good use of your throat after all."
Before Jim could weakly protest, Simon pulled him from his knees, licking his neck and face as he roughly squeezed the front of Jim's leather trousers until his penis erupted, wave after wave hitting his thighs and pants as he shuddered with every ejaculation.
"See you next week", Simon said mutedly, zipping himself back up. Jim nodded, wondering if this had hurt or helped or done nothing to his chances in escaping Simon's judging wrath. At any rate, one of his dirtiest fantasies had been fulfilled, and a part of him couldn't help wanting another, more extended session with Simon.
As the doors opened, Simon confidently strode out, leaving the confused, soaked boy behind to lick his lips and ponder the future. Simon did turn around, briefly, but meaningfully, with sincerity and sarcasm blended.
"See me tomorrow night, and we'll do something to stop you using your teeth."
Jim was even more confused until he saw the room key floating through the air. Jim caught the object in his sweaty hand.
"See you, Simon!"
Simon scowled at him.
"Did I ask you to speak?"
After he scowled, a smile washed over his rugged face for a flash of a second, before he walked away.