JUSTIN BIEBER FILMED PEEING IN A BUCKET WHILE DRUNK
This story contains sexual acts between young adult males and/or
females. If you do not enjoy this type of material, or if it is illegal in
your country or place of residence, please stop reading immediately. This
story is not in any way an accurate depiction of reality, and any relations
to real persons or acts that may appear within are unintentional. THIS
STORY IS FICTION.
JUSTIN BIEBER FILMED PEEING IN A BUCKET WHILE DRUNK
LEAKED TEXT MESSAGES JUSTIN SENT SELENA GOMEZ SHOW HIS DICK PICS AND
BEGGING FOR SEX
NOT SO BIG AFTER ALL? JUSTIN BIEBER CAUGHT WITH PHOTOSHOPPED BULGE IN NEW
CALVIN KLEIN UNDERWEAR ADS
BRAZILIAN PROSTITUTE FILMS JUSTIN BIEBER SLEEPING AFTER SEX: SAYS HE HAS A
SMALL PENIS
WHY JUSTIN BIEBER HAS NO CHOICE BUT TO BANG HOOKERS
JUSTIN BIEBER FLOPS - NEW ALBUM JOURNALS FAILS TO CRACK TOP 40
JUSTIN BIEBER FILES FOR BANKRUPTCY
-----
PROLOGUE
Life comes at you fast and from behind, no matter who you are. I rose to
the top on pure talent, and a lot of people resented me for it. But I
didn't care. It never impacted me, hurt my feelings, to see all of those
people hating on me. All that mattered was the bottom line.
But eventually they came for me. Don't get me wrong, the tabloids always
have their stories, and it's the job of every A-list superstar to take his
turn, bend over, spread his cheeks, and get fucked in the ass by the press,
and I didn't mind at first, even kind of liked it, because I was
invincible. Scooter always told me my future was set: financial counselors
handling my assets, shaking charts in my face every other week showing me
how much money I was bringing in from endorsements, investments, moonshots;
monthly meetings in Silicon Valley, me and my team, relaxing, having a few
beers, listening to dozens of little geniuses file in and beg for venture
capitalist funds; Forbes covers, Justin Bieber, the one man empire. I knew
Scooter was working hard to build me a future, because he needed me and
always would. I was the biggest star in the world. I was a sex
icon. Millions of girls were obsessed with me and for good reason. In the
end, I was right: he was building a future alright, just not for me.
When things started to go downhill, he and the other executives at my label
held private meetings, and every major player who had a stake in Justin
Bieber helped plan an exit strategy. Everyone, except me. They pulled out,
ran away with millions, my millions, leaving me and my money to take the
brunt of the ass-whipping. Don't get me wrong, I still made away with some
cash, and lawyers convinced me to open up lawsuits against the media for
promoting their fake news, that I could bring in enough money to make up
for the damages, but I never did get any money out of all the court cases,
just got sucked dry by those lawyers.
I still knew it wasn't the end. Money comes and goes, but Justin Bieber
doesn't. The girls would always love me. I had looks and charisma to milk
for days. I was the young playboy guys wanted to be and girls wanted to
fuck. So I kept living my life.
When things got really bad, I fell back on my own fame. Back in the day, I
used to model for Calvin Klein underwear, and even though they had fired me
by this time due to the bad publicity, I still had something useful from
them. You see, they used to send me huge shipments of their underwear
weekly. I mean a shitload. I used to wear a pair once and throw them away,
simple, no need to do laundry. I realized I could some extra cash selling
them online as "Justin Bieber's underwear." Obviously, no one knew it was
me selling them, would have made for more bad press, so they probably
assumed it was some creeper. I handled in the operation in good faith,
though. I was tempted to just pawn off all the brand new pairs up front, as
no one would have known the difference, but then I thought back on all my
one night stands with groupies over the years and how desperately they just
wanted a smell or a taste of my body. They didn't just want Justin Bieber's
underwear. They wanted Justin Bieber's used underwear. So I decided to
always wear a pair for a day before selling them.
Eventually, though, I burned through most of my supply, and Calvin Klein
had long since stopped replenishing my stock with new shipments, and
honestly the demand Justin Bieber's used underwear kind of collapsed. But
believe me, business was booming for awhile, so good that I ran through my
entire supply of boxer briefs and started working through the plain white
briefs. I had never even worn any of them before that point. As a dude who
wore boxer briefs his entire life, I hated those briefs, there was just
something fucking gay about a dude wearing tighty-whities, but hey, they
were free underwear, and honestly I warmed up them after I started wearing
them. There's no doubt that they made my bulge look bigger.
At any rate, like I said, business was good enough for me to scrape enough
money to move to a cheap apartment in Los Angeles, to do a little soul
searching, to regroup and plan my comeback. I was initially concerned that
I might run into some of my old acquaintances, chief among them Ryan
Butler, my best bro back from the days of Stratford. I kept in touch with
him for a long time even after I became famous, but eventually we started
talking less or less. I just can't bear to see him face-to-face in the
midst of my slump. I figure I'll just wait it out until things trend upward
before I reach out with old friends to reconnect.
Turns out that I didn't really have to worry when it came to Ryan, though,
because supposedly he's out in New York City now pursuing some
opportunities to be a film director. He always wanted to be a film
director. Back in the day, he built a social media following as "Justin
Bieber's best friend" and transitioned into vlogging and endorsement and
short little videos. I won't lie, it blows that he's out there in NYC
moving up in the world while I'm stuck in the ruts here in the asshole of
LA when he built his entire career on my name. Where are my royalty checks?
At least that means I don't have to worry about encountering him here,
though, not right now. I still get by on the scraps of what I once had, but
I have no money anymore and a shit ton of debt. No way can I let him know
how far I've fallen, not while he's raking in the cash. I'm looking for
something new, for the start of a new chapter of my life. I know I can't
work normal day jobs, not because I don't have any skills, but because I
have too many skills. I'm too good for that. I'm a performer, a
businessman, and above all, an artist, at heart, and I can't squander that
on a nine-to-five.
So I've been piecing together a plan. While I dreaded running into certain
people in LA, the truth is that it's also the perfect place to run into
others, industry insiders with connections that could put me back on the
map, get me back in the game. So I spend a lot of my free time walking up
and down _____ during the day, partly because it's a beautiful walk, great
exercise to keep me in shape, a quiet time for thinking, but also because
it's just that type of place on the edge of the action, where you might
just run across a film executive or producer finishing up lunch or walking
to his car, an industry insider who would surely notice Justin Bieber
walking by and try to persuade me to work on his new project. It's been
rough thus far. I see familiar faces, but they avoid eye contact. They
pretend they don't recognize me.
Which brings me to girls. It drove me nuts for a while, because they're the
worst about it. At first, I would still chase down actresses and reality
stars on the streets, but eventually I settled for whatever hot piece of
ass crossed my way. They're all the same. They act like they're clueless,
like they've never heard the name Justin Bieber, or babble about some other
douche who is supposedly the new heartthrob, or worst of all, admit that
they had a thing for Justin Bieber but are convinced that there's no way
that I could be "the" Justin Bieber. All that complaining just to make it
clear that in spite of all of that, I still get pussy. Lots of it. I have
built a network of girls who I keep in contact with, and I don't even
bother telling them about my past. I text Selena on occasion too, hoping to
reclaim her attention. Not sure if her number is still the same. But
anyway, most of my hookups are just girls I meet here or there. There's
something validating about hooking up with girls who don't know that I'm
"the" Justin Bieber. I know their intentions are pure. There's never any
concern that this girl or that girl is hanging around me just because she's
a gold digger or fame whore. These girls are here for my body and my
cock. I'm a kinky guy in bed. I live to have girls down on their knees in
front of me, choking on my penis, taking it in the ass, and swallowing my
load when I'm finished. And they genuinely want it.
At any rate, today is a special day. Much like every other, I'm walking
down _____, basking in the heat of the LA sun, but with a spring in my
step, a renewed sense of purpose. I'm headed to the store to pick up some
condoms. I only have a couple bucks to my name, but I need the condoms
because one of my regular hookups is headed over soon, and she's bringing a
friend. From what I hear, the friend isn't into group sex. Then again,
girls always say they aren't into group sex until my clothes start coming
off. Five minutes later two mouths are wrapped around my cock or they're
bent over doggystyle taking it in the ass in shifts.
But that's not all of the good news. A few days ago, chance shined brightly
on me and I ran into Christopher Steele on this exact street, leaving
_____, a popular healthy food lunch destination for reality stars and
execs. You may not have heard of him, but he's an executive at Paramount
Pictures and Brazzers, which if you also don't know, happens to be one of
the biggest porn studios in the world. We've met before, at some party in
Nashville. He recognized me immediately, we talked for a bit, and we've
been emailing back and forth ever since.
He was upfront, which I appreciate. He talked to me about the porn industry
and how much money big time stars pulled in. He talked about how all the
teasing that I'd done over the years, walking around in public with my
shirt off, with my pants sagging, or with nothing on at all except for my
underwear, my time spent modeling my bulge for those hungry fans as a
Calvin Klein model, how it had all nurtured a pent-up, insatiable demand
for Justin Bieber's naked body in all its glory, to be consumed by the eyes
of everyone. When I feigned disinterest, he lowered the stakes. He insisted
even a single naked photoshoot would be enough to kick-start things and
offered me $10,000 for it. I salivated at the thought of all that money. I
knew it was all true. But I declined. Not because I'm modest. Not because I
didn't believe him that the demand was still out there, because I knew it
was. I declined because I knew something more, which is that the instant I
entertained the world's thirst and blessed them with that high definition
glimpse of my naked body, they'd lose interest. I had seen the same thing
happen when selling my dirty underwear, and I don't make the same mistakes
twice.
So there's no way I could film a porno attached to Justin Bieber's name. A
single, publicized picture of my naked body would smother my chances at a
successful comeback. I would be throwing away my last and biggest
bargaining chip. So I refused. I'll keep my dick in my pants, at least in
front of people who know my real identity. Like I said, I'm not modest. I
played hardball with him, and after awhile it all paid off. We agreed on an
underwear shoot, as long as it came along with a part in one of Paramount's
new movies, even if it was a small role at first. Anything to get my foot
in the door. And I'd also consider his other offers, or so I said, to keep
him biting. In reality, I wouldn't. But this was how I was going to make it
big again.
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