Justin Bieber couldn’t fall asleep. He had a raging boner and his 4-inch cock was straining his tight underwear to the limit. He reached his hand into his pants and starting softly stroking his hard dick, growing faster and more vigorous in his motions. Soon he felt the familiar wave of the orgasm, and there was no need for him to clean up because he hadn’t gone through puberty yet so he did not produce semen or any type of ejaculatory fluid. He had been thinking of a cute girl he met at his last concert. She had obviously wanted his dick, which was no surprise. Every girl he ever met wanted his dick. Despite that fact that he was short, skinny, poorly endowed, and had rather feminine features and a decidedly homosexual hairstyle, Justin Bieber was an extremely attractive young man. When he was signing the girls autograph, she had given him the familiar “I want your dick” look. Justin would have been happy to oblige, if it weren’t for the huge amount of negative publicity he would receive and the fact that his guards, producers and many fans had been surrounding him at the time.
Justin soon fell asleep, dreaming about the girl. He hadn’t even learned her name, but she stood out to him from the thousands of screaming fangirls he saw daily. Poor Justin felt sad because he was sure he would never meet her again. Maybe he wasn’t right on that count. Might as well find out, eh?
James Roberts was feeling depressed, which wasn’t a surprise either. James led a hollow shell of an existence; living with a deep hole in his soul that he felt nothing could fill. He had divorced his bitch of a wife a few years ago. He had joint custody over his 15-year-old daughter, Amy, but he was currently unemployed, which made it difficult for him to provide for her when she was at his house. Hoping to temporarily end his sadness, he took out his Roor brand bong and sparked up some dank headies, trying to get his mind off his sadness and loneliness. Weed wasn’t really working for him anymore. He just felt like shit.
“Fuck,” he thought. “I just spent 100 bucks on her fucking concert tickets, and now I’m almost out of money.” James had insisted to Amy that he couldn’t afford the ticket, but he knew how much she wanted to see the concert. Jacob Baber, or whatever the fuck the singer’s name was. Some gay shitty music, just another one of her teenage fads that would boil over in a couple of months. He had obliged and bought the ticket, just because his ex-wife spoiled Amy and he didn’t want to pale in comparison to her. He knew his daughter would go crying to her and say daddy was being mean, so he just thought fuck it.
“Big fuckin’ mistake. What the fuck am I gonna eat before my unemployment check comes next week?” James was already getting the munchies. Just then, Amy walked in the room. James didn’t look at her.
“Dad, can you stop smoking that shit? It’s stinking up the house and making me cough!” she said angrily. James grunted. He was already falling asleep. He was getting tired of his daughter’s bitchy attitude toward him. She made it obvious that she preferred her mother, although she never said it explicitly. She was used to getting whatever she wanted, and James buying her the ticket had just reinforced that attitude in her, as he had just realized. He told her to open a window.
“I’m hungry,” complained Amy. “There’s no food here.”
“No shit, I spent all the money that I would have spent on food on your fucking ticket,” said James, finally losing his temper. Amy hadn’t even seemed grateful that he bought it for her. She took it for granted. He suddenly realized that his daughter was slowly driving him insane. And he was even running out of weed, and couldn’t afford more. Over the next few days, depression slowly overtook him. That was soon replaced by panic and anger. Amy was back at her mom’s house. Good fucking riddance. James bought a few packs of ramen noodles with his remaining cash, and when his unemployment check finally came, he was too far gone to know what to buy with it. He stopped eating altogether, and lost weight. He didn’t care.
“How was your concert?” asked Deborah Roberts to her daughter, Amy.
“It was great. I even got Justin’s autograph,” replied Amy. “I hear he’s coming to the next city over in a month. Can I go to that concert too?”
“I don’t know. Maybe you should see if your father wants to buy the ticket?” Although Deborah did spoil her daughter, she was always happy to have James buy things for her too. Amy, with her sense of entitlement, decided to call James and ask him. “Hey dad, do you think you could spare some money for a ticket next month?” she said over the phone.
Suddenly, all of the anger, hate and anxiety boiled over in James’ head. He unleashed the fury of his rage.
“You want Justin Bieber? I’ll give you fucking Justin Bieber! You want his little dick? I’ll give you his fucking dick! Name whatever the fuck you want, and I’ll just be your fucking slave and get it for you! Isn’t that right?”
Amy realized she had pissed her dad off, but she shrugged it off. He was unstable and prone to breaking at any time. No different than usual, right?
James didn’t buy his daughter a ticket. He bought himself a ticket, and a backstage pass to meet Justin Bieber. It cost him just about all of the money he had, but he didn’t care. He didn’t care about anything anymore. With the day of the concert approaching, James couldn’t contain his anticipation. He was practically bouncing off the walls, something he hadn’t done in as long as he could remember.
The day of the concert arrived. James got into his car and began the long drive. It took him over to 2 hours to get there, and the streets were packed. At the stadium, he presented his ticket. A lone adult male at a Justin Bieber concert was a little odd, and he noticed he was getting some awkward looks. James found his seat, which was near to the front of the amphitheatre. He sat and waited. He must have looked really silly, just sitting there, all adjacent seats occupied by preteen girls, but he didn’t even think of it. It seemed like forever before Justin Bieber finally stepped onto the stage and began singing. The music was almost unbearable, and was so loud that James could hear it clearly even when he held his hands over his ears. Possibly even worse then the music was the never-ending screams from the fans, a piercing, omnipresent shrill that bore painfully into his eardrums.
After what felt like several eternities, the concert was over. Finally, the backstage pass to meet the man himself. There were a few young, rich girls with backstage passes. They all went back together. Justin Bieber was covered in sweat from his performance, but that didn’t stop the girl’s excitement. They were practically falling over each other. James even thought he noticed a wet spot on one of the girl’s pants. Suddenly, James’ plans began to crash all around him. He couldn’t do shit. There were fans and guards in the room with him and Justin.
“Can I do this?” he thought. “Maybe I can. Will I? Do I want to? Should I?” he pondered over this. Suddenly, he acted before thinking. He grabbed one of the girls by the head and pushed the barrel of his concealed pistol to the side of her head.
“Everybody get the fuck on the ground or I’m gonna paint the fucking wall with this bitch!” Everybody quickly complied. James pulled the trigger and the bullet entered through a wound on the anterior of the girl’s skull and exited on the other side. A nice clean bullet hole. Her brains splattered across the room and copious amounts of blood sprayed out from the entry and exit wounds. Mass chaos ensued. The fans, guards and Justin himself started screaming and running around.
“Shut the fuck up or I’m gonna kill every single one of you!” shouted James. After shooting everyone except Justin himself, he tied up Justin with a length of rope, gagged him, and secured him to a table in the room. He ran out to his car, which was conveniently parked right next to the back of the stage. He drove the car right to the entrance and pulled Justin’s body into the car, and drove off.
FUCK. I’M FUCKED. James’ mind raced and panicked. Everyone had seen him. Everyone knew Justin had been kidnapped. The chaos and panic at the concert must have been unbelievable, but he was out of there as quickly as he could. The police had been present at the scene. Undoubtedly, they were questioning witnesses. James figured the police would be at his doorstep within the day. There was no way this crime could go unpunished, and he hadn’t exactly been discreet about it.
James knew he had to act quickly. He dumped Justin in his garage and locked the doors. He drove out to his wife’s house, and banged on the door until she let him in.
“Where’s Amy?” he demanded. Amy ran into the living room to see what was going on.
“You’re coming with me. Get the fuck in the car!” He shouted to her. “No time to explain, just get in the car. Now!”
“What the fuck are you talking about? Get away from my house and leave me alone or I’m calling the police!” screamed Deborah in horror.
James grabbed Amy by the scruff of her neck and dragged her outside. Deborah shrieked and ran for the phone. She frantically tried to dial 911, but James was already on the road by the time she connected. James knew he had even less time now that the cops had been alerted about him. He burned rubber on the way home.
When he opened the garage door, Amy practically fainted. She turned pale.
“HOLY SHIT !” she screamed in shock and horror. “WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO?”
“You wanted Justin Bieber. Here he is,” said James maniacally. Justin was wide-eyed with terror and wriggling around, trying to escape. He tried to say something, but could only mumble through his gag. He suddenly realized that the girl who was standing before him was the same girl he had thought about the night before. Unwittingly, his penis began to stir.
“You wanted Justin’s dick?” asked James, his voice strangely calm but bordering on psychopathic. James pulled out his pocket knife. He cut through Justin’s pants and began to sever the small, erect cock. Justin suddenly shrieked though his gag in horror and agony. Blood was spurting out all over the garage floor. The cock quickly became limp as it was disconnected from his body. It was a horrid thing, dripping blood wherever it was moved. James flung it at his daughter, who recoiled to the site, shrieking in horror. She tried to run away, but the doors were locked. She frantically clawed at the door, screaming bloody murder.
“There’s no use,” cooed James. “You’re not going anywhere.” He picked up Justin’s tiny cock and walked towards Amy, backing her into the corner. The cock had expelled most of its blood but was still red and dripping. He held Amy down with one hand while he began to shove the disgusting thing into her mouth. Amy was repulsed and shrieked in protest.
“You’re insane! You’re fucking mental!” she screamed, but this trailed off as the cock filled her mouth and gagged her. James kneed her in the stomach and she projectile vomited all over the floor. Some got on Justin Bieber’s body, pale and limp from blood loss. He was writhing and moaning, too shocked and exhausted to scream. Amy was lying on the floor in shock, in a pool of blood and vomit. She couldn’t stand up. James raised up a large hatchet that he used to chop wood. Amy vaguely tried to scream “don’t” but the words couldn’t even come out of her mouth. Justin just moaned in protest.
The axe swung down, as if in slow motion. It happened in an instant, but it seemed to play by in James’ head like slow motion. The head of the axe made contact with Justin’s stomach. His flesh was ripped open and his ribs smashed to shards. Bits of broken bone were sticking out of the mangled flesh. Blood began to spurt in every direction, plastering the walls. Justin’s internal organs spilled out. His intestines were mangled and began to unravel, covering the floor. Partially-digested shit was seeping out of the wounds and mixing freely with the other bodily fluids. Amy vomited again and passed out, smashing her head against a metal ladder.
James held up his pistol. He pointed it at his daughter, and pulled the trigger. He could hear sirens approaching in the distance. He sat down. Not a single thought was going through his head. He was too far gone for reflection. He slowly raised the pistol and pointed it to his temple.
