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Destroyed by The Biebernator!



It was late at night and I was tired, but I wanted to get my daily workout in at the local “real iron” gym. I am no “bodybuilder” but I do like to push some weights around on a casual basis.

As I walked from the parking lot into the gym, I noticed a few “sketchy looking” bruisers hanging around outside. They eyed me suspiciously but said nothing as I went inside. Inside, the gym was empty (it was 9:30 p.m.), except for one short blonde kid in a very baggy tee shirt doing light curls over in the corner.

I set myself up to do bench press (it’s chest day Monday) and started lifting the light weight I warm up with. The kid wandered over to watch, which was kind of weird to me, but I said nothing.

“Huh”, he said. “Not a lot of weight for a stocky guy like you”.

I suddenly recognized who I was dealing with in the gym tonight-Justin Bieber, the infamous pop crooner.

“What is a twiggy little tween singer doing in a real gym like this one?” I replied.

“I’m no longer a tween, and I am not so twiggy anymore,” he sneered. He jumped on the bench and banged out ten reps…pretty easily it appeared. I have to admit I was a little impressed.

“Not bad”, I responded, adding two more 25s to the bar. Bench press is not my best exercise, by far (I love back and shoulders), but I am working on it and can handle this modest weight. I cranked out eight reps pretty comfortably, with Justin still watching with a strange expression on his face.

“Huh”, he stated again. He placed himself under the bar and began cranking out his set. This little weed got 10 reps with no real problem. He wasn’t even breathing hard. Darn…even through the tee shirt those pecs were looking impressive. He added two more 25s and pumped out five more reps with no obvious effort!

Shit…Am I being out-lifted by Justin Bieber? No way!

I moved onto the curl bar and put 70 pounds on. I easily pumped out eight reps with pretty strict form. The singer followed me over to the curl rack and added 10s to each side. His tattooed arms actually strained his tee shirt sleeves as he quickly pumped out ten perfect reps!! Shit, this little crooner is strong.

Heh, he sneered. “Not twiggy at all”. He whipped off his tee shirt suddenly.

Damn. He had a chiseled torso I would never have expected from past media photographs. His pecs were solid and square, with deep separation and at least three inches of thick muscle depth. I have a decent chest, but damn…. His shoulders were a lot broader than I expected…like he has been doing some serious overhead presses. His biceps were quite small, but looked damn cut. His midsection was firm and defined, with a visible eight pack above a tiny, defined waist, and his vee was solid and looked hard as hell. Certainly tighter than my rather plump frame. He walked over to me and shoved me hard. I responded with a push of my own. Damn, the kid was SOLID.

He smirked

He let fly a hard punch to my gut. Boof. I have decent abs, (albeit somewhat pudgy), and my stomach absorbed the blow pretty well. But I felt it. A lot!

I returned a quick punch of my own. Bam! No obvious effect! Bieber’s abs were hard as a rock and he didn’t even breathe out when my fist impacted on his torso. I hit him again, and then again, but his rugged core seemed to be immune to my blows. How is this possible? I can’t seem to hurt this kid! He moved in, grabbing me around the neck. His tattooed bicep swelled and I began to struggle. How did this kid get so strong?

I was able to pull out, with some difficulty, and moved in to put a half nelson of my own on the teen star.

He pulled out frighteningly easily and began hammering my midsection again. Ooof…Ooof….Ooof. My abs still somehow stood up to his blows but I could feel them weakening rapidly as he fired painfully powerful punches at my stomach.

I desperately responded with a knee to his midsection. Justin saw it coming and tightened his abs again. Bam! There was again absolutely no obvious effect.

He laughed. “I’m a pop star. I can afford Taylor Lautner’s trainer and the best “supplements”. He stood up, breathing only slightly, and threw a flex. His square pecs pumped up, the biceps swelled impressively and the eight pack actually developed that “cobblestone” pattern that denotes real hardness and strength. My arms are quite a bit bigger, but this kid’s arms showed definition and veins I could only dream of. “I could destroy you”, he chortled, and turned to go.

I rushed him once again and grabbed him around the waist. He whipsawed his body, the hard elbows hammering into my waist. I gasped and let go, then moved back in for a clinch. Damn, the kid is too wiry, with steel cable arms. My hands tried to close around the biceps, but my fingers couldn’t even dent his round steel orbs an inch! He easily broke free again. With a sneering laugh, he began relentlessly hammering my midsection. My abs finally failed. I sat down with a gasp, and The Bieb stood over me in triumph, throwing yet another flex. He was just too strong!

He pushed me down with his foot, and I heard ironic applause from his bodyguards (the bruisers) in the rear of the gym. The Bieber Beatdown apparently had an audience, but he did not even need his bodyguards to help teach me a lesson.