The Healing of Adam Cross Pt. 01

Author's Note: This story is an original work of fiction, the first of a series of stories expected to include several parts. Future additional spin-off stories starring some or all of these characters might also be forthcoming based upon response and demand. Certain characters featured herein may also be found in other works by the authors. Feedback is desired and greatly appreciated. Email comments to the address in our profile. Thank you for reading.

Copyright 2011 by Jack and Josephine Cutter.

This story stars: Adam Cross, and features Tiffany McCullough, Holli Coverton, Trent McCullough, Dave Cartwright, Benjamin Lane, Kara Simms, and Mandy Michaels.

This story contains: male-female erotic coupling, fellatio, cunnilingus, anal, analingus, group sex, strippers, lap dances, two-girl lesbian shows, and sadness, and touches upon some of the larger elements at play in the forthcoming parts of the series, which is not centered around strippers.

This story begins post-prologue on Wednesday, September 28.

* * * * *

It happened on a random Tuesday in February, an ordinary day that become something more in the worst imaginable way. He was working late when he got the call, sitting at his desk in the newsroom, punching away at his keyboard. Looking back, he could not recall what it was he'd been working on, a strange truth for a man with a near-photographic memory.

In fact, he could remember very little at all with clarity; he remembered setting the phone down, rising to his feet, and taking three steps before things get fuzzy. His co-workers have said they remember watching him move, then sway on his feet and crumple to the floor. One of them, thinking he was hurt, called an ambulance.

That was eight months ago.

Chapter One: Reluctant Participant

Tiffany McCullough squealed as her husband pounded her from behind.

The brunette beauty of twenty-eight years was bent over the bathroom counter, her weight supported by her elbows, her supple breasts so close to the marble counter that every so often the shriveled tips of her nipples would graze across the cold surface, strummed by the grout.

They had been fucking for almost half-an-hour at this point and perspiration covered her naked flesh, glistening in the dim light of the room. Trent was really laying into her, so much that when his hips banged against the soft cheeks of her ass, it almost hurt.

Almost, but not quite.

Her husband was an excellent lover and Tiffany was no slouch herself, and already she was two orgasms deep. She did not think she would make a third, which was perfectly fine because it was time for Trent to finally have his. She could tell it was coming when he spanked her ass with a heavy hand and groaned loudly.

Trent pulled out just in time to spew a load of his sticky white sauce all over the small of her back. It was a large load: Tiffany could tell by the way the deposit slid down her skin into the crack of her ass.

"Nice, baby," she cooed as she wiggled her butt.

Trent sighed. "Better clean up before that stuff goes any lower."

She giggled. "I don't mind your cum on my ass. It feels nice and sticky."

"Slut," her husband said with a filthy grin.

"You better believe it," she agreed, "and don't you forget it this weekend."

This little dalliance would be their last for several days: Trent was headed to Vegas for the bachelor party of Benjamin Lane, who was engaged to one of Tiffany's best and oldest friends, Heather James. Tiffany knew the kind of roving eye her husband had; when single, he was a womanizer of the highest order. He had fulfilled his promise to her, however, and remained faithful over the eighteen months of their marriage; there was no need to stray, after all, as Tiffany was hot and had an enormous sex drive.

Simply stated, Tiffany loved to fuck . . . and her husband was always more than happy to oblige.

When Trent did not respond, Tiffany added, "I think it's great that you guys are taking Adam with you. He really needs to get away. He hasn't really been himself lately."

Trent waved a dismissive hand. He was not the kindest nor most compassionate man in the world, nor very emotionally invested in anything, which were significant flaws Tiffany struggled against on a regular basis. "He just needs to fuck someone," the man replied. "He'll be fine."

That response did not make her happy. "It's been less than a year, Trent. We're all still hurting; not an hour goes by that I don't think of Jocelyn. You don't have to be such a prick about it."

Trent shrugged. "What did I do?"

Tiffany shot him a dirty look as she hopped in the shower to clean herself up. The soothing spray calmed her considerably, pulling her back from the edge of tears that threatened suddenly to flow. The painful grief, so heavy at first, had subsided by degrees, but still lay close enough to the surface to surprise her when she least expected it. She fought it off this time, which allowed her to reflect back to happier times.

There had been five of them: five girls growing up on a block full of boys in an affluent suburb of San Diego. Despite four years age difference between Tiffany, who at nine years old had been the oldest and the de facto leader of the group, and Josie Haynes, the youngest at five, the girls forged a friendship so strong it would last for almost twenty years. Not all of the girls went to the same elementary school, nor did all of them go to the same high school, nor the same college, yet all the girls remained very close, the bonds of their friendship extremely tight, and all had ended up eventually in the same place: the city of Los Angeles.

Kelsey had been the first to marry, taking the last name Cartwright two years earlier at age twenty-six, and as the five of them had envisioned and talked about many times over the course of their lives, the wedding ceremony had involved four maids of honor. Tiffany married next, bringing with her down the aisle three maids and one matron of honor.

And now Heather was engaged, but no longer would four others stand beside her at the altar.

Jocelyn had been diagnosed with a rare brain disease twelve months earlier. The night she broke the news to the rest of them was a night Tiffany would never forget, no matter how much she wanted to or how hard she tried: more tears and pain and heartache than any other point in her life. The disease, she told them, was swift-spreading and inoperable, and untreatable, and the doctors had given her six weeks to live. Tiffany remembered the way her heart shriveled when she heard the words.

But Jocelyn was a fighter and determined to live as long as possible, determined to squeeze every drop of life out her remaining time, and with her boyfriend, Adam, by her side she survived four long months before the disease got the best of her and she passed, at last, in her sleep.

Grief still lingered. Tiffany doubted she would ever fully heal from the loss of her friend, but one of the many wonderful things about their little group was the support system it provided, trusted people who cared enough to pick each other up when needed, to lend ears to listen and shoulders to cry on, and so Tiffany, Kelsey, Heather, and Josie comforted one another and supported one another by turns: when one faltered, the others were there to pull her through.

And so they passed together through the worst of it, those first few months of pain, to come to the place they were in now: not healed, still saddened, but accepting and ready to move forward.

The same could not be said for Adam Cross.

Though he did not outwardly show his grief over the death of his girlfriend, Tiffany knew for a fact his hurt was extreme, and the fact that he internalized it so dramatically was not a good thing. He needed to cry, something Tiffany knew he had not done. He needed to move forward, to live his life, which is what she knew Jocelyn would have wanted.

He needed to heal.

Which is why she was happy Trent and the boys were taking Adam with them to Ben's bachelor party, if only so he could take his mind away from the grief and the memories. He was a good man and he needed to get away.

And hopefully have an amazingly fun time.

* * *

Adam Cross knew exactly what to expect and, from the very beginning, the men he traveled with did not fail him, living down to all his expectations. Sadly, that was not a compliment.

Former frat guys and Las Vegas bachelor parties did not a quiet and peaceful weekend make: they were off the plane and into the bar, followed by another, followed by another, followed by another, and by the time the third night rolled around, and three nights in Vegas is a long time, he was wondering why exactly he agreed to go in the first place.

It was a simple answer, of course, despite his ruminations: Jocelyn's friends had begged him to. They flittered over him incessantly; it was like he'd inherited a group of mothering hens. He did not mind them doing so, in all honesty, as he fully understood why.

His understanding did not help his situation at present, however, surrounded by attractive, wealthy, relatively young and successful guys who did little to dispel such notions, which made matters worse as far as Adam was concerned: women flocked to them in droves, which was not something he particularly wished for.

He was determined not to be the guy who buzz-killed the event, however; he was a sociable guy and acted as such, and never let on that he was anything less than excited to be there. But he did not go out of his way to talk to any of the girls thrown his way, nor did he get wasted, nor did he amuse himself at either of the strip clubs they visited (the other guys were big fans, it seemed). He appeared to be enjoying himself, when really he was not.

Which is why Adam was very happy to hear the group was heading back to the hotel suite early on Saturday night, which was their last . . . until he came to understand that heading back did not mean turning in.

"We've arranged for a little in-suite entertainment," said Dave Cartwright, one of the lead organizers of the event. Dave was thirty-one and successful, and had money burning a hole through his pocket. He and Trent McCullough, thirty years old and also quite well-off, had paid for most of the weekend.

Ben Lane grinned. "Sweet!" he exclaimed.

The three men were walking through the casino on their way up to the suite. Adam was a short distance behind them, walking slowly, quite unenthusiastic. The other six guys in their group had groused about not getting to come to the limited-invite hotel room party, but Dave had sent them off to another strip club with several hundred dollar bills, which seemed to cut short all the grumbling. Adam, however, had been "lucky" enough to get to join.

Trent wrapped a brotherly arm around Ben's shoulder as they walked. "Benjamin, my friend, have you ever fucked a Vegas stripper?"

Ben was a rather sheltered individual and his eyes widened like saucers at the statement, as if the very idea that such a thing was possible had never occurred to him.

Dave chuckled and slapped him on the back. "It's a rite of passage, my friend. Every bachelor fucks a stripper in Vegas. Why do you think so many bachelor parties come here?"

"Luckily you're with us," Trent told him, "which means you get the youngest, hottest, dirtiest strippers in this town . . . and you get them delivered right to your hotel room."

Ben could hardly contain himself, he seemed so excited. "Awesome! It's like my last night of fun before I get married," he said.

Trent and Dave exchanged a glance.

"Are you kidding?" Trent asked. "You can fuck anyone you want, anywhere, anytime. Marriage doesn't stop that, it just means you have to think a little bit ahead of time. If anything, fucking other women when you're married is better than fucking other women when you're single. The risk makes it hotter."

Adam could not believe what he was hearing. He'd always thought Trent and Dave were arrogant, and that they went overboard flirting with women and throwing money around at strip clubs, but he never thought they would go so far as to cheat on their wives, nor consider it so casual a thing.

Dave turned back and flashed a grin. "Are you ready for a little action, Adam? There just might be some pussy with your name on it upstairs."

Adam inclined his head but did not give any sort of response, affirmative nor negative, and then they arrived at the door to the suite, which was now being guarded by two large and very intimidating black men.

"Which one of you cats is Dave?" the big man on the right asked in a deep and booming voice.

Dave grinned. "Right here."

"The women are ready for you inside. What the women do or do not do is of their own free will. We have received payment for their services as exotic dancers. We will remain at this door throughout the night. We also have a representative inside the room; you do NOT want him to come calling for us."

Dave saluted the man. "Yes, sir!"

The bouncer rolled his eyes and let the group pass into the room, where much of the furniture had been cleared out of the center and four plush chairs were arranged in a semi-circle around the large open space. There was another man standing in the open area, a skinny white guy with a beard and wire-frame glasses, quite obviously the financial member of the group. There were no women present and the guys noticed.

"Where the bitches at?" Trent lamented. "I want some titties!"

"Gentlemen," the skinny man said, "I am Edward. I will be the interior representative for the ladies tonight. The ladies are preparing themselves in the other room and will be ready in a moment. Please take your seats. Bachelor, please sit here." He indicated one of the middle chairs. "You are not to leave your seats while the show is in progress. The dancers may touch you. You may not touch the dancers."

Adam took the far left chair with Dave on his right, Ben to the right of Dave, and Trent next to him on the other end. He was not really looking forward to whole thing, but was also not going to spoil it for the rest of the guys. And, he reasoned, if things got too out-of-hand, he could always leave.

"Start the show, Eddie!" Dave called.

The skinny man smiled as would a teacher at a petulant child. "Gentlemen, your first performer is nineteen years old. Her name is Mandy. Enjoy."

He flipped the button on the stereo and the music started, a bass-heavy hip-hop song without words. Seconds later, the door to one of the bedrooms opened and the first of their three entertainers was revealed, and Adam could certainly not fault his group for a lack of quality: the girl was ridiculously hot.

She was short, hardly five feet tall if it weren't for the three-inch platform boots she wore, and stacked: huge tits, amazing curves, a Barbie doll incarnate. Bright blonde hair cascaded off her head in big, rolling waves and her eyes were piercingly blue. She was dressed as a little schoolgirl with those big white knee-high boots, an ultra-short plaid mini-skirt that covered maybe half of her wonderfully curved backside, and a sheer white blouse.

The outfit was scandalous.

She sauntered out into the center of the room, quickly appraising the situation, and as she surveyed the guys, so did the guys survey her . . . with great approval.

"Holy shit," Ben whispered far louder than he intended.

"That's what I'm talking about, boys!" Trent exclaimed as he leaned over to slap five with Dave. "Look at that tight little body. What a fucking slut!"

Grinning, the girl pointed right at Ben, the bachelor, and headed straight for him. She bent herself at the waist when she reached him, legs locked behind her with her body a perfect ninety-degree angle, brought her lips right up to his face, and kissed his cheek. Adam had a nice view of her thong-covered posterior as she did so and tried hard not to stare.

She spun on her heels and sauntered back to the center of the open space, swishing her hips in that sassy schoolgirl way, before she spun again and aimed for Trent. The same little act followed: point, sexy walk, bend at the waist, kiss the cheek, turn, walk, spin, and repeat. Her blouse hugged her firm breasts, crossing them just above where her nipples likely were to provide maximum cleavage pre-exposure, and every time she walked those ample mounds jiggled enticingly. And every time she bent at the waist, her skirt would rise up and expose the cheeks of her finely rounded ass to those behind her.

Dave, Trent, and Ben were hooting and hollering and slapping fives, and occasionally one of them would throw his hand up for Adam to slap, which Adam would with a friendly smile. But he remained quite obviously aloof from the frenzy of his friends, which the girl picked up on, it seemed, because the majority of the rest of her show was directed towards the others.

Mandy swayed those hips and sucked on her fingers like they were lollipops and she was an innocent little girl, but the lusty spark in her eyes and the suggestive winks she gave the men were anything but innocent. Nor were the comments and antics of the men; once she swayed close to Dave, who reached out playful hand to grab for her, which she swatted away with equal play, her face shocked and demure.

The first song was the tease, it seemed, because with the next song the girl began to involve her body more. Her hands cupped her large breasts, squeezing and massaging them seductively; Adam was amazed they didn't just pop out of her top. She ran her hands down her body and back up again, dragging her skirt with her in the process to reveal her g-string clad lower half, and the guys all grunted appreciatively as one hand slid down to cup the spot between her legs.

Half-way through the second song, the clothes began to come off. First went the blouse, slowly and teasingly, to reveal an unbelievably tight bra to match the thong. Next came the skirt, with flourish: she turned her back to them and bent fully in half, grabbing her ankles at first before reaching back up to tug the plaid down to the floor.

"Holy shit," Ben whispered again as she did so, again louder than he anticipated.

The bra followed, revealing the girl's fantastic breasts to the awed crowd. She covered them with her palms and pinched them with her fingers, and her eyes fluttered shut as if the sensations created were the most intense she had ever felt.

Only the thong remained at the start of the third song, which was quite obviously how she planned it. It was perhaps one of the skimpiest little pieces of floss Adam had ever seen, and as the third song started she dropped to her knees before the bachelor himself and arched her back, thrusting her groin at the shell-shocked groom-to-be.

Dave and Trent went wild.

"Look at that bitch!" Dave cried.

"Look at those fucking tits, man!" Trent yelled.

Adam sat back, content to remain silent and appreciate the beauty of a woman who quite obviously was enjoying the effect she was having.

Which was even more evident a few moments later, when Mandy ripped the thong off her body with another dramatic flourish to reveal her pretty little pink pussy, bare as the day she was born. As the men again went crazy, she dragged a finger along the glistening slit and leaned forward to Ben, offering him a taste of her juices.

Ben opened his mouth with wide eyes and moved forward intently, eager to taste what was so generously offered, but just before he reached her finger she pulled it back with a giggle and slipped it into her own mouth instead. Mandy smiled coyly and wagged her finger from side-to-side: no-no. The coy smile then morphed into a sassy little grin as two fingers rubbed together in the classic "show me the money" gesture.