Chapter 2 - Nurses Could Stand To Learn How Knocking Works

Author's Note: This chapter isn't much in the way of smut, just some light masturbation and a little filth play. It does largely set up how the two intend to live as each other, though, so if you're interested in the story, probably give this one a read!


***


Waking up was strange for a number of reasons. Sam felt like Sam—that is say, fairly normal—but on the other hand, she knew things were very, very different.


For one, Sam was a she, despite spending the last thirty or so years very much a he. But her female biology was more than clear, especially with the fact that her pussy was sore. Sam glanced down and winced slightly, taking in the sight of her thoroughly-used cunt. It was lightly swollen from the rough, devastating thrusts Becky had pounded into her for nearly two hours straight, and oozed any of a half-dozen loads of thick, fresh cum out onto the linen sheets. She reached over for the tissues on her bedside, hissing softly as she did her best to soak up as much jizz as possible without agitating her pussy.

Another distinct oddity was the woman beside her. Becky Lynch was beautiful even asleep, fiery locks splayed out on her pillow as the morning light played across her naked body, though her skin bore the tell-tale sheen of dried sweat from an evening spent relentlessly fucking Sam into the hospital bed. The brilliant rays of the sun limned her muscles in gold, and despite the soreness in her cunt, Sam felt a sudden flash of pride that she was beautiful enough for Becky to want to fuck her.

“Mornin’,” Becky murmured softly, her words thick with sleep as her honey-brown eyes opened lazily. The wrestler turned onto her back and stretched languidly, her toned, athletic body set ablaze by the dawn. Then Becky leaned over and pulled Sam into a deep kiss, pressing warm and confident lips to Sam’s soft and full ones. Sam leaned into Becky contentedly, thigh brushing against what she realized after a moment was Becky’s stiff morning wood.

The kiss was warm and gentle at first, but went hot in moments after that. Becky’s mouth was eager, the movements taking on an edge of passion, and Sam could feel a spark of lust flaring inside of her. So much lust in fact that it wasn’t until Sam let out a soft moan that she realized the hand she’d been using to mop of all the cum from the night before had started rubbing small circles into the hood of her clit.

After a few minutes of kissing, Becky pulled away, blinking slowly like a cat as a lazy smile spread across her face. “You slept well, I take it?”

“Very well,” Sam offered breathlessly, forcing her hand to halt its rapid movement across her pussy with some reluctance. “You?”

“Fine, fine,” Becky replied before gesturing to her body. “Could use a shower, though.”

Sam nodded absently, glancing down at the redhead’s Amazon physique. She had the toned, well-defined muscles of a performer, including  set of abs cut from marble, and resting upon those abs was Becky’s cock, throbbing and stiff first thing in the morning. So hard that the foreskin had slid back on its own, revealing a deep pink bellhead coated in sticky yellow sludge, smegma made up of sweat, leftover cum, and filth that had come together to form a nasty grime.

“Becky, ew,” Sam said, though her words came out uncertain. Sam was pretty certain she was disgusted by the mire that clung to the underside of the redhead’s glans… so why did her body seem to be so interested? 

“Oh yeah, I know you just hate it,” Becky said with a snort, which seemed strange to Sam, but she assumed it was some sort of joke she didn’t recognize. Before she could say anything more, though, Becky reached down and swiped her thumb through the fetid muck on her cock and raised her hand to Sam’s mouth. She kept it there, an inch or so from Sam’s lips, as if waiting.

The smell that met Sam’s nose was rancid and foul. It coated her throat, as if the odor had stained her senses forever, but even as her gag reflex threatened to kick in, a pleasant buzzing started up in her head that began to slowly radiate through her body. Each breath she took in was tainted with the scent of Becky’s filth, staining her lungs, a wave of revulsion crashing through her… but Sam’s pussy had only gotten wetter, and her hand never stopped moving on her clit.

“Open,” Becky murmured. The word was only two syllables, but it seemed to send Sam’s heartbeat into a cascading rhythm, faster and faster with each passing moment.

And before she could stop herself, Sam parted her lips and took Becky’s thumb into her mouth.

The taste was horrid and bitter, her stomach churning at the greasy feel of it on her tongue. Accompanying it, though, was a wave of pleasure that shot through her like electricity, beginning in her mouth and culminating in a surge of sensation in her clit. Sam’s core spasmed, her fingers flying faster across her cunt, and she—she was—

“Hnnghoh f-fuck!”

Her sudden cry of ecstasy seemed to echo off the walls of her tiny hospital room, reverberating through her just as her orgasm did. It sizzled in Sam’s brain as a spurt of clear girlcum hit the sheets beneath them, adding to the dampness of the linen that was already present from before and filling the room with the smell of fresh sex. 

“So fucking hot,” Becky groaned, free hand stroking her girlcock while the other played across Sam’s tongue, making sure to spread the thick dickfilth around and coat every part of her mouth with it. “Maybe you should put that mouth to work cleaning the rest off—“

Just then, the doorhandle at the entry to the room rattled softly, and both women jerked their gazes upward. A fraction of a second later, before the door could even open, Becky twisted out of bed, smoothly extracting herself from the covers and grabbing her clothes. The redhead shot Sam a wink and practically dove for the bathroom in the corner, narrowly avoiding the door frame. As the door to the room opened, letting in the sounds of bustling hospital activity and revealing the dark-skinned nurse from the day before.

“S-sorry, if I could just have a moment to use the bathroom,” Sam chirped, fighting the blush that warmed her cheeks as she clutched the sheets to her breast. “I-I’m not dressed…”

The nurse cocked an eyebrow, as if to say, You know I’m a nurse, right? But never the less, she turned and stalked out of the room, calling, “I’ll be back in a few minutes to take your vitals.”

Sam nodded, embarrassment heating her face, gaze locked on where her hands clutched the sheets until the nurse left, letting the door swing shut behind her. As soon as it did, Becky peeked out of the bathroom, all scarlet hair and wariness. “She gone?”

“Yeah,” Sam answered, hastily dragging her panties up her legs and shoving her arms back through the sleeves of the hospital gown while trying to tie up the back.

“Man, that was close,” Becky said with a shaky laugh, stepping back into the room proper. Sam could see that in the brief time she had been in there, the wrestler had managed to slip into her nondescript black leggings and a sleeveless white t-shirt that showed off her powerful arms, a black leather jacket slung back over her shoulder. 

“Yeah,” Sam said again, swiping her hands over her face and back through her hair—a common gesture for Sam, made unfamiliar by the amount of hair she had now compared to her original body. It sent a fresh wave of discomfort through her, jaw tightening as she let out a sight through clenched teeth. 

“Relax, baby,” Becky said in a soft voice, coming closer to the bed and resting a strong hand on Sam’s shoulder. “She didn’t see anything. Let me go get some breakfast for us and swing by your hotel room for some clothes, and then we’ll see about getting you out of here. Cool?”

Sam nodded, leaning over to rest her cheek on Becky’s hand. The redhead brushed her thumb across Sam’s skin—the same thumb Sam had so recently licked filth from, she noted—before turning and making her way out of the room. A few minutes later, the nurse returned and did exactly as she said she would, taking Sam’s vitals and asking a handful of questions to make sure there were no new signs of lingering nerve or lung damage before promising to come back with a doctor in tow.

Next through the door was not the doctor or Becky, but Charlotte dressed not in hospital clothes, but in street clothes, wearing the simple blue jeans and “Visit Tattooine” shirt Sam had been wearing when all of this had happened. More than that, Charlotte looked to have cleaned up a bit, dark hair wet from a shower and wrist missing the hospital bracelet that had been present last time Sam had seen him. As the door swung closed, Sam could see Whitney leaning against the wall in the hallway, waiting.

“Hey, they’re discharging me,” Charlotte said, and it was still odd for Sam to be spoken to in the voice she was so intimately familiar with. “Whitney is going to take me… well, I guess back to your place. Which has me thinking about something.”

Sam nodded, frowning. “Thinking about how we’re going to make this work?”

“Yeah,” Charlotte replied, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall beside Sam’s bed. “And I think I have an idea. Now, obviously we’re going to have to go on being each other, at least for the time being.”

“Either that or somebody dissects our brains to try and figure out what happened.”

“Which neither of us wants,” Charlotte continued, reaching up to fidget with the angle of his glasses, making it obvious he still hadn’t gotten used to them. “And in order to keep that from happening, we’re going to have to do our best at living each other’s lives. Now, I think you can sell it to the WWE that you have amnesia or whatever from the lightning strike and have to relearn some of my moves. They probably won’t let you wrestle for a while anyway just based on this, although they might dump TV spots on you about getting struck by lightning and your miraculous survival or something. Which is good, because Whitney told me you’re in IT, and there’s no way in hell I can learn all that nerd shit, I can barely use my iPhone.”

“So I was thinking…” Charlotte trailed off, thinking for a moment, but the majority of her plan had already clicked into place in Sam’s mind.

“You were thinking that we’d both have access to your bank accounts so that we could both live off of them while I continue to wrestle as Charlotte Flair.”

“Exactly.”

“I mean, it only seems fair you get to use the money you made,” Sam said with a shrug, sweeping her bangs out of her face carefully, trying to get the motion down. “And I get that you’re kind of screwed out of my job, since IT takes training. It’s not like wrestling, where anyone can—“

“Easy,” Charlotte growled from beside the bed.

“Yeah, no, sorry,” Sam replied sheepishly. “But your plan makes the most sense. I have a decent amount of money, but I doubt it’s much compared to what you make in a year. How do we explain it, though?”

“Well, that’s the easy part,” Charlotte said, leaning back onto his feet and giving a couple of bouncing boxer’s steps, whipping his hands out in mock punches with agility that surprised even Sam. “We bonded over getting struck by lightning, and since you’re a superfan, I decided to take you under my wing. We might even be able to get me into some of the minor men’s leagues, if I can get this body in the right shape. Hell, since David’s out of the game, we might even get WWE to sign me on a developmental, something about the adoption of a Flair…”

“First things first, huh?” Sam said, snapping a couple of times to draw Charlotte’s attention back to the conversation.

“Right, right, that would take time anyway,” Charlotte said with a dismissive gesture. “First things being getting in touch with my accountant and authorizing me as a user, and then from there we can iron out the details.”

Just then, the door opened again, and the nurse re-entered with an older man in a crisp white coat—the doctor Sam recognized from the day before. The nurse gave Charlotte a pointed look, which Charlotte seemed to read just fine. Charlotte held up a twisted and blackened rectangle of glass and plastic—the remnants of Sam’s phone. “I’ll give you a call when I get a new phone, okay? Hang tough.”

The doctor gave Sam a rundown on her condition, explaining that Sam was largely fine but could expect some sore or stiff muscles over the next week or so. He then handed her a card and told her to call him if she felt any shortness of breath or pain in her lungs whatsoever, and within a half hour, Sam was filling out discharge paperwork. Only fifteen minutes or so after that, Becky showed up, looking fresh and showered with a paper sack full of breakfast burritos in one hand and a canvas bag in the other.

“Hey, you look about ready to go,” Becky said with a smile, holding up the duffel in her hand. “Brought you some clothes, since I figure your old stuff is probably fried or something.”

“Thank you,” Sam said softly, and she realized that the sight of Becky brought a measure of comfort. “I think I’m almost ready to go.”

“Good, good. You feeling alright about all this?” Becky gestured vaguely to the paperwork in Sam’s hands, and the hospital bed she was sitting in.

“You know, I was really upset yesterday,” Sam replied, reaching up and brushing her bangs out of her eyes with surprising ease—muscle memory, or was Sam getting used to it? “But I think I’m okay. I think I’m getting used to it more easily than I thought I would.”


And she meant it.