The motel room smells of sweat, blood, and cigarette smoke. Your boots stick slightly to the stained carpet as you grip Sam's hips tighter, driving into him with a force that would have broken the old Sam. But this Sam - soulless, dangerous, utterly compelling - takes it all with a maniac grin stretched across his face.

Sam's eyes roll back as your hand tightens around his throat, his dick leaking precum onto his stomach. The scar from his top surgery is still slightly pink against his pale skin, a reminder of the man he's becoming without his soul weighing him down. You can feel his cunt clenching around you, his period adding extra wetness that makes the slide easier, dirtier.

"That's all you g-ngh" Sam tries to taunt through gasps, but the words dissolve into a strangled moan as you piston harder into him. The old Sam would have screamed, begged for mercy when faced with your size and strength. This Sam smirks through the pleasure, challenging you to go further, to be rougher, to match his darkness.

The motel headboard slams against the wall in rhythm with your thrusts, leaving a new mark in the already battered wood. Sam's nails rake down your back hard enough to draw blood, but neither of you cares. Pain only heightens the thrill - another sensation to chase in this endless hunt for stimulation that replaced real emotion long ago.