There’s people that I run into that is not normal interaction I would have. The delivery driver with the deep brown eyes seemingly intent on locking contact and not letting go. Then noticing as he walks off that you’ve stuck your ass out, arched your back presenting an offering. Could he be my demon?The mugshot with the deadened stare, neck tattoo, charges are what most of us only fantasize committing. My hole twitches and my hand rubs my cock again. Is it him? My hand’s been doing that slot lately. Rubbing my cock, imagining every more dominant leaning man passing lthrough my life using me as his cock sleeve. Pumping my neg hole full of his toxic demon seed. My throat feeling raw and tender after the repeated thrusting of his demonic cock. Sometimes my edging has met it’s match and I loose my offering… toilet seat, steering wheel, conference room table… interest used to wane after cumming. Now, it intensifies intensifies the craving to be molded into the perfect deviant faggot. This drives me to lick clean the cum I spilled.   Iit intensifies the desire to be corrupted so that my talents are used for pleasure, debauchery, evil. It’s time.. I need it. I long for it. I am destined for it. I have no demonic influence to guide and keep my path crooked. I feel I could repent, retreat into the place within where urges and desires are locked away. The place where my true self goes to die. I need the guidance the encouragement. The corruptive defilement