Now's not the time to argue...

After staring down the gauntlet of demons in your apartment, having a gun stuck in your face doesn't seem nearly as threatening anymore. Still, you elect not to agitate the rather handsome assailant, and raise your hands in defense.
"Don't shoot! I'm human!"
"Yeah, I gathered that," he sneers. He quickly removes his coat and reaches inside the liner pocket of his trench, extracting a double-barreled sawed-off shotgun as he hands the weapon and coat to you. "Know how to handle one of these?"
You nod as you put on the garment, thankful you went on those hunting trips with your father in your teenage years.
"Good. Follow me, and if any demon gives you static, let 'em have it!" He grabs your arm and yanks you into a run through the city streets.
The city is a mess of police cars and mob rule. Several demons tangle with police and passers-by, doing what they can to sate their insane need for sexual pleasure and transform more mortals into their demonic partners. You know in your logical mind that the horniness it all spawns in you is their weapon, but it doesn't ebb the feelings. Your slit is quite wet by the time a succubus attempts to leap on you from a third-story window.
"Watch it!" your rescuer shouts, yanking you forward.
"Thanks!" you yell back, giving the she-demon both barrels in the face. Her shriek of anguish is far from what you expected as the result.
"What's in here?"
"Rosary beads," he grunts, pulling you back to flight before she can blindly retaliate with her wicked claws.
The pair of you race through the streets (him rather awkwardly, with his quite blatant and enticing erection), panting from exhaustion and horniness as you arrive at a small chapel on 53rd Street. Several men and women open the door to let you both in, quickly and fervently latching it behind you.
He quickly leads you inside, past scores of refugees, toward the adjoining parish house. "There's food and coffee in the kitchen, and clothes in the room next door. Grab a shower before you do anything else. Towels are in the closet inside."
You smile back. "Thanks. I never even got your name."
He seems taken aback. "Uh...Greer. Max Greer."
You exchange your name with him, trying not to think about his still-throbbing erection. The heat's become a bit easier to deal with, now that you're out of the thoroughfare of sex, but not by much.
He frowns a bit. "You can use the bedroom next door for relieving the demon's influences. Wash your hands thoroughly first, then lay a plastic bag down on the bed and dump it in the garbage can afterwards. Wipe your crotch clean with a few paper towels and toss them into the garbage can too. And tell us immediately if you can't make yourself cum."
"Does that mean what I think it does?"
Greer doesn't answer as he walks away, leaving you to step into the sanitary room for relief. After a brisk hand scrubbing, you set down the plastic and begin eagerly fingering yourself to ecstasy. You think of Greer, of sucking and riding his ample cock to heaven and back, of that rough face lapping your clit to waves of euphoria.
The heat rises to a peak, and you nervously hold a breath, wondering if you'd somehow been infected without knowing it, somewhere in the apartment or on the street.
You'll know for sure in a few seconds, you think frantically, as climax approaches...