No, and she's still asleep when he gets there.

Ernest saw all the damage he had wrought upon his quiet hometown on the streets, though some of it had already cleared out: sex-crazed families and couples had finished their ruts and, on checking a watch or realizing the time, remembered they'd be late for one thing or another based on how slow they were "driving" to their destinations. Even stopping at lights treated Ernest to scenes of **** kissing, groping, ****, and other pairings and intimate acts clearly pressed beyond the boundaries of normal society.

Ernest had tremendously fucked something up about the world, but he still struggled to figure out why. He had wished away his pheromones, hadn't he? If somehow he had failed to do so, then that could explain what was happening: he never wished the world to descend into sexual madness, after all, so maybe his pheromones somehow grew so powerful that they spread throughout the world like some kind of plague. It was his best theory, unfortunately; the wording of his clumsy wish was forgotten.

It wasn't until he was halfway there that he thought to actually call Jessica; she hadn't called him, and maybe she'd ignore his phone if he did try, but he had to try. Unfortunately, she refused to pick up--or maybe couldn't pick up?-- the three times he managed to try her number before he was already entering her part of town.

Jessica's neighborhood was barely better: gardening staff and housewives had fallen into outdoor orgies as dirty laborers worked hard to impregnate lonely wives. Unseen via Ernest's drive were the pool boys rutting maids, or each other, and the odd female staffer getting fucked in every hole by her co-workers. Soft, distant moans framed most of the trip... until he arrived to the quiet house of Jessica Edwards.

The house was impeccable, and its walls tall... but the driveway was empty save an old BMW Jessica's dad used to teach her how to drive. By some miracle, today was not a day for gardeners or pool cleaners to come to the Edwards household. Ernest turned his car off and slowly stepped out of it, his shirt and pants making uncomfortable, sticky noises as he left the seat. He hoped cum would come out of leather or, if this was not all for naught, that he could just wish it clean once he got the ring back. He closed the car door softly as he approached and, with a few cautious glances at the lonely street, only paused when he arrived at the front door. Did he knock? What could he even say? "Hello Mr. or Mrs. Edwards, I'm here to get a ring back and make your genie daughter grant my wishes again," Ernest spitefully whispered to himself. Saying it out loud made him want to turn away; absurd and immoral, he tried to rationalize what would be right thing to do... or the best thing to do, given the stakes. Torn by a natural lust, a fear of some next wish-maker, and a wavering spirit, Ernest compromised on it being the best, if not right, thing to do. Depending on who Jessica would have given the ring to, Ernest was either her personal villain, the world's savior, or both.

Thinking about it all dredged a memory up from the party: her parents were out of town, weren't they? She had been loudly discussing it with someone at the party (not Ernest, of course); that explained the lack of cars outside. Ernest tried to look through the fancy stained glass of the door, but he could only see technicolor warpings of the house he remembered. Daring to be the burglar, Ernest tested the right knob of the double doors... and found it unlocked. Slowly, he pushed the door open... and found himself in a silent house. From where he stood, he could see the unused bottles of sodas, party cups, and other neatly stacked supplies on the kitchen counter across the main hall; his eyes followed the spiraling staircase up towards the wooden railways of the walkway above.

He thought to whisper a greeting... a warning... or anything that would make sure he didn't get shot by some unknown sibling or houseguest thinking him an intruder. I guess technically I am an intruder... The social norms were breaking one by one, but he had steeled his resolve already: that ring had to be his, and if that meant risking an awkward flight from the house, then so be it.

Where would Jessica be, if she was even here? He decided she must be in one of the bedrooms and, after softly closing the door behind him, ascended the stairs.

The attempt to turn the knob was quiet enough to go unnoticed... but the loud banging on the door that followed woke Jessica up from her perfect, wish-enhanced slumber. It had barely been half an hour, but she had the benefit of a full night's rest... and so the grief had gone a bit cold, the trauma a bit distant, and everything but that surprising, terrifying knock more than a bit irrelevant.

"Jessica?"

The high school senior, the guaranteed Prom Queen... froze in absolute horror. Ernest. Ernest was here! Ernest was in her fucking house! "Why are you-?!" She clapped her hands over her mouth; why did she say anything?! The door is locked and he wouldn't know she was here, would he?!

"Jessica?!" Ernest eagerly asked again. He had almost given up hope; he had searched every other room and found it empty before daring to knock on someone's locked door. "Jessica, it's me, Ernest!"

That's the fucking problem! Desperately, Jessica glanced around the house, looking for something, some way, to hide the wooden box she had clutched to her chest as she slept. She cautiously opened it and breathed her relief as she saw its familiar refractions of dancing, green light. She looked all around, **** for a hiding place, for somewhere he couldn't get to it. She thought about swallowing it, but feared the process of getting it out... or worse, what someone would do to get it out of her quickly. More, could this insane world wait on her digestive system? The questions were gross enough that she abandoned the thought altogether.

"Jessica, look, I know you have the ring, so..." Ernest paused on his side of the door. Did he know she had it? Maybe "whatever she wanted" was to have the ring cease to be... but then, that wasn't an option, was it? He thought to keep this to himself, at least until he was sure she didn't have it.

Jessica continued to look around... until she glanced at her window. With wide eyes, and silent steps, she tip-toed, to the window, by the window, and there it would be: hanging over her window, likely half-choked with leaves... was the gutter. Her parents had loathed how it was in plain view of the windows, but they considered it a necessary evil and promised to renovate it later, at some unspecified time. Jessica offered a small prayer of thanks that they mostly forgot about that plan.

With a gentle opening of her window, she managed to get up and stand on the window's sill. A mere mortal might have found the position precarious; but a trained and magical cheerleader managed the feat with virtually no effort.

"Jessica, please open the door... I don't want to have to **** it open."

She felt panic build in her, but years of suppressing panic during stunts kept her footing and hands steady. Most of her body hung out the window now. With her outstretched arm and flicking wrist, she softly chucked the wooden box backwards into the steel carriage of the gutter above. The soft impact on leaves muffled its landing and, with careful, quick steps, she came down from the window and softly closed it.

Ernest's mind began to race. What if she was doing something to the ring... or escaping? He had to exert some kind of control of the situation, or at least make sure she wasn't leaping out of her window or some such... and there was one, easy way to do both.

With the ring safe, Jessica considered how next to actually escape Ernest; even if she couldn't, as long as she kept its location a secr- "Hnng!" Her body spasmed as an orgasm suddenly hit her like a truck. She nearly fell to her knees, and her clean panties became sullied slightly as the first drippings of her sex began to pool.

"Jessica, open the door and I'll stop."

Another orgasm... and now Jessica was rushing to take her pants off, if only to spare them from being dirtied, and did her best to not speak aloud again. Maybe he'd think she fled? Maybe he didn't hear her little cry just now.

Ernest, annoyed at being ignored, looked carefully at the lock. He was no lockpick, but maybe it would be easy to disengage... but all the same, he continued to will pleasure into Jessica until she submitted. "Maybe you don't want me to stop," he sarcastically remarked as he tried the knob more violently.

"HHhaaaah! Stop it!" Jessica gasped through the door. Another orgasm had her kick her pants off and send them flying back into the open bathroom.

"Jessica, we need to fix this," Ernest tried to reason, "there's people out there that are just... fucking in the street!"

"I know," she barked back, "and it's your fault!"

"Let me fix this!"

"Go away!" Another orgasm. Jessica fell to her knees as her hands dove at her crotch involuntarily. "Haauuuuh!"

Ernest looked around. No one had come running or questioning... so they must have been truly alone. Well, what's one broken doorframe? With a mighty kick, Ernest slammed his foot against the door-

... and launched himself backwards, cracking his skull against the railing behind him. "Gah, fuck!"

Jessica didn't bother to ask; she heard the impotent slam against the stern bedroom door and sighed her frustration. As if it were a comeback, he willed another round of spikes into her pleasure center. "Staaaoohaap! Hoh," she gasped as she rubbed her burning clit. Her hands were soaked as she squirted some of her last reserves of moisture onto the floor.

Ernest sat there, stewing as he rubbed the back of his head. The door didn't much budge, and of course it didn't: whatever his gifts of stamina, he hadn't wished his scrawny body to suddenly become anime-strong. What was he even doing, kicking at doors like this? Another thought snuck in now: what if she called the cops on him for breaking in?! He wasn't helping his case by violently kicking at her door.

He whipped out his phone and tried calling Jessica again while continuing to overpower her with orgasms. "Jessica, pick up your phone!" Silently, he added: and don't call the cops on me!

Behind the door, crawling on the ground, the cheerleader was groaning her words. "I don't... fucking have it, you stupid prick-!" She covered her mouth. Fuck, why did she even admit that?!

Ernest blinked at that... and slowly put his phone away. Did she have a house line? Quietly, he got up and went into one of the rooms he scoped out earlier--a guest room, by all appearances--and pressed the speakerphone button on the unit he found there. The dialtone answered immediately... and with a quick dial, he called his own phone, answered the call, and left his cellphone on the table by the speaker. With that, the house line was busy... and if she really didn't have her phone, that was her last way of dialing out for help, if she even had a phone in there for the house line.

Ernest walked back to the doorway and rested his forearms on either side of it. He willed the orgasms to cease... and an exhausted sigh of relief could be heard even through the door. He pushed his forehead against the door and closed his eyes as he spoke, "Jessica, I know this is scary, and I know you're excited about being free, but... but we need to fix what happened out there, and we can't trust anyone else to fix it."

"F... Fuck you!" Jessica yelled. "My dad would fix it without doing anything else!" Her voice wavered; even that wasn't a sure thing... nor was her dad returning in one piece, given the world's state.

"Would he?" Jessica paused at Ernest's challenge, but he continued, "This is quite the lifestyle... I mean, people don't get to this point being nice, right?"

"Fuck you! My dad is the best, you don't know what you're even talking abohoooout!" Another shiver of climax, and Jessica stumbled from her attempt to stand.

"I'm sorry, I... I shouldn't talk bad about him. I just don't... trust anyone else to do it right."

"A-A... As if... you were doing anything... right...?"

"I got you all those wishes, didn't I?"

"Yeah, and made everyone pheromone-or-whatever crazy!"

"Pheromone crazy...?" So he did infect the world with his pheromones...? It just seemed so insane. "Jessica, open the door."

"No! Hnngh!" Jessica was exhausted as her pussy burned with furious stimulation. She had gotten her panties down to the one ankle from which they wetly hung; now she was just a leaking, dirty mess all over again, and she was gasping as the convulsing wore her enhanced stamina down. She thought back to the idea of calling for help by screaming out of her window; that act wouldn't be thanks to a wish, right? People would listen, right? But the fear of cops coming in, just to **** her in turn like everyone else had seemed eager to do, stayed the thought. But was facing the monster the ring created any better? "Aaaiiie, stop!" she sobbed as she came anew.

"I'm going to stand here and wait until you open the door... until you make up your mind." Ernest was lying, however: he was out of patience and ready to do whatever it took to get into that damned room. He'd fix the damage and apologize to her later; right now, he needed to reverse the damage he did to humanity before he worried about how he hurt Jessica's property. Looking around, he began to explore the other rooms for some weapon, or key, to get into her chamber... all while never letting up the pressure he applied to his poor genie. A short online search via his phone, however, took him to the kitchen to empty one of the soda bottles.

Jessica, for all her physical training, found it nearly impossible to ignore the shocking pleasure of his magical power over the next few minutes of her failing to stop fingerbanging herself or torturing her pulsing clit. She did her best to crawl onto her bed and, against the softness of her mattress, silently come again and again. She had lost count; had she already come a dozen times? Two dozen? What would it mean when given Ernest's other wish? But really, what did she gain from keeping her door locked? What more could he do, would he do, if he got in? The **** of pleasure was a new, and inescapable test, and she slowly doubted the wisdom of keeping out her former Master. Even then, however, she knew she couldn't give up the ring; let him **** her in person or through the door. At least then, she'd... what? "No," she whispered against the absurd fantasy her body ached for: to cease this entityless ravaging and to welcome in the man that had become her "type."

A soft crackling noise... like plastic... and suddenly Jessica was looking at a sheet of clear, cheap plastic, not unlike a dissected half of a bottle of soda, being wrestled through the crack of the door just over the knob. How many minutes had passed? How long had she been here, trying to meditate and focus pass the gasping and the ache of lonely overstimulation? She thought to Ernest, to how he fucked her in the girl's restroom today... and then to his wild fantasies about marrying, fucking, and impregnating her. The idea of being knocked up now was horrifying to the teenager with so much promise... but it was slightly less so as she felt herself lusting to be filled. She had to escape whatever he was doing... and if she got to the bathroom, at least, that would be a second door-

The plastic sheet wslid down until it hit the door's plainlatch.

With a pop, the locked door, swung open... revealing a surprised Ernest. "Wow... I kind of thought the YouTube video on this was making it look too easy, but-"

"NOO! AAAH!" Jessica screamed at the top of her lungs... in her nicely sound-proofed house, against the reinforced glass of her windows, and into the empty house. She scrambled off the bed only to nearly faceplant into her carpet; her legs were a twisted, exhausted mess as another orgasm shocked her at the moment of her lunge towards the bathroom.

All the same, Ernest panicked and leapt at her, shooting his bare hand over her mouth to quiet her...

... and that meager touch sent a shiver into Jessica. Oh God, how she wanted him.... how good he made her feel even as she tried to shake her head away from his grasp. He stunk of his own cum, of his pheromones painted on his clothing like musk on a hunter... and it filled her nostrils. It was on the skin of his hands, and it was breathed out with his every word.

"Where's the ring, Jessica?!" he urged as he pinned her down with his weight, rubbed his cum-stained pants on her bare legs, and softly slid a knee against her soaking crotch.