Welcome to Cerise Gates (BibleBlack & Sensualist)

As Seth Garret pulled his pick-up truck through the wrought iron entrance to Cerise Gates, a convoy of luxury cars made their way in the opposite direction. The men – mostly men – behind the wheels of the pricey, polished Maseratis and BMWs fiddled with their hands free phones or listened to the stock prices as they made their way towards the city's glass towers of high finance, entertainment industry and media palaces and halls of government. His beaten-up vehicle with the tool boxes and maintenance gear in the back looked positively schlubby by comparison, and was the only one travelling into the gated community.

The gates slid quietly shut behind him, and he drove through the private streets lined with palm trees, neatly manicured hedges and rose bushes, between elegant colonial hacienda-style houses and glitzy McMansions. Money was on full display in every oversized abode. A few residents were out and about this morning; women in brand-name jogging gear, or walking fluffy little yappy purse-dogs, or taking pumpkin soy lattes in the local café. Seth caught more than a few curious glances coming his way as he drove through and pulled up at the maintenance shack.

His shack.

The new job seemed simple enough: do everything. He was Cerise Gates' new Mr. Fixit, plumber, electrician, cleaner, exterminator, lawnmower... whatever needed doing to keep the residents in the luxurious style they were accustomed to, was his problem. Seth checked the smartphone he'd been issued with his supervisor, which collected requests and reports from the residents and set his daily schedule. Even it was top of the line – he guessed that it just wouldn't do for the rich folks to see even their handyman toting around something less than brand-new. The first thing on his docket seemed to be an electrical fault at the Harrison house. They didn't have numbers here, just ostentatious, gilded ownership plates.

Though he would swear up and down that he was happy in his tiny studio apartment and that he absolutely wasn't jealous of people who had it better than him, Seth had to admit to himself that the houses of Cerise Gates were much more majestic in person than they were from the outside. When he told his friends he'd taken (well, the appropriate term probably would have been "lucked into") the job they all tripped over themselves to talk about how much they wished they lived in even one of the smaller houses there, but Seth just shook his head. "They live inside a giant gate. You know who else lives in a giant gate? Prisoners." Of course, when his friends pointed out that prisoners didn't get to leave the gates in luxury cars and that their cells weren't multi-million dollar homes, Seth would just shake his head and take another sip of his beer.

The truth of the matter was that Seth was just as envious as his friends were of the lifestyles of his new employers, and he supposed servicing them would be about as close as he ever came to getting a taste of being rich. He hoped they would tip well, what with all that money, but he did his best not to get his hopes up. His ex-girlfriend was a waitress at an upscale restaurant and always complained that the citizens of the gated community were the stiffest tippers...if they even bothered at all.

None of that mattered to him at the moment; he needed this job, and he knew a high level of performance was expected of him. Even if the tips sucked the job itself paid well, and that was just enough to motivate him. He stared down at the smartphone as he returned to the old truck, opening the creaky door and getting in, the name "Harrison" on his mind as he shut the door, not bothering to buckle up. Unfamiliar as he was with the estate, the obnoxious nameplates made navigation easy, and he smirked as he joked in his head that the trophy wives and spoiled kids must have been too stupid to be able to remember address numbers.

The brakes of his truck squealed slightly as he arrived at the Harrison house, parking alongside the road rather than in the driveway. He took a moment to take a deep breath before removing his cap, labeled "Maintenance", a briefly brushing a hand through his red-brown hair, the curls bouncing gently back into place before being hidden under the cap again. He got out and slipped the phone into the pocket of his black work pants, grabbed his tool box and shut the truck door. Making his way up to the massive doors he paused for a moment, taking another second to collect his bearings before he pressed his finger to the doorbell.

A three-story petite villa, the Harrison house was one of the smaller in Cerise Gates, but still pushing deep into the seven digits. After Seth climbed the steps to the door and rang the bell (it played a chimey classical tone, something from Mozart), there was no reply for a minute.

As he waited, Seth looked around, and his glance happened to fall though a window near the door, a gauzy curtain half-pulled. Through it, he could see some kind of living room – at least that's what he'd call it, though the house doubtless contained several. There was a piano against one wall, numerous exotic flowers in designer pots standing on little pedestals, and a couple of faux-rustic wicker chairs, leaving the centre of the floor empty. On the tropical hardwood floor there was a yoga mat, and on the yoga mat there was a girl

She was about Seth's age, he guessed, dark gold hair pulled into a ponytail and buds in her ears. She wore a sports bra and hotpants, an outfit that left a considerable amount of toned, smooth, tan skin on display. And speaking of display, she showed a remarkable degree of flexibility... driving her hips against the mat while arching her back into a crescent, her hair spilling down against her firm, globe-like ass. She worked her way gracefully through a sequence of positions, half-turned away from the window so she couldn't see him.

From deeper in the house, a woman's voice called: “Amber! Honey! Get the door! It's probably the handyman!”

Amber ignored this cry at first, continuing to twist her body in the most eye-catching ways. When it was repeated, more forcefully, she grimaced and popped one of her earbuds out, listening. She glanced over her shoulder, looking out the window at the door and noticing Seth standing there. Her eyebrows raised slightly and she coiled around herself on the mat, looking across at him enigmatically. Slowly and deliberately, she rose into a half-kneeling position, one heel tucked under herself, and took hold of her other calf to guide her leg back until her other foot was above her head. The position pulled her shorts tight against her ass, stomach, and all points in between.

“I swear to God, Amber, you can be such a brat sometimes...” the voice sighed, bustling towards the door.

As he looked through the window, Seth cocked his head for a moment, green eyes slowly tracing a path up and down the lithe girl as she stretched into and out of and back into different positions. His gaze settled on her ass for a long moment and he let his mind roam a little too much while he mused on how much fun a girl like that might possibly be. He'd been with a flexible girl or two, sure, but never one who was talented to this degree. Not that he figured someone like her would give him the time of day. He thought her parents probably had her entire life mapped out, maybe with some kind of arrangement with someone else's rich son, not unlike they were old royalty or something equally silly.

His eyes snapped away just in time for her to look up and see him. He smiled and offered an awkward wave, hoping she knew he was here to repair something and wasn't just some random creep staring in through her window. Not that those couldn't have been the same thing. Their eyes met as she continued to move. It was almost like a game, or perhaps a challenge, and as her stomach was stretched taut he quickly lost. Their stare was broken as he admired the tone of her stomach and the way her tiny top was stretched so tightly across her...

The door opened and he jumped a bit, tightening his grip on the toolbox as he gulped slightly, his attention quickly moving to the opening door and the woman behind it. "Uh...hello. Good morning. I'm Seth. I'm here to..." Shit. What was he here for? There was an awkward pause as he searched his memory, thankfully recalling his task in time, "Electrical fault! There's an electrical fault. I'm here to fix it." He winced a bit at his delivery and silently hoped she wouldn't notice, or would at least be kind enough not to make him think she did.

"Seth?" the woman repeated, a look of mild confusion creasing her brows as she stood with one hand on the door handle, the other holding a dangerously green health smoothie. She listened in bemusement to his rambling for a moment, before enlightenment flickered in her dark eyes. "Oh! The new handyman! Such a shame what happened to Robby. Well, I'm glad you're here, Seth... I'm Danica, Danica Harrison."

The woman was easy on the eyes. Seth guessed she was in her late 30's, but she'd had a little work done, just enough to preserve her beauty without making her look like one of those stroke-faced plastic mummies. Hair like burnished mahogany flowed down around her face and shoulders, partially pulled back with a head band, and her features were gorgeous and even, with a hint of Mediterranean. She wore a shortish white robe that revealed long, toned legs, and was belted tight enough to cling to the curves of her hips and hint at breasts that were either a miracle of nature or more evidence of high-quality cosmetic surgery.

"Yes, something's wrong with the power. I mean, the smoothie machine still works." Danica paused to take a sip of her spirulina-infused health drink, her dark coral-pink lips wrapping around the straw a little longer than strictly necessary. "But some other things..." she gave a grimacing pout of annoyance. "Do you know where the fusebox is? Oh, I suppose not. Would you like me to show you the way?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Seth saw Amber roll hers scornfully. The girl slid lithely to her feet, and grabbed a towel tossed over one of the wicker chairs - bending over as she did, her short shorts clinging tight to the phenomenal, tight half-globes of her derriere, before she strutted out of the room.