The Dead Among Us

A witness

    Fabia's POV

    For the second time today, I find myself alone with someone I don't trust.

    I didn't want to argue with Pedro, though; his condition was too dire for me to add to his burden. He looked awful and depleted, and that was a horrible way to come home.

    I trail behind Jason, my head down, watching his boots squish into the soft, wet earth beneath his feet. He's simultaneously putting his belt back on as he walks.

    He's a very tall man and looms over me like Sabin, whereas, like Manny, he's more slender. His arms, however, are a different story. They are sculpted by the muscles and protruding veins, which must be a testament to the work he does.

    As he reaches the door to his home, he grabs the handle and opens it. He then steps to the side and gestures for me to enter ahead of him.

    I give him a faint smile of appreciation and enter the house, my stomach sinking every step of the way, feeling more and more out of place.

    My head is down, and my shoulders are hunched. I don't like it here right from the start. The atmosphere is immediately tense, and my red flags are raised.

    Where are the boys? It's too quiet.

    When I stand in the hallway, unsure of where to go, Jason's calloused fingers delicately grip around my elbow, guiding me to the kitchen. I glance up at him; he's removing his hat as he walks, looking straight ahead.

    His hair appears darker from his sweat, and his hat has morphed his hair into a bowl shape from wearing it all day. The aroma I detected earlier wafts from him of livestock and earth.

    As we step into the kitchen, I see Jessica working hard. She's kneading a large dough, wearing a simple light blue dress, and even sporting an apron. Her black hair is up in a perfectly round, high, and tight bun out of her face.

    "Jessie," Jason's gritty voice penetrates the air, and she whirls around, brushing the perspiration off her forehead with the back of her arm.

    When her gaze falls on me, a scowl overtakes her face.

    "This is your idea of helping me?" she asks, disappointment blazing from her eyes at Jason.

    "You said you wanted help," he retorts, letting my elbow go, stepping towards the sink, and rinsing his hands.

    "I said, 'your' help, Jason!"

    With his hands still under the running water, he tilts his head back, raising his voice, "Watch your tone with me, woman!... You asked for help; I brought you help! I've been on the island all damn day. The storm tore through the fence. I ain't fiddlin' in the kitchen afterward."

    The tension between them is palpable, adding to the discomfort of the situation.

    As she rolls her eyes to the heavens, she throws her hands in the air, slapping them against her thighs before pivoting back to her dough and giving it a hearty punch.

    I don't know what to do to help. I'm just awkwardly here, feeling like an intruder in their domestic dispute. I'm hoping their little bickering is over because, geez, it was uncomfortable.

    Before I get a chance to ask how I may help or not, Jessica grumbles under her breath, "I asked one damn thing."

    Jason, with an aura of calmness and yet somehow also aggression mingled in there, shuts off the water and gives his hands a good couple of shakes to flick the droplets off. He then steers straight toward her, seizing her under the biceps and leading her out of the kitchen.

    "We'll be right back, Miss Fabia," he declares as they walk past me.

    My eyes widen like saucers as I stare at the floor. I can't help myself but turn my head over my shoulder, getting a glimpse of what they're doing. I watch as he plops himself on a chair in the dining room and, in one swift motion, throws her over his knee.

    "Jason, not here!" she shrieks in horror, but he doesn't care.

    He suddenly raises her dress, exposing her pasty legs, thighs, and then cream-colored panties. And then, to my shock, he rips those down, too.

    Why am I watching this?!

    His large, rugged hand flies in the air and then begins spanking her, and she lets out little yelps with each one. Her head drops, and her hands find their way around his legs for support.

    He's not spanking fast. It's relatively slow but definitely hard and echoing off the walls. She's not screaming, pleading, or even crying, just yelping and whining. She's also not resiting at all; she's just taking it.

    Soon, his tempo picks up a little bit, and I think I hear a faint cry.

    "Is that how you talk to me?!" he scolds, withholding a spank.

    "No, dear," she chokes out.

    Smack! He resumes, and she jerks slightly.

    He keeps spanking, pausing every so often to chastise her, and for some reason, I watch the whole thing.

    My heart is racing, and I feel the warmth on my skin as sweat seeps from my pores. But something else is happening, something I didn't expect, and it even makes me scornful of myself.

    I'm tingling.

    Heat is coming from my panties. My thighs squeeze together, my legs crossing. I'm having flashbacks of this morning when Sabin spanked me, and it felt good.

     What is wrong with me??

    I don't want to look, but at the same time, I can't pull my eyes away from the scene. Her frail, soft legs are dangling over his lap, her panties bunched around her ankles where she's wearing black slip-on shoes. His hand making thunderous impact against her pale skin turning it a shade of bright red.

    I suck on my bottom lip between my teeth, my heart fluttering in my chest watching.

    When he stops, I finally look back inside the kitchen, just staring ahead at the white walls.

    His low voice says calmly, "Are you gonna behave and respect me now?"

    I don't hear her answer, only a deep sniff from her nose.

    He presses, "Hmm? I can't hear you."

    "Yes, honey... I'm sorry," she mumbles.

    I peek back again; it's like my body and conscience have different agendas. My face flushes with secondhand embarrassment for her. He's gently gliding his fingers across her butt and down her thighs, then up again.

    The whole scene is enormously personal and sensual, a scene I shouldn't be witnessing. And yet here I am.

    When he guides her off his lap, my heartbeat kicks up a notch as I promptly avert my gaze, pretending I wasn't watching the whole damn thing.

    A few moments later, I hear a quick smooch, and then Jessica quickly returns to the kitchen, walking right past me and straight to the sink. My gaze finds its target on the tire floor once again, my lips pressed together, creating a thin line in my discomfort.

    When I hear Jason walk up the stairs, I breathe in a sigh of relief. I glance up, Jessica is dabbing her eyes with a cloth.

    "Start with the dishes, slave," she orders with a crack in her throat.

    I cringe at her words.

    Oooh... 'Slave' right off the bat... She's salty... This is gonna be fun...