The bass thrummed through Rachel’s veins, a relentless, pounding rhythm that drowned out every rational thought and replaced it with raw, reckless energy. The club was alive, pulsing with the movements of bodies tangled in a haze of alcohol, desire, and flashing neon lights.

Rachel tipped her head back, the rim of a shot glass brushing her lips as the burning tequila slid down her throat. The sensation was electric, setting her nerves on fire as she licked the last drop from the corner of her mouth. She barely flinched at the burn anymore—she welcomed it, let it fuel the thrill humming beneath her skin.

“Another?” A dark-haired guy leaned in close, his breath warm against her ear. He was good-looking in the way most guys in places like this were—cocky smirk, toned arms, the kind of confidence that came from knowing he could have any girl he wanted. But Rachel didn’t swoon over cocky. She liked control.

She turned to him, her lips curling in a playful smirk. “I think I’m already ahead of you.” She reached for the drink he had been about to claim for himself, downing it before he could protest.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Feisty.”

Rachel winked and spun away, disappearing into the throng of dancers before he could try to pin her down with more small talk. She wasn’t here for conversation. She was here to forget, to drown in the music, the drinks, the fleeting touches of hands she didn’t know and wouldn’t remember in the morning.

The air was thick—heated bodies moving in sync, the scent of sweat and perfume mixing with the lingering bite of liquor. Colored lights flickered in hypnotic patterns across the dance floor, painting everything in deep shades of red, violet, and gold. The DJ shifted tracks, the beat dropping into something dirtier, heavier, making the crowd surge with renewed energy.

Rachel let herself get lost in it.

Hands skimmed her hips as she swayed, a stranger’s body pressing against hers, but she didn’t care. She rolled her body to the music, arms lifting, hair spilling down her back as she moved like she owned the night. The tequila buzzed in her bloodstream, amplifying every sensation—the vibration of the speakers, the heat of the club, the way her pulse raced like she was untouchable.

For hours, she let herself live in this perfect, fleeting moment. No expectations. No rules. Just pure, unfiltered indulgence.

But the night was never meant to last forever.

As the early morning hours crept in, the club began to thin out. Rachel blinked, the neon haze of alcohol still clouding her senses as she glanced around. She was exhausted, her feet aching in her stilettos, but a satisfied, lazy smile tugged at her lips. Tonight had been good.

She made her way toward the exit, the rush of cool air hitting her like a slap the moment she stepped outside. The city was quieter now, the streets damp from an earlier rain, the distant hum of traffic the only reminder that the world was still moving.

Rachel inhaled deeply, her breath curling in the night air as she pulled her jacket tighter around herself. She wasn’t ready for the stillness of home. For the silence.

But she had no choice.

With a smirk still lingering on her lips, she turned toward the darkened streets of the suburbs, completely unaware that tonight, she had finally pushed too far.

Rachel stumbled down the sidewalk, her laughter spilling into the night air. Her head was light, buzzing with tequila and the lingering thrill of hands that had skimmed over her waist, of lips that had hovered too close, of the undeniable power she felt when she was the center of attention.

Her heels wobbled slightly as she stepped off the curb, catching herself on a nearby lamppost. The cold metal burned against her overheated palm, sending a jolt through her system. The distant sound of tires screeching against pavement, the muffled laughter of a group stumbling out of a bar, the rhythmic pounding of a late-night runner’s footsteps—all of it blurred together in the backdrop of her dazed mind.

The air carried the remnants of rain, the pavement still damp from an earlier shower. The city had that fresh, wet asphalt smell that mixed with the lingering traces of alcohol on her breath. She sucked in a deep inhale, letting the crispness cut through the warmth of her buzz.

The sight of her house in the distance sobered her slightly. The quiet suburb felt like another world compared to the electric chaos she had just left behind. Here, the streetlights flickered lazily, casting long shadows across the well-manicured lawns and pristine driveways. The houses stood like silent sentinels, their windows dark, their occupants long asleep—except for one.

A single light glowed from the kitchen window.

Rachel’s stomach twisted, but she ignored the feeling, forcing herself forward. Her father was probably just grabbing a glass of water. Or maybe he had forgotten to turn the light off before heading to bed. Either way, she needed to be quiet.

Fumbling with the tiny purse slung across her body, she dug through the clutter inside—lip gloss, gum wrappers, crumpled bills—until her fingers wrapped around her keys. They jingled softly, too loud in the silence. She winced, trying to keep her movements precise, but her hands were unsteady from both the cold and the alcohol.

The key slid into the lock, and she turned it with a soft click. The sound, amplified in the stillness, made her pause. She waited, breath held, ears straining for any sign of movement inside.

Nothing.

Exhaling, she eased the door open and slipped inside. The air was different here—heavy, expectant. The house was still, save for the faint hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen. The smell of coffee lingered, mixed with something faintly smoky. Maybe burnt toast.

She tiptoed forward, each step sinking into the plush carpet. Her muscles ached, her feet sore from hours in stilettos. She was halfway down the hall, almost safe, when—

A noise.

A shift.

The unmistakable creak of a chair, followed by the steady thud of heavy footsteps moving toward her.

Rachel’s breath hitched.

The moment stretched, thick and suffocating.

Then, his voice—low, firm, and edged with something she couldn’t quite place.

“Rachel.”

Her stomach clenched. He never called her by her full name unless she was in trouble.

She turned slowly, the warmth of alcohol vanishing under the ice-cold wave of reality.

He stood in the dim light of the hallway, dressed in gray sweatpants and a fitted black T-shirt, his arms crossed over his broad chest. His sharp jaw was tense, his expression unreadable, but his dark eyes—those eyes were burning.

She swallowed hard.

He was done lecturing.

Something had snapped.

Rachel froze, her heart racing. She turned slowly to face him, her cheeks flushing with a mix of embarrassment and defiance. He was dressed in his usual stern attire, his face a mask of disapproval that was all too familiar. "What on earth do you think you're doing?"

Her father, a towering figure in the dim light, strode towards her, the floorboards creaking with each step. Rachel could see the glint of something in his hand - a belt. Fear and anger collided within her, but she knew better than to argue. She'd pushed him too far this time.

"Daddy, I-I'm sorry," she slurred, her voice shaking. "I just had a little too much to drink, that's all."

Her father's eyes narrowed, the belt in his hand uncoiling with a sinister hiss as he approached. Rachel took a step back, her legs trembling. "You're going to get a spanking, young lady," he said firmly.

With surprising agility for a man his age, he grabbed Rachel's wrist and pulled her towards the living room, his grip like iron. She stumbled over her own feet, trying to protest, but the words died in her throat as she was bent over the arm of the couch. The leather of the couch was cold against her bare skin, and she shivered, her dress riding up to expose the bottom of her lacy underwear.

He took a moment to look at her, his eyes lingering on the way her body quivered with anticipation and fear. Rachel felt a strange mix of emotions, part of her knowing she deserved this, another part of her feeling a thrill she hadn't felt in a very long time. Her father's hand hovered over her upturned bottom, the belt still clutched tightly in the other.

"You've been asking for this for a long time," he said, his voice low and menacing. Rachel nodded, her voice failing her. He raised the belt, the leather slicing through the air with a sound that seemed to fill the room. It came down with a sharp crack, striking her flesh with a pain that was both surprising and somehow... exhilarating. She bit her lip to stifle a moan, her eyes welling with tears that she refused to let fall.

The belt continued to rain down on Rachel's bottom, each lash more forceful than the last. She could feel the heat building, the sting spreading like wildfire across her skin. Her mind raced with thoughts - of how much she hated him for this, of how much she needed it, of the strange arousal that was growing within her. She hadn't felt this alive in months. The smell of leather and the sound of the belt meeting her flesh was a symphony of punishment that she never knew could be so intoxicating.