No. You can still show her some fighting spirit.

“Not a chance,” you say, pulling your face away from her foot.

“Oh, I’d say there’s a chance,” she replies, and you notice nervously that she’s not smiling anymore. She rolls you over with her foot—you wince as it presses against the bruises on your ribs—and just as you face up, she steps on your neck and leans just a tiny bit of weight onto her leg.

“Alright, listen,” she says in her private whisper. “I’ve gotta admire your attitude. It’s not easy to refuse this kind of thing when you know you’ll take a beating if you don’t, and it says good things about you that you’ve got the guts to say no. But I’ve got an image to maintain too, and accepting defiance from upstarts is not part of it, so understand this: if you continue to fuck with me, I will have to make you regret it. I won’t enjoy it at all. But I’ll do it. Clear?”

“Clear,” you gurgle out from under her foot.

“Great!” she says as the smile returns. “Now, let’s try this again. Start with the toes.”