It's not up to her.

The man groping Jenny suddenly folded as a pool cue slammed into his gut. The crowd froze and backed off as they got a good look at the man holding it. Jenny turned to face the man who’d knocked down her groper.

He was only about an inch taller than her and he wasn’t particularly big, though there was an impressive bulge in his pants. There was nothing particularly intimidating about his appearance, no tattoos, piercings, or obvious weapons.

“Why’d you do that? He was finally getting me hot,” she asked, responding to the fear of the lower classes by challenging its object.

His voice was low, quiet and threatening, “So, I see your labeling is correct,” he stepped forward and slid his hand around to her ass, pressing the stitching that spelled out BITCH into it.

Jenny’s hand sped towards him. Getting fucked was one thing, but it happened on her schedule, no one else’s. It didn’t even touch him. He grabbed her arm and twisted it hard. Her knees impacted the dirty floor with a loud thump. The impact popped her breasts out of the tiny shirt. All the eyes in the bar were on her and her bare tits.

Jenny stared up at him, her baby blues filled with conflicting arousal and fear. She had never been a situation she couldn’t control with teasing, flirting, or maybe even a bit of fucking, but the man who’d **** her to her knees in a crowded bar and was holding the dirty denizens of said bar back with nothing but **** of personality wasn’t going to be manipulated so easily.

The question was, what would he do, now that she was on her knees before him?