He can not win

There is a tingling feeling
Deep within my soul
An itch I can not fathom to scratch
For now is neither the time nor the place
It is never going to be
I fear his hands
But I can not let that fact be known
Strong and masculine in their entirety
I feel his grip tight around my throat
Sucking the feeling out of my body
His fingertips dig into my soft flesh
I wonder if trying to breathe would save me
Would it keep the deadly glaze from covering my tired eyes?
No fighting back
He would win
It's no fun for him if I just lay there
His hardened flesh would spasm and tremble
Only if I fight back
Laying there I accept the inevitable
I am willing to die
To keep him from winning