Not a chance

Belladonna's attempt to distance herself from the persistent man proved futile as he continued to follow her closely, reveling in the torment he inflicted upon her through his twisted desires. Frustration and anger fueled her every step, and the desire to confront her tormentor finally reached a boiling point.

With lethal intent, she turned abruptly, her eyes locking onto the man with a fiery determination. However, to her dismay, the cursed latex uniform seemed to have a will of its own. As she extended her arm to strike him, the uniform intervened, redirecting her violent instinct into a sensual caress down his chest.

She scowled, "Leave me."

She tried to swing again, but instead of the forceful blow she intended, her pale hand, adorned with immaculate red nails, landed on the man's cheek with a surprisingly gentle touch. The latex, almost mocking her intent, seemed to have a mind of its own as it stroked its way down his body, the sensation both unsettling and bizarre.

The man, caught off guard by the unexpected turn of events, smirked triumphantly.

He smirked. "Well, well, darling, seems like you've got a soft side after all."

Belladonna's eyes flared with an intensity that could sear through steel. She tried to resist the perverse movements of the latex, but it seemed to dance to the tune of the man's desires, defying her every attempt to break free. "This is not consent," she grunted, trying to reclaim her hands. "Nor is it a display of affection," she hissed, blood red lips curled in a snarl.

The man, however, appeared to relish in the power he held over her, his amusement evident in his mocking laughter.

He just laughed, completely unaware of what he was in the presence of. "The ladies never can resist me. I always get what I want."

Belladonna's frustration deepened as she found herself trapped in this degrading cycle. She struggled against the hellish consequences of the latex uniform, vowing to find a way to reclaim control of herself.