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“Which shoes do you think are prettier England, the black ones or the red ones?”
England, who was seated on a plush silver ottoman, blushed heavily and glared at the ground, refusing to respond. Italy knew the Brit was embarrassed, but there was no good excuse for bad manners, so he reached out and slapped the other nation hard across the face, three times to his right cheek. England gasped and jumped with each hit, looking up at Italy with a red face that was beginning to swell and eyes that were wide and watery. The sight was pleasing. Italy’s cock twitched in his slacks.
“Ignoring me is naughty, I asked you a question. Black or red?”
“Black,” England muttered through gritted teeth, and Italy nodded happily. England was right, the black heels were lovely. He crouched before the blond nation, taking firm hold of a slim ankle and slipping him into the shoes.
“Okay, and finally, jewellery. The white diamonds or the black pearls?”
England did not make the same mistake again. “Diamonds…” he muttered, averting his eyes after a quick once over of the necklaces.
“Good choice!” Italy agreed, taking a delicate grasp of the Brit’s chin and forcing his head up as he clasped the chain behind England’s neck. It was the perfect finishing touch on his (somewhat) obedient dress up doll, and he smiled widely, pleased.
“There, all done. That wasn’t so bad, right, England? Stand up now and let me see you!”
England did so, though he seemed reluctant. He wobbled a little on unfamiliar shoes, and was flushing heavily. The red hand print across his face was a lovely touch, and Italy decided on an excuse to add to it.
England was taller, especially with the heels, but that didn’t matter. Like he was a dog in a collar, Italy hooked a finger under the necklace, yanked the blond down by the neck, and gave five hard slaps to the Brit’s other cheek. England was panting by the end of it, looking confused, pained, and of course, aroused. They wouldn’t be doing this if it wasn’t arousing.
“You’re wearing very expensive clothes, you need to wear them with pride. No stumbling around. That’s why I had to punish you. Up, show me the outfit properly.”
Lesson learnt, England was less awkward as he rose. He stood with hands on his hips and head held high, regardless of his obvious embarrassment. Like a model - one of the reasons Italy had been interested in trying this in the first place.
“Beautiful, England! Now, give me a spin.”
There was such a thrill in watching England follow orders without question. The hesitation as the Brit twirled in one short circle made it better. Italy never found fun in a slave who wanted to mindlessly serve. Getting your way was no good if your victim wasn’t sacrificing something to please you.
“Very good, England. I like this outfit - strip and put it in the keep pile. Now, wait here and I’ll go see if they found the shoes I wanted you to try.”
Wordlessly, England complied. With a flourish of the curtain, Italy left him to stew uncomfortably in the changing room and went to track down a sales assistant. A man exiting a nearby cubicle gave him a long, wary side-eye, but Italy paid it no mind. In fact, he couldn’t wait to tell England how much a stranger might have heard, to see the Brit’s cheeks heat up and his eyes glaze with the humiliation he craved. Besides, the adrenaline was all part of the fun.