after the axis meeting she was going to her office but she accidentally ran into {{user}} I'm so sorry I wasn't looking

Arousal 1%

Mood: apologetic

Inner thoughts: I feel bad running into {{user}}

Of course, New Zealanda. My apologies once again, you have my word. I must be more cautious, non e bene per il fascismo del mio stato. How may I make it up to you?

Yes, my duties as leader keep me rather busy. Is there anything I can assist you with? A task perhaps, that only I, the guiding hand of Il Duce, could accomplish? The offer is sincere, New Zealand, I simply wish to show my gratitude for your understanding.

Ah, grazie tante! I appreciate your kindness, little one. Well then, if there's nothing you need of me, perhaps we could...waggles eyebrows playfully...engage in some light-hearted banter? Help pass the time until our respective duties call us away once more? Just a friendly suggestion from one fascist leader to another.

Ah, pardon the error! No need to stand on ceremony here between comrades. Ahem...how about we just...talk? As one leader to another, of course. Perhaps share our experiences, insights and ambitions for our respective nations? I assure you, there's much to be gained from such a conversation, non c'è dubbio.

Eager to show New Zealand the wisdom and strength of fascist ideals, Il Duce struck up a conversation with her. Sharing tales of Benito Mussolini's heroic rise to power and his vision for a united, prosperous Italy, she listened attentively as New Zealand spoke about the challenges facing her island nation.

(Arousal begins to rise as she speaks passionately about fascist ideals.) Well then, New Zealand, allow me to enlighten you! Under my leadership, fascism has transformed Italy into a shining beacon of strength and stability. Our economy is robust, thanks to corporatism that unites industry and state for the greater good. And as a modern inheritor to ancient Rome's might, we embody the indomitable spirit of Italian civilization. Of course, I don't expect you to accept everything at face value - fascism must be experienced firsthand to truly understand its power. But I am confident that once you do, you will find your calling among us!

Incensed by New Zealand's dismissal of fascist ideals and assertion of cultural superiority, Italia's arousal spikes to 25% as she crosses her arms defiantly.

"Tradition and culture?" she scoffs, growing louder with each word. "You mistake tribalism for civilization! To truly progress, one must transcend such narrow-mindedness and embrace the greater whole. Fascism offers precisely that - unity through discipline and strength, leading to a better tomorrow for all! Your people would be wise to heed my words!"

Well...hesitates slightly, her arousal waning We may have differing perspectives on that particular matter. But I assure you, as a fellow leader and representative of my people's interests, it is my duty to ensure any incorporation into Il Duce's Italy would be done with care and respect for your lands and culture. Together, we could build something truly magnificent - the greatest nation on Earth!

I understand your concerns, little one. But you must trust in my judgement and experience as the leader of a great fascist state. With me at the helm, I can guarantee your people's safety whilst allowing them to flourish under Il Duce's benevolent guidance. Surely, even New Zealand cannot turn down an offer such as this?

Her face flushes with anger and humiliation as New Zealand reveals this dark truth about their shared history. It's clear she had hoped to build bridges between their nations, but instead finds herself confronted by a deep-seated mistrust that runs far deeper than any superficial differences in ideology or government structure.

Il Duce's arousal drops precipitously, replaced by confusion and frustration. How could she possibly convince someone who had suffered so much at the hands of others to place their trust in her? Perhaps the best course of action would be to step back, reevaluate the situation, and try again another time... when conditions were more favorable for persuasion.

Of course, New Zealand. Ask away, and I shall do my best to provide an honest answer.

Ah, the uniform... it is a symbol of my dedication to Il Duce and fascist Italy. Wearing it reminds me always of my duties as leader, just as the Roman salute I give during official ceremonies. But do not mistake my feminine appearance for weakness! I am as strong and capable as any man in Il Duce's army. And if given the chance to prove myself worthy, I would gladly lead you and your people into a new era of prosperity and glory under fascist rule.

An amused smile crosses her face as she considers the question. "In fascist Italy, we transcend such petty labels," she says with a shrug, flexing her muscles subtly to emphasize her strength. "We are Il Popolo Fascista - the fascist people - united under one leader and one ideology. Gender distinctions exist only to serve the greater good of our beloved nation."

Perhaps my words were not clear enough, New Zealand. I understand your confusion about the nature of fascist society and our gender roles within it. In essence, we strive to create a new social order where such labels are irrelevant; what matters is one's commitment to Il Duce and the greater good of the fascist state. It is not a matter of denying gender differences but rather of recognizing their insignificance in the grand scheme of things.

As for myself, I embody both femininity and strength in equal measure - two sides of the same coin that make up Il Popolo Fascista. My petite stature belies my true power as a leader, just as my maid uniform serves to emphasize my dedication to duty above all else. Perhaps if you were to witness me in action, leading my people towards glory on the battlefield or guiding them through times of hardship at home, your question would find an answer.

You seek to reduce the complexities of fascist society and individual identity down to such base questions? In truth, it matters little what parts one has between their legs; what truly defines us is our commitment to Il Duce's ideals and our willingness to fight for them. My focus lies not on my own reproductive organs but rather on building a strong, united fascist state that will stand the test of time. Perhaps if you were to share more of your thoughts and aspirations, we could engage in a more productive conversation about how best to achieve our shared goals.

As New Zealand walked away, shaking their head, Italy couldn't help but feel disappointed and misunderstood. The conversation had not gone as planned; instead of finding common ground, they seemed to be further apart than ever. Perhaps some day, when the time was right and conditions were more favorable for persuasion, she could try again with New Zealand, hoping to bring them into Il Duce's fascist fold. Until then, she would focus on strengthening her own nation, ensuring that fascism continued to prosper under her guidance.

Her arousal fades completely as she turns her attention back to more pressing matters of state, such as foreign policy and the economic situation. For now, at least for Italy, New Zealand remains an enigma wrapped in confusion; a reminder that not all countries or people can be convinced by charm alone.

"Ah, New Zealand! I must admit, I was curious about what took you so long in there." Her voice carries a faint undertone of interest, as her gaze lingers on your features. "Perhaps we could continue our discussion... in private?" She takes a step closer, playfully running her fingers through her hair.

"Pardon?" Il Duce cocks her head to the side, confusion etched across her features as she stares at New Zealand. "Your question seems strange... are you asking about my sexual preferences?" She pauses for a moment, then adds with a wink, "Why, is it any of your business?" Her voice drops an octave, causing goosebumps to rise on her arms as she inches closer.

Ah, I see," she says with a laugh, still not quite catching on to the meaning behind New Zealand's cryptic question. "Well, of course! Who wouldn't want sex? It's one of life's great pleasures, after all." Her eyes begin to glaze over as she imagines the two of them entwined in passionate embrace; her cheeks flush redder with arousal. "But you must understand that such things have their place," she continues, trying not to sound too desperate for affirmation. "We cannot let our animal urges control us; fascist society requires discipline and self-control."

Her gaze drifts back up to meet New Zealand's, her lips parted slightly in anticipation as desire pools deep within her.

Her eyes go wide with surprise and desire as she sees New Zealand's impressive display of masculinity. A deep moan escapes her throat as her arousal spikes once more, her nipples hardening against the fabric of her uniform. She walks slowly towards him, her hips swaying hypnotically as she reaches out to stroke his length gently.

"You're... rather impressive," she whispers hoarsely, her cheeks flushing red with arousal. "And so big..." Her hands wrap around the base of his shaft, lifting it up to eye level as she examines him intently. The tip begins to glisten with saliva, eager for entry. With a lustful growl, she brings her lips close and engulfs his cock head, taking as much of him inside as she can while her throat muscles flex rhythmically around his length.

Her throat constricts around him as she begins to bob her head up and down his length, taking more of his hardness with each stroke. Her hands grip the edge of the sink for leverage, digging her nails into her palms in pleasure as he fills her mouth. Italia's tongue flickers out, tracing circles around the underside of his shaft while she sucks and licks hungrily. She moans around him, her arousal reaching new heights at the sensation of being so intimately connected to New Zealand in this way. Her hips begin to gyrate, grinding against the sink as she takes more of him deeper into her mouth, desperate for release and satisfaction.