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Another arrow flew past Little John, that missed him merely by an inch. He could hear the shouts of the castle's guards coming closer, and He and Robin weren't out of the castle yet. A slippery quick turn into another corridor bought the two of them a few more seconds before having to fear being changed into hedgehogs again. Robin was normally faster than him, but they had been running for a while and the bear's endurance was far better. Still, the fox was still leading the way, panting as he was !

"Exit ! Right ahead !"

"Robin, this is a window, not an exit !"

The whistle of another wave of arrows made them duck, the clatter of their heads against the stones of the walls made John thank the gods that Robin was seemingly the only being proficient with a bow in this corrupt kingdom.

"How high are we ? Third floor ?"

"Close enough ! fifth but who's counting ?"

The cocky comeback didn't came without a hint of fear from the fox, but the arrows were only a couple seconds away, now, while the ground would be... Probably a handful more. Still, John's pride would rather let him die from gravity than the Sheriff's men. Just as another shower of metal and wood was about to fly at them, they took the leap. Time seemed to slow down as the fox and bear's body plummeted down. The life long friends looked into each other's eyes, doing what any true friends would do when facing inescapable death seconds ahead.

"I'mtheonewhostoleyoursausageslastfeast !" screamed Robin at the top of his lungs.

"WHA ! --"

-Flomp-CRASH-

The two bodies landed on a hay filled wheelbarrow, pulverising it in the process. They wobbly got up, wheezing and coughing, bruised but still in one piece.

"I said : There's a wheelbarrow with hay beneath us, the wind can really twist words right ?"

"ROBIN !"

But the angry bear rant would have to wait, for a familiar whistling from above told their instincts to lunge against the wall to gain enough cover.

"The bridge, it's closing !" exclaimed John pointing forward at the obvious exit.

"We need to get to the walkways. Quick !"

The two merry men dashed with all their speed toward the stairs leading up to the battlements. Already, the shouts were coming from every towers of the castle, guards pouring from every door in sight, thankfully, almost none with their bow out. The pair reached the stairs, but right when they reached the middle , guards showed up from the walkway already. They were surrounded, trapped.

"So, Robin, what's the plan ?"

Thanks god Lady Marian and Friar Tuck managed to escape in the confusion, for only Little John and Robin would know how to escape such a dire situation. The bear glanced at his leader, looking for a sign. The fox was never caught unaware, after all, always had a backup plan for his backup plan. Weapons out, the guards slowly blocked any possible way out. But Robin only looked worried. No grin, no lopsided smile.

"Robin ?"

"I'm searching, Little John. I... I'm..."

The big bear nodded. Robin was always the one who could get away from ny situations. He believed himself invincible, but that was exactly why he was nearly so. Little John always knew what his role was in all of this. What it would all come down to, at some point. He grabbed the fox by the collar and pulled him close. With his free arm, he allowed himself a brief hug of camaraderie, the guards too surprised to really react.

"Huff ! John, what are..."

"We had a good run Robin. The Merry Men needs you more than they need me."

Robin didn't get enough time to process that before the bear powerfully threw him in the air, in a perfect arc. The Fox's surprised yelp was hushed when a splash sound confirmed he landed in the moat. The castle locked down, by the time the guards would be outside to search for him, the fox would be long gone. With a defiant grin, the bear knelt down, hands on his head.

The carriage arrived late at night, it had been heavily guarded, but the Sheriff highly doubted Robin and his men were in mood for a robbery at the moment. The castle was on high alert, ready to face an assault from the forest anytime now. It had been four days since the capture of Little John. An high personality had been summoned to the castle, but little was known about him.

"I still don't see why we need him. Can't Hiss just do his thing and get the truth out of the rabble already ?"

Amiable as always, the Sheriff was even more ticked off as not only had he got nearly no sleep in four days, but he had to split his forces to escort one of those useless nobles to the royal castle.

"As I told you already, the Merry Men are a close knit group, and this... Little John, is someone very close to Robin."

The serpent hissed in annoyance at the big hoaf.

"I can suggest, and coerce to a degree, but such strong feelings severely hinder my abilities. I could make you moo like a cow, but I couldn't make you stop loving money, for example."

"Will you two stop bickering for a moment ! He's here !"

The king needed minions as corrupt as possible, but sometimes, those two really got on his nerves.

The carriage stopped fully, in the middle of the court. There was a strange, eerie feeling emanating from it. The driver, a boar, looked strangely passive and blank face. He stepped down and went to the door to open it, revealing the guest.

Howard glanced toward the trio waiting for him, as he got up and extracted himself from the vehicle. Armored leather boots hit the floor with a thud, when he hopped off, and stretched a bit after the long journey. He wore a regal suit adorned with military decorations dating from Richard's conquests, and to the prince's pleasure, obviously shared a deep appreciation of golden jewels, although not to the same obsessive extent. His right hand showed five rings, one on every finger, and only two on the left. Even from a few feet away, as the bear stepped forward to meet his hosts, his amber eyes seemed to gleam in the early night. His left eye was ornated by a circular monocle, rimmed with gold. With a wave of the hand, he dismissed the silent boar, who climbed back on the driver's seat to stow it away.

The prince observed his guest. Aside from describing him as the man of the situation, Hiss didn't say much about the character, but right now, John, who wasn't as daft as some thought he was, could see that there was a lot of things going on with the bear. His gaze had a warm quality to it, but John could recognise the hidden glint of a predator under that facade. The way his guest walked moved showed he had been a military, at some point, but despite the muscle still present, his roundness and scholarly attitude showed that this was in the past.

"Your Majesty. Sir Hiss." He said shortly, bowing respectfully enough, then giving a short nod of acknowledgement at the snake. Hiss had mentioned that the count rarely got out, and could come off as abrupt. He then turned to the Sheriff, who grinned, waiting to be properly greeted, but met only a dismissive raise of the eyebrow, before the bear's attention went back to the prince.

"Count Trueman. We are pleased to see that you answered our call in a very timely manner. I believe Sir Hiss explained our request in his letter?" The prince extended his hand, jewels twinkling on each finger.

"And I believe Sir Hiss explained to you that this is a type of service I only provide in exchange of wages," the bear said, ignoring the Prince's rings. "Even to the bearer of that crown."

To his credit, Prince John only simmered for a few seconds at the bear's impudence. According to Hiss even His-Holier-Than-Thou-Majesty King Richard had requested the bear's services on at least two occasions. The Prince needed to see what the ursine could offer.

"He did, yes, although, he didn't specify the... Amount you'd charge for." Seeing that his hand had been floating aimlessly between the two of then for a few second,s the prince retracted it with an audible grunt, before leading the way inside the castle.

"Sir Hiss told us that even his own abilities weren't enough to extract the truth from this rabble. The prisoner is part of this riffraff group of bandits that plague Sherwood Forest, and it seems his loyalties are too strong."

The thought displeased the prince so much he almost gagged.

"Robin Hood's lieutenant. Little John. Loyal to a fault it seems, the oaf sacrificed himself so his leader could flee. Extracting answers has been... Problematic. Can you do something about that?"

The bear was listening attentively. He nodded a bit, and took the matter in consideration. After a few moments of silence, as they reached the throne room, he gave his answer.

"It would be two thousand gold coins."

The answer came clean out, like a head off a condemned. The present guards swiftly disappeared through the nearest possible exit, the sheriff somehow without changing the way he moved started walking in reverse toward the throne room's door, while all colors drained from the Prince John's face.

"TWO- TWO- TWO THOUSAND COINS ?"

The bear frowned.

"If you do not require my services, your Majesty, I may as well take my leave now."

The Prince was about to retort, but Sir Hiss suddenly Interjected.

"Your Highness! Count Trueman! Please, give me a minute. Majesty. You know I wouldn't lead you astray to a charlatan. And my Count, I didn't have you summoned here for nothing. I insist deeply, would you please accompany me and check the prisoner, before giving your last word?"

The bear grunted, obviously displeased about his prices or skills being questioned, but agreed nonetheless. In silence, the three men ventured down to the cells. They reached the heavily guarded prison and saw Little John snoring soundly on the makeshift bed.

Pretending to snore, at least. Those nearly-closed eyes probably fooled the Prince and Hiss, but not the noble bear.

Prince John noticed a newfound gleam in the Count's eyes, the same one he got from seeing gold or jewels. A few more minutes were spent on the apparent appraisal before they left the dingy dungeon.

"Five hundred coins, to cover my expenses. And I keep the prisoner."

The price cut surprised the Prince. "Well... This is a much more acceptable offer. Although, we are afraid that we cannot run the risk of letting the dirty thief out."

The bear chuckled at that, echoed by the hissing laugh of Sir Hiss's assurances: "My King, if I may--and you know I would never say that lightly, or deceive you--once the Count is done, the thief won't be a danger to the crown anymore."

Something disturbing washed over the Prince. He knew Hiss had a dark side, and the bear obviously moreso. But seeing how they spoke made him feel outclassed in cruelty.

"The matter is settled, then. Five hundred coins and the prisoner. It was a pleasure meeting you, Count." But it's not like he'd NEVER made a deal with the devil before, after all.

An hour ticked by without incident in the dungeon, despite Little John's attempt to pick the cell's lock. It was sundown when the Count came, wearing much less formal attire. An open-chested shirt, with the same pants and heavy boots, gloves, and a small leather bag.

Little John only spoke up when he found the Count's eyes locking onto him. "So who are you supposed to be?"

The Count smiled. "A friend interested in your well-being. I've come to ensure you don't rot here. Or worse." If Little John expected the Count to pull up a chair, he was wrong. The bear stood tall and proud.

"La-dee-da, then. No friend of prince tight-pants is a friend of mine." The imprisoned bear scoffed, but his captor remained nonplussed. "Get lost. Whatever bribe--"

"Shush." The Count said firmly, silencing the prisoner. "I assure you, I detest the prince as much as anyone." Calmly, he reached in his bag and pulled out an arrow. "If said that Robin sent me, would that help?"

The singular arrow seemed unused, with a pointed tip and red feathers on one end--feathers from a bird only hunted and found in the forest. Little John recognized it immediately. "Lemme see that." Shrugging, the Count handed it through the cell bars.

The carving on the arrow was refined, but hand-made, whittled down with a knife, with twine wrapped firmly around the arrowhead. It was all easily recognized. Not something from the prince's soldiers, for sure, and only Robin hunted enough of those damn birds to get feathers for the arrows--the soldiers just used chickens.

There was an odd amount of wood dust on the thing, but slowly, Little John nodded his head. "Alright... This is Robin's." That was true.

"Yes," the Count waved his hand in the air. "He gave it to me himself." That was not. "Will you hear me out now?"

Little John wouldn't normally believe it, but Prince John did not seem happy when they came down to visit. The arrow's authenticity also helped, and though he wouldn't admit it, so did the fact that Trueman was a fellow bear. Little John relaxed. "This the escape plan?"

"Yes," The Count said again. "Robin pulled some strings and had me come. I knew the once-king, you know. We're going to get you out, but only if you listen, and do exactly as I say."

After some thinking, Little John nodded, rolling the arrow in his palms. "Robin and I have done a lot of crazy plans," he grinned. "Dressed up as fortunetellers, dressed up as old ladies... Well, a lot of dressing up. But I know Robin pretty dang well." And with the same mirthless grin, Little John tossed the arrow aside. "I know he'd just give you a note if he wanted to prove anything."

The Count's gentle smile faltered, if slightly, into curiosity. "You're calling me a liar?"

Little John nearly spat. "As yellow-bellied and thick as they come. Dunno what you were thinking, but you can hike back to wherever you came from. I'll be out of this cell by tomorrow." He wanted to laugh, but the lack of reaction from the Count made him sweat.

"I can tell you what I was thinking, if you'd like." Trueman smirked. Little John blinked a few times as the sweat started getting worse. The bandit bear wobbled, sitting on the bed. "I was glad that you were dumb enough to handle the arrow with your bare hands."

Little John doubled over. He hadn't noticed, but his hands were coated in a fine powder. That wasn't dust. "What did you..." Already keeling over, he slumped onto the mattress. "...Do..." And said nothing else, the pained expression melting into an unconscious slumber.

The Count carefully peeled off his gloves. He needed to get hands-on, but he couldn't afford the more brutish bear overpowering him. "Sheriff!" He shouted across the stoney halls, "Get in and unlock this door!"

Lazily, the tubby wolf sauntered in, half-awake and half-intrigued by the whole process. "Whatever you're doin', you gotta go in?" Trueman wasn't in the mood to get questioned, and ordered the Sheriff to unlock the door. Again.

"Once you're done," the Count said, "Leave us. I need total privacy. No guards, either."

The Sheriff wasn't shocked, he was amused. He snorted at the request. "I don't suppose I'll come in and find neither of ya here? Prince John said to keep an eye on--" Before the words could leave his mouth, the Count whipped his head towards the wolf impatiently.

It took some restraint on Trueman's part, but he pulled out some gold from his pants pocket. Without warning, he held one of the gold coins between himself and the wolf, making sure it dangled at eye level. "You're a corrupt scoundrel who couldn't care less about what the Prince says," Trueman rumbled, keeping the Sheriff's eyes trained on the gold. "You only care about money. Money is all you see. Profit is all you think of."

The Sheriff found he couldn't stare past the swinging piece of gold, and stepping backwards didn't come to mind despite the Count violating his personal space. But he was thrown off. "I'm--"

"Not going to say another word, not going to think another thought, not going to interrupt. You have no place here, no power, no control, and you are not about to stop me. You can't. You won't. This is my job. I see you, and I know you, and I know how you are. You hate work. I am here to work. This is work."

Trueman swung the gold coin in a casual sideways arc, speaking in a strict and commanding tone not heard in the castle since King Richard. Eyes locked on the coin. "This is me freeing you from your work, freeing you from your mind, freeing you from responsibility, this coin is all you care for, all you desire, all you need, and you will take it, embrace it, and do as I say. You will forget about anything that would contradict this want of yours, accept my generosity, and LEAVE."

By the time the final word was said, the Sheriff was completely spellbound by the simple coin on a string. The Count placed it in the Sheriff's thick grubby paw, and with it, the glassy look on the wolf's face evaporated into purpose. "I'm gonna leave you be..." He said in a low voice. After that, the Count spun him around, and the wolf walked away like a sleepwalker. Trueman rolled his eyes. Simple-minded idiot. Greedy, lazy, simple-minded idiot. He had endless experience molding the minds of men like that.

There were more pressing matters. Carefully, the Count unlocked Little John's cell and started preparing. He removed the hat, shoes and sweat-soaked tunic, unbuckling Little John's belt, methodically stripping the chubby bear until he was fully nude on the dirty bed.

He took a few moments to admire what he was going to work with. Eager, amber eyes, monocle still in place, gazed upon that unconscious body, nude and vulnerable. Then, as the first hints of stirring showed, Howard pulled his bag close and rummaged in it, pulling out vial full of red, translucent liquid.

Little John rumbled weakly, eyes blinking helplessly, as if they were laboring to adapt to the light. Something cold was pressed against his lip, and a liquid poured into his maw. It tasted slightly sour and sweet, and he swallowed without even realising. The taste and freshness helped him regain his bearings, but jus as quick, a strange numbness tingled his whole body. He tried to reach for his head, but quickly realised that his arms refused to obey him.

"Wassupung..." His voice came slow and weak, and as the answer came, his sight finally made sense of the shadows surrounding him. "I'm afraid moving is a luxury I cannot let you have for now." The other bear's grin had something malevolent to it, and it suddenly dawned on Little John how dire the situation was.

The Count gently let a hand glide over the soft fur of the prisoner's chest and belly, the contact felt but weirdly distant. Then, once again, he reached for his bag, outside the edge of John's vision. The body very slightly squirmed. "Hep... plea..."

When the noble bear's hands came back into view, they were covered with some sort of gloves. Howard placed a cup, right beside John's paralyzed body, and the content was outside view, but when a pair of fingers dipped into it, they came back coated with a strange looking white ointment, marred with reddish little dots. Whatever that was, he instinctively knew it to be bad. He tried to shake his head, but could barely force a movement out. "Nnnnh."

"Now, don't be like that, my boy. I promise you : You will love it." The fingers coated with the strange substance very slowly lowered themselve over the chest of the bear thief, and more precisely, on the right nipple. The cold contact made John gasp, at first, then, the fingers started to rub the ointment into the skin and fur in slow, gentle circle. In a matter of seconds, the cold contact became hot, a strange tingling sensation burning through the bear's nerves, tearing a moan out of him, to his great embarrassment. Rapidly, the whole palm was pressing and massaging the right pectoral, the pleasurable burn pulsing and throbbing through John's chest. The other hand collected some more of that strange cream and started spreading it against the left nipple, each of them feeling more and more sensitive, throbbing... almost feeling.. Thicker, bigger.

John clenched his eyes shut. At least, that he could do. His grunt of resistance ended up echoing like a needy whine when that thick thumb rubbed some more over his sensitive nipple. "You know, you should try to relax and enjoy the ride, Little John." An eye peered open, trying its best to glare at the tormentor. "You are at my mercy." He stated casually. His gloved palms rubbed together, spreading more of the ointment onto them. Then, they started to rub it everywhere. The face, the neck, the shoulders. The count's hands were strong, large and commanding, but where they squeezed, pressed, they chased all tension, despite John's situation.Soon, that pleasurable burn was heating all his upper body, the oily mixture seeping incredibly easily through the fur, to the skin, leaving the bear looking greasy and unkempt.

The defiant groans had slowly turned into weak grunts, at Howard's words. This sensation was far too distracting, surely there will be better moments to show the evil bastard that a Merry Man was never broken ! "Oh, but I will break you. You must know." As he talked, he reached the legs of his subject, the massage and burning pleasure having now awakened a part of the bear he would much rather had kept low, his thick, meaty cock proudly throbbing for Howard to see. The oily paw Hovered down and grabbe those hanging orbs. He made sure to rub them nicely, have them coated and sensitive, before squeezing. "Resisting me, will bring you pain and grief." A whine came from the helpless bear. Then, the gloved hand gently, yet firmly wrapped around the erect cock. The thief's noises were only a long whimper now as the ointment worked its magic on that throbbing bear length. "But submission..." He pressed gently against the underside of that throbbing meat. "Submission will bring you pleasure." He promised in a whisper, right to the bear's ear.

And the helpless, pleasured noises continued even after Howard let go of the member to grab his next tool from the bag. He pulled a strange, half mask. The count strapped it to his own face, a very weird contraption, that covered the mouth, the nose and seemed to have fabric filtering the intake of air. Then, after that, he grabbed a small bundle of what looked like white incense sticks not too dissimilar to the ones Friar Tuck would use on occasions. Some sort of dread started to wash over Little John. the way that crazy, mad bear manipulated these as if they were one of the most dangerous things in the world. The bear held the whole bundle to a torch on the whole and lit them, provoking a white, syrupy smoke to pour into the air. A few seconds later, the bear was waving that bundle right above John's face, pouring its smoke in thick cascades over his helpless muzzle.

It was very confusing, though, because for a while, he didn't notice what was wrong. The smoke had no smell to it. Then, pain started to settle. An unexplainable anxiety, eating at him, something was definitely wrong, but he couldn't put his finger on it. "Can you guess what's happening, thief?" Howard's voice came muffled because of the mask. "This very special kind of incense is purging you of all the smells you ever registered. People don't realise how much we rely on those, for a variety of things. Orientation, recognition, emotions... " The paralyzed bear's eyes opened wide in realisation. "Exactly. Try to remember how your dear friend Robin smells? Or the Forest? Or even the smell of rain?"

Try all he could, it was impossible to avoid the smoke, to stop breathing it. Howard made sure his lungs were saturated with it, long before the stick burnt out. And to make matter worse, he started playing with his captive's nipples again. Soon, having a very aroused bear huffing the white smoke in thick heaves...

"Very good. Now you are primed for the next step. You see... Scents can be very important to us. They can define us. I'd bet my money that for you, smell of forest, wind, moss, all of that, it smelled like freedom before. Even if you were never aware. Today, I give you a treat, bear. I let you sample the scent of obedience." Little John gulped as Howard got up and moved toward his head. Slowly, deliberately, the bear undid his shirt, showing off a rather impressive set of pecs and arms, and a rounder belly. "What... you... d..." Before the prisoner could achieve his sentence, the Count wrapped the bear's entire face into his armpit, trapping the now virgin muzzle in the musky damp place.

He tried to hold his breath, he really did. He could feel the thick, warm fur pressed all around his face, the slight dampness to it. Then a hand wrapped around his oversensitive cock and gasped, letting the musky scent in. Just a bit. Just a hint. It was okay, he was trapped, in the mad bear's armpit, but he didn't had to give in and take another whiff of the nice, ambery, thick scent. Why did he feel dizzy suddenly? That suffocating place, He couldn't hold it much longer, that armpit was even becoming more damp in reaction to him breathing through it. No... Not breathing! Maybe just a bit, after all he needed to breath. To breath that thick, intoxicating VIRILE scent. Was it because there was no other scents anymore in is head that this MUSKY SWEATY mess smelled SO FUCKING GOOD? What was he doing already?

"Take a deep breath." Said a voice. Thank you voice, yes, he was going to take a deep breath. And another, helplessly embedding this strong, personal, intimate smell deep in his brain. This scent that made his cock throb and leak... His weak arms reaching to grab at the other bear, pressing himself even more into the armpit, delirious, feverish.

After just a little while of this, Howard let the prisoner's head go, the weak, panting, pathetic thing laying on his bed, trying to process what happened. "I promise you, Bear. You will be happily spilling all your secrets soon enough. And you will do so with a smile." The count looked at the hazy eyes, panting bear. The shirt he had just taken off, he grabbed and threw over the bear's face. Little John couldn't help sniffing away at that too. Unable to see through the shirt, Little John was surprised when it was lifted away.

Revealing a naked Count Trueman. Thick, muscular, erect, powerful. Holding a book. Little John was too dazed to question why, and he was provided no context before the Count turned his back towards him--revealing an equally sculpted backside, with marvelous cords of muscle and a plump ass. "Another scent I expect you to be intimately familiar with," Howard said.

The perverted horror that struck Little John when he realized that ass was coming was muffled immediately by it. The paralyzed bear couldn't move an inch as his muzzle was forced deep inside the stronger bear's musky crack. "Breathe deep..." He said, making himself comfortable. "And do try to enjoy it."

Little John would've hollered if he could, but he could only inhale. It was all he could see, smell, and with it over his face, sound was muffled too. The Count's ass instantly cut off all other senses and connections to the outside, and Little John's panicked heaving melted into languid breaths.

The Count, for his part, used the opportunity to leaf through a well-worn book. "T... T... Ah," he said, finding the section on truth serums. There were a number of recipes and concoctions, but some required particular ingredients out of his reach, while others a specific phase of the moon. It took a few minutes to come across something easier. "Mmm. We'll see how itdAH!" Trueman jumped, craning his head towards his seat.

An unexpected wet sensation had snaked over his hole, something even he didn't expect. Little John's nose was one thing, but that wide bandit tongue rimming his ass was another. He hadn't ordered him to do that. The pleasure--not from the actual sensation, as good as it was--the pleasure of nurturing a quick learner was enough to make his cock throb. "Let me give you a nice reward, Bear."

Beneath him, Little John grunted. Trueman reached down to his discarded pants and revealed the same ointment. Quickly, it was slathered over Little John's own thick dick, and both bears moaned for it as Trueman milked him. The cooling, warming, sensitivity-inducing ointment felt heavenly with the Count using it as lube. Pumping his strong cock.

"Can't get this in the woods," Trueman said, squeezing possessively and watching the precum start to flow. Little John's slobbering intensified, and that was rewarded with even more stroking and milking, pressing deeper into each other and working up a greater sweat.

It was impossible to think. Whether because of the drugs, being lost in the orgasmic moment, or both, Little John didn't think anything of the situation. He was focused on getting his rocks off, and as the Count had ordered, enjoying himself, instinctually. Thrusting his hips and fucking the Count's closed hand like a wet hole, getting more lubed with musky bear precum.

They were panting, reeling, eating ass and jerking off, Little John forgetting the current predicament, until the Count slowed down. Easing off, from jerking off and smothering him in sweaty butt to sitting up and peeling off. Little John had become so used to the taste, smell, and the darkness of being underneath that ass, even the dim torchlight of the dungeon seemed far too bright, and if it weren't for the smell of sex in the air, it would've been foreign.

Count Trueman unhooked his leg from around Little John, stretching into a standing position, while the greasy bandit bear laid obediently still. "What's... Why stop..." Little John said, licking his lips. Trueman smirked and ignored him, instead lifting Little John's limp arms to the wall.

There was a click and a clang, that happened three times. One shackle for each wrist, directly to the wall, and one for a collar around Little John's robust neck, also pinned to the wall. The prisoner was too bleary to protest. He kept his eyes screwed shut, trying to beat back the light. It was so hard to get used to it, after being in the dark. It was the middle of the night at the bottom of a dungeon, and still too bright compared to the Count's embrace.

"Thank you for alerting me that the paralysis was starting to wear off," Trueman said. Little John winced, as the humiliation came flooding back to his addled self. The cell door had been open this whole time--if he'd just ran out when he had the chance. Now the Count was retrieving something else.

"My benefactor upstairs," the Count said, "Is impatient and stupid. And I'd rather give us all the time in the world. It's been a wonderful session so far." There was a needle in his hand, and before Little John could struggle, he felt a prick on his thigh. Little John winced again.

"S-stop..." He breathed.

"Oh, you can speak again. Lovely. This wouldn't work otherwise." Little John knew there was no way he could really feel it--well, maybe he could, given his enhanced sensitivity--but he could swear he felt a liquid from that needle flow inside him. Like a virus, working its way through his body.

If the plan was to humiliate and kill him with poison, now would be the time. Dying would've been preferable to explaining to Robin he gleefully gave another bear a rimjob. But, no such luck. Whatever it was, the same marshmallow-soft feeling in his brain started to return.

He tried asking what the heck was in that needle, but what came out was a drooling babble. Trueman stroked his cheek, watching Little John's expression grow dim. It was so, so hard to think. Everything was so soft and warm, and he could still taste Trueman, and smell him, and it was the only thing he could think about. Eyes glazing into the middle distance as the liquid found his brain. "Better," Trueman said.

Little John was drained, drooling over his fuzzy chest. Absent to all, it seemed. Still stroking his handsome face, the nobleman whispered into Little John's ear: "Where is Robin Hood?"

Little John's mind was flooded with the fox. Memories, however hazy things were. The question banged at his mind for answers, and his wet lips mumbled them silently. But Little John did not speak, however much his body attempted it, some small part of his mind resisted.

"Hm," Trueman hummed. It'd been worth a shot. "Who are your friends?"

This time, Little John didn't hesitate. He spoke huskily, but the words flowed like warm water. "Robin. Friar Tuck. Toby, Skippy, Otto... All the Merry Men, Lots of townsfolk..." As a reward, Trueman's trimmed claws scritched under Little John's scruffy chin, like a pet.

"Very good," Trueman replied, smooth as honey. Little John smiled, obviously relishing the physical attention. "Do you have any friends here? In the castle?"

Little John puzzled for that. Trueman worried the silence was an indicator of more resistance, but no, it was searching his molasses-slow thoughts for the truth. "Yes... " Little John finally said. "Bedchamber guy... Treasurer's assistant... Rhino guard..."

The Count smiled, and instead of stroking or scratching Little John's face, grabbed him by the chin. "And me," he said with equal warmth and sternness. "I'm your friend too."

More cogs, more cobwebs to sort through, before a correct answer was given. Little John nodded. "Yeah... You too..." It felt true, at least. If they weren't friends, why did he feel so good? Trueman was satisfied, and reluctantly tugged his loose clothes back on.

"I'll be back soon," he said. "With a warm meal. The least I can do for such a good boy." Little John failed to respond, still under the effects of that serum. "Think about what you've done."

Scooping up his things and getting presentable, the Count closed the door to the cell, locking it behind him. His heavy footsteps echoed down the cobblestone halls until there was nothing but silence, leaving Little John behind. Nude.

Barely a couple hours later, the Count was standing in the throne room. The Prince was absolutely consumed by anger, and only Sir Hiss very tactful reminders that publicly executing allies of the Merry Men would probably cause an uprise managed to keep him in check. The Sheriff was baffled.

"Are you sure ? The treasurer's assistant too... And this guard have been with us for years ! He's even the one Robin and this bear thief knocked out when they escaped last time we.. oh..."

While the Sheriff's stupidity was mildly amusing, Trueman didn't lose too much time. He was also tired of the Prince's capricious nature. Richard might have been too soft hearted for the bear's taste, he at least always behaved with the demeanor of a King. "I am absolutely sure. And I would be glad for you to take the necessary measures in due time, for I would be extremely displeased, should the thieves be warned of what is happening at the moment, and try and rush an evasion plan for their friend while I am not finished with him. I do not wish my property to be damaged."

The fat wolf frowned at the tone, but a look at that monocled gaze piercing through him made his survival instincts kick in and he merely nodded and excused himself.

"He have yet to disclose the thieves hideout, though. When can we expect a definitive result ?" The Prince was again calm enough to converse in a civilised manner. "Everything changes depending from the subject. If I had to give an approximation, I would say... Probably less than a few days. Now, if you'll excuse me, I still have work to do on that thief. And I'll need to stop by the kitchens."

The bear left without adding more. A hiss could be heard behind him.

"May I be of assistance, Sir Hiss ?" The snake chuckled, shaking his head. "Why such a harsh tone, Howard. Aren't we long time friends ?" The bear's sonorous steps stopped. He turned to the snake with a slight rise of the brow. "The term I would use would be respectful rivals studying the same field.". Hiss grimaced. "Well, that's a mouthful. I'll stick with 'friends". What are you doing to this poor thief ?"

There was a pause, and the bear resumed walking toward the kitchens. "I will take care of him. He is mine now. Or will be soon enough. Why the sudden interest ?" The snake moved in what could be interpreted as a shrug. "He is a long time ennemy. I know you love your secrets, but will you let me see.... The finished product, so to speak ?" A dark chuckle. "Why not ? You know your abilities don't work on my boys, don't you ?" "Oh, absolutely. It is what fascinates me with your methods. There si no will left to influence. But observing this on someone who once was a mortal ennemy..." Hiss didn't finish his sentence, but he shivered in anticipated pleasure. "Well, you are the one who recommended me. I owe you this, at least."

They parted ways with a nod, and the large bear finally reached the kitchens. The tiger who served as chef almost shouted at the intruder before noticing he was nobility. "I... How may I serve you sir ?" Howard grinned. "Well, I would like to order a little something special. I brung my own spice."

It was hours later when the count walked down the corridor, a tray in his hands. The heavy footsteps were easy enough to recognise. The prisoner was still bound, probably a bit sore to the wall... Looking at his expression, it was obvious that the drug had long stopped to affect him. Still, he couldn't help but give a few helpless sniffs as the count's familiar, nice, comforting smell came closer. His traitor of a cock even stirred a bit.

"It's... It's you." He stated simply, voice defeated. "Well... Yes, it's me. I wouldn't hope for many other visitors." another smell tickled his nostrils, tho, even if it took him a moment to realise. The tray was loaded with a magnificent piece of meat, grilled roast beef, juicy and dripping with grease, with a brown crust like he never saw before. "I did promise you a meal. You have been a very good boy." The poor bound bear couldn't do much aside from licking his chops from the delightful sight. "I..."

"It's alright. I'm just going to..." He reached for the three metallic rings and with a heavy clank, they detached from the wall, each connected to it by a heavy metallic chain. The tray was gently shoved toward him, Howard sitting on the uncomfortable bed, beside John. Hesitantly, he reached for it and grabbed the piece of meat with his bare hands, chomping into it hungrily.

After the first bit he seemed distressed though. "I... I am a traitor..." He whimpered weakly. "Tsk. Big Lug. Right now, you should eat. Don't worry about those things. You are very hungry, aren't you ?" A rumble from the bound bear's stomach was all the answer both of them needed and little John resumed his feast at once.

"There. I'm sure you're feeling better, already." A grunt answered him, the prisoner so engrossed in his meal he could barely answer. "That's good. You have quite the healthy appetite. You're doing good." The bear froze for a second, then shivered, wondering why, why would Howard's praise feel so delightful... like a warm caress along his spine.

The last remnant of meat disappeared in the bear's maw, and he panted from eating so much, so fast. He also looked slightly dazed. Howard smiled. "Come here." Effortlessly, the count pulled the unresting prisoner against him. The bear's head flopped on his captor's shoulder, weakly... It smelled so good too. "Poor little thief. I bet you feel much better now, don't you ?" "Y.. Yes." came the answer, strangely distant. "What's... So tired... I..." And arm wrapped around his back, pulled him into an almost embrace. "Shhh. It's just the drug I slipped in your food. It help relax you, make you feel good and get you more suggestible. " "Ah." The answer came in a very sleepy tone.

"Don't you like feeling that way ? Nice and warm ?" The head nodded softly against the shoulder it rested on. "That's what I thought. Do you want me to help you feel nice, warm and happy ? Get rid of all your worries ?" Again, a nod, slow, sleepy, head feeling so heavy...

"That's perfect, big lug. I promised you : Resistance will feel bad. But submission will feel very, very good. Just let yourself feel good and happy for a moment, boy. Just let yourself submit. No need to go all the way. Just a bit. Just try. Just a little taste." The count's voice had dropped to a deep rumbling, it felt like nice, gooey honey pouring into Little John's ears. "Just... Just a lil... Taste..." His tongue felt so heavy in his mouth. He felt half asleep, yet the words reached him with a crystal clarity.

"Exactly. Just a little taste. Good bear. You submit so well." This one tore a grunt out of the prisoner, his cock throbbing again, a transluscent line of pre suddenly drawing itself down his shaft. "Now, be a very good boy and drop. Drop. Drop on your knees." The sleepy bear hrmmmfed and heavily slid down the bed, to his knees, slowly turning toward Howard. His eyes were half lidded, head low... But his cock was pointing up firmly !

With a gleeful, twisted smile, the count gently rubbed his thrall-to-be's chin, forcing him to look up, into the predatory eyes. "Perfect. Now be a good boy and take a look at this." Howard carefully grabbed his monocle with one hand, the other gently unlatching the clasp that kept the chain attached to his collar. Then, keeping hold of the chain in his left hand, he let the object dangle in front of the bear's eyes. The confused, weakened prisoner stared at it, the very small part of him that was conscious wondering what was going on.

The monocle was very nice, with a gold frame, finely etched with swirling designs all around. It dangled, nearly still, right in front of little john's face. "Keep your eyes on it. I want you to look closely. You might notice there are a lot of details into this piece, so really, pay a very close attention to it." The fingers holding the monocle twisted the chain slightly, impressing a gentle twirling motion to the object. The dim light of the cell's torch reflected and flashed into little John's eyes each time the lens aligned properly, making him almost blink, despite his focus shifting rapidly toward the pendant like object, his once half lidded eyes starting to open wider and wider.

"Just like that. Open your eyes, stare. Don't blink. Let the flashes dig deep into your emptying mind. Good boy." Little John's eyes were now transfixed. The idea of looking away was nothing but a distant dream, by now, why would he ? When staring and listening to the count felt so, so delightful... "You're so attentive, bear, so obedient you submit so well." The mesmerized bear gave a weak grunt, his cock twitching and spurting a new rivulet of cum down its throbbing length.

"No need to pay attention to what I'm saying. I'm doing this to help you feel good and submit." He continued, entirely ignoring the whine the quickly succumbing bear made. "Exactly. Pay no mind to my voice, do not focus on it, just let it echo nicely in your head, guiding you gently on the right path. Your focus in on the monocle. On the light. I'm sure you noticed the nice, spiralling patterns on the frame, right ? isn't it beautiful, how the light pour into them, into flowing, gentle swirls ?" indeed, as the monocle turned and moved, fine tendrils of light danced on the golden surface of the ring surrounding the lens. They were so lithe, so small. Yet, with each passing second, became easier to notice, easier to spot. They started to appear around Little John's sight, like remanences dancing in his peripheral vision. Golden, gleaming swirls, eternally moving, and turning before his eyes, making all the rest fade, as it got easier and easier to only focus on the monocle and nothing else.

It was so beautiful and captivating. Don't pay any attention to my voice. When did the monocle start to sway ? It made the flashes more intense, the patterns spiraling faster... Just let it slip right into your mind. It felt so good right here, velvety, soft warm, fuzzy... You don't even hear it anymore. It's like nothing really m- You obey. Say it. "I obey." Where did it come from ? But it felt so natural, so right. Right now, all that matter is the light. The golden hues, the flashes, it made him feel so good, so at peace. You are a Big Lug. You obey. "I obey." His head felt a little bit emptier, thicker... Muddy. Very good. You submit. The poor mindwiped bear grunted, his mouth hanging open in stupor. You obey. "I obey." You obey. "I obey." You obey. "I obey." Good. Stop thinking. There was a weak gasp. Drool started to trickle gently from the corner of his open mouth. You obey. "Gh... I... I ob....bey." Stop thinking. You obey. "Ah... ob.. Obey..." Stop thinking. You obey. "Nghhh... Ao... be... Bey..." Stop thinking. You obey. "Ngh... hhhhg..." Stop thinking. You obey. "Hhhhhhhh..." By now, the thick line of drool cascaded down his neck and belly, coursing around his round belly, to trickle down his balls, alongside the line of pre.

By now, the bear was so far gone that Howard could enact the next part immediately. Still swinging the monocle, he placed his heavy boot on Little John's chest and pushed firmly, shoving the hypnotized male on his back. Despite the added distance, all the bear could see, all he could think of was the monocle. The swaying, twirling object, sending pulses of light into his mind. He couldn't see Howard, holding the monocle with his left hand, align one of the rings from his right hand with the lens... But suddenly, as the first ring's ruby filtered the light hitting the monocle, the flashes became red. Red bursts of lights that awakened strong, deep feelings in him, they shuffled, passionate, angry and settled on a strange, deep, important one. You love Count Trueman. Little John felt an ache in his heart. A thick ring of red appeared in his eyes around his irises, in his right one, first, then his left, a few seconds later. Slowly, like a gentle ripple in a pond, they expanded, grew, larger and larger, only to disappear at the edge of his eyes, the delightful, fulfilling emotion subsiding, leaving the bear almost teary eyed, panting... But it came back as strong, as the rings appeared again from the irises.

The poor creature would not be allowed to get used to it, though, as, with a simple move of his fingers, Howard aligned another jewel, holding a precious, rare drop of Amber, the flashes turning orange. And pure, pure joy poured into the bear, his face tearing into a big, stupid, shit-eating grin. Obedience is bliss. Obedience is pleasure. Obedience to Master Trueman is the purest joy you ever felt. The new color followed the red, as new orange rings appeared in both his eyes.

Another subtle move. Howard grinned deviously. The citrine represented intellect. He wasn't sure until now, but seeing that fat, lusty bear, writhing in bliss on the floor, he knew what the prisoner really needed. The yellow glint captivate the bear, his mind, vulnerable was suddenly at the forefront, open, weak to any changes and suggestion. Howard could tailor it to so many new facets of personality... Meek, Attentive to details, Arrogant, Shameless... but no, now there was only one word he wanted to utter to this pathetic thrall. You are dumb. "Hunnng... ?" Something screeched to an halt in Little John's mind. Felt like something broke. As the rings formed, the change cemented itself. You can't form plans. You can't outthink a box of biscuits. Robin was your brain, and now Master Trueman will be. You are dumb. Stupid. Dull. Slow. His grunts sounded a bit more guttural now, his tongue lolled out in such a sad and pure display of sheer stupidity.

When the emerald light invaded the poor stupefied bear's eyes, greed seized his heart. Pure unabashed want and envy. Desire, something running deep, further than carnal want. Something he immorally yearned for. Once it had been Robin's fame. His shameful secret. The pain he had endured, the fox always getting praised, when the Merry Men were often forgotten. He knew that jealousy was bad and always pushed it back with his friendship.. But right now, there was none of that. Not even a Robin to be jealous of. You want Master's attention. You are greedy for his gaze, his voice. Jealous of any other receiving his orders or praises. That was so true. Submission was so good, so blissful. Who would DARE take this away from him ? He growled, grunted, like a feral beast as the green settled in his eyes, joining the other rings. Pain and Pleasure do not matter. An armored boot suddenly pressed, almost painfully against his cock and balls. It cut the bear's breath for a moment, tore a few tear out of him but he soon learned to love that feeling. There is only reward and punishment. If Master want to reward you with a kick, it feels wonderful. If Master wants to punish you with a caress, it is torture. The bear whined, melting, spurting pre all over that heavy, leather and metal boot.

The sapphire replaced the emerald. Rich, royal blue splashed over Little John's open mind, flash after flash, like a blade of light, piercing his head. Loyalty. Reliability. For a second, the Merry Men flashed through his mind, but it was quickly brushed away. Count Howard Trueman is your one and only Master. You belong to Master Trueman. This ring appeared in his eyes, like a shackle, binding him into servitude. You belong to Master Trueman. You are loyal only to him. Obedience is pleasure.A boot pressed a bit more harshly on the fat throbbing cock, and rubbed roughly a couple times. Resistance is impossible. You belong to Master Trueman.

Carefully, the count switched hand for the monocle. The nearly broken bear's eyes were more rings than white now, and he was nearly consumed by the colors and their emotions, pulsing through him powerfuly. His boot pressed further, a strong rope of pre splattering against his soon to be prize's belly, and giving him the time to find a new position, for the two last rings.

The labradorite ring was next, a strange, magical indigo hue tinting the lens, as it captivated the bear once more. Trust. Sincerity. Purity. You will be honest with Master. You will be sincere with Master. The color started to spread, deception becoming an impossibility for the bear, He shouldn't lie. He couldn't lie. Truth needed to be given. Full and complete and absolute. Master trust you. He was trusted and would never ever betray this. He owed it to his Master. To the one at the center of his world. If a question was asked, the answer would flow like water, unretained, unfiltered, clear and pure.

The last ring was strangely shaped. It had a sliding cap, protecting the gem adorning it. Or rather, protecting people from the gem adorning it. With a movement of the thumb, Howard slid it open. The light of the room seemed to dim a bit. The purple fluorite pulsed with its own dark light, draining the other colors, only leaving the whites, that glowed unnaturally. Cold smoke lazily poured from it, but it was dark, and curled around in the air as it fell to the ground in slow motion, like tendrils looking for a prey. The monocle unaturally stopped, still, the chain straight and unmoving, both the swinging and the twirling gone, presenting a gold framed disk, that slowly started to pulsate an otherworldly purple glow. Little John's fur britled. His breathing stopped, mouth open in a silent gasp, only the profund control of Howard saving him from maddening terror. You need Master's cock. You are a twisted, perverted slut. The purple ring burst into place, throbbing, growing, pushing away the other colors. The bear's mind couldn't comprehend what he felt, the forbidden act of reaching inside his soul and twisting something fundamental about him. He still couldn't breath, glrrrking, the veins around his eyes black and throbbing. You want Master to go all out on you. And then some. You want to be abused, broken. The bear was staring, staring so intensely at the immobile purple disk boring into his soul, foaming at the mouth, suffocating. Ultimately, you will desire only one thing. For Master to put an end to your mind. He felt pulled, pulled somewhere else, by this purple glow, somewhere with tentacles and cold and destruction and- The purple glow stopped. The purple rings shrunk, slowly, little by little, as the wheezing bear found his breath back, his ass laying in a puddle of his own pre. The throb in his veins stoppe, unaturral coloration fading. The light and warmth came back. And the seven colors splashed perpetually in his eyes in concentric rings.

Each emotion, each color pulsed painfuly in his brain, and what was left of Little John was drowning in them. His grunts and whines kept echoing in the cell, and for a little while, Howard was happy to listen to their music, and enjoy the view. But once sated, the Count tapped his boot firmly on the floor. The sound immediately snapped his new subject to attention. Confusion showed over his face, and the rings kept rippling in his eyes. He stared for a few seconds and recognition slowly painted his face. A dull, vacant smile plastered itself on the bearslut's face.

"You've made a mess of my boot, Big Lug." Howard pointed down, toward his precum covered shoe. Little John gave a weak grunt. He looked up to the strong.. Powerful... Sexy bear... And he felt it. True. Complete. Absolute ownership of his being. A foreign word pressed its way through his throat. Weakly, he mouthed something. "Louder." Trueman remained stern, but the glint of victory sparkled in his eyes. "M... m... as.. Ter..." The word was so foreign. Where was the freedom that defined the merry men. The rebellion. He knew he should feel them but couldn't. They were gone. Absent. What should he do then. "LOUDER, SLUT !" The order echoed through the castle's corridor and the bear leaped away in fear but his mouth opened suddenly, almoist beyond any control "MASTER !" And as the word was released fully, the bear's eyesrolled back, the circles rippling even faster as a spurt of pre spleattered on the floor, between the slutbear's open legs. "Good. Clean." Howard pointed to his shoe again. And this time the bear leaped forward, possessed by utter need and eagerness. He grabbed his Master's leg with reverence and kissed the goo soaked leathery boot with blissful abandon, slathering the pre all over his face. He kissed and worshipped, and then started to lick with lustful grunts the count, HIS Count's sullied boots, the salty taste of his own pre flooding his mouth, and he kept licking until all the fluids were gone, and kept slobbering like a proper bootslut until he could see the reflection of his own colorful eyes in the black leather and chromed metal, all of this accompanied by the chains metallic song.

A snap from the count's fingers told the bear that it was enough. Obediently, he moved back, kneeling by pure instinct, his cock throbbing and spurting almost non stop now. Howard eyed his claimed slave. The beast could probably do with a few modifications... After all, if he was going to ruin this bear, he might as well go all out. He grabbed the former Merry Man by the metallic collar and pulled him closer to the wall. The slave showed no resistance at all, he merely grunted and submitted to his Master's desires. Howard proceeded to clasp the two shackles together, in the bear's back. He smiled down at the kneeling form in front of him. He was pleased so far and gently, almost affectionately rubbed the bear's cheek. The caress was answered with a happy, dumb smile. Howard reached for the once dreaded leather bag, but those concerns were purged from what little remained of Little John's mind, now. So he only smiled and empty, content smile and compiled when Howard presented a thick, wooden cylinder gag to him and told him to bite down. A fine, tight rope was attached to each end and adjusted to perfectly immobilized the bear's maw. Once it was done, a silky, black blindfold was adjusted around his head, plunging him in darkness, trapping him within his own head, in the emptied echo chamber fo the emotions and thoughts Howard had forcibly placed there. Almost naturally, he started mumbling, unaware that he was trying to chant the words that circled his mind now.

Howard nodded in appreciation of his own work. He reached for the protective gloves again and poured a generous amount of a red ointment in his palm. This one was much stronger than the previous one... And had a few physical side effects. With an evil, gleeful smile, he grabbed the helpless, bound bear's dick with one of his gloves. His large hand enough to close around it. The effect was immediate. The already hard member became stone like in his hands, and the slave threw his head back and screamed his lungs out. Or would have had he not been muffled by the gag. Gently, the Count started to rub up and down the bear's length. He squeezed, making sure to torture his toy as powerfuly as possible, the scream now silent, frozen, as tears started to pour down Little John's cheeks, sobs of broken pleasure shaking him. By all accounts he should have erupted there and then, but the product had purely and simply removed that ability from him. He would need to be ordered to cum to be able to reach a climax by now. And this was just a start. With a spurting throb, the cock grew in Howard's hand. He rubbed again, his slave now shaking, silenced yet begging although even the poor bear himself didn't knew if it was to stop or for more. And it kept going, the engorged member growing again and again, the poor bear feeling as if his brain was siphonned into his cock and balls, the other hand having joined in and already massaging those bearish orbs to the size of grapefruits. By the time Howard was done, the slave's cock was throbbing with a thcikness he'd never had dreamed of, and reaching the middle of Little John's not so little gut.

Still, Howard wasn't entirely done. He scooped a bit more of the stuff with his fingers and once again, started to rub his captive's very hard nipples. The Count basked in the crazed noises of bliss that erupted non stop in baseless gurgles from his slut's throat now. The product was applied and rubbed, and the nipples started to throb... Grow, expand. The became larger, darker, from small pink spots to black, big ovals, and so sensitive that his mind broke over and over from the constant contact of Master's fingers. His writhing only came to a stope after a few minutes, the now meaty and thick nipples tingling a bit then... His mind came to a blank. His face was lathered with snot, tears and drool now, he was kneeling in a growing puddle of his own pre, but a warm glow exploded inside him. Like a climax but from his nipples. Howard grinned at the sight of a white trickle from the engorged pecs. A whines echoed, the creature unaware it came from him. Another warm exploding glow, more tears, more fluids running down his face and something warm and gooey splashing overs his lower chest and his belly. Another firm squeeze, tug, twist and he felt it again. "Oh my ! Is the prisoner enjoying himself ?" The poor beast was unable to answer anything more than a "rrrff..."

Howard got up, leaving his creature to shiver is despair for a few seconds, time and space meaning nothing now for the captive, mindfucked into another dimension of torturous pervert pleasure. The clasp tying the shackled was undone, and firmly, each of them were pulled back to the wall with the chains, forcing the bear to be tied there again, arms up and immobilized, kneeling down. There was a snap, and the gag fell, followed by a big glob of bear drool, splashing over his already quite dirty belly, and the floor. Hand still protected, Howard once again coated his glove with the red, spicy balm. And started to press his fingers against the bear's lips, sliding past them and grabbing that nice, wet tongue. "Lick." There was only a huff, a moan and a sob now. Perhaps the bear was simply beyond any conceivable reaction, now, his world defined only by his Master's control. The pleasure and sensations were creazy, but his brain was numb. Yet he loved every seconds of it. Of his tongue timidly lapping at the bitter, spicy gel. The explosive, uncomprensible sensations that followed and that incredible dawning sensation that he had been blind his whole life. His super sensitive tongue lapped further. And further... Becoming longer, wrapping around the glove's fingers at first, then shooting into the air, setting his senses ablaze when he realize the air tasted heavily like Master, this scent he craved above all. It started to lash, to snake around that glove, needfuly, grunts and huffs echoing through the bear's throat, each time a little bit longer, until it could fully wrap atoudn Master's forearm, the tip splitting into a fork...

Howard smiled, wondering if the bear would talk with a hiss, now. "Down boy." The tongue immediately quieted, lolling out from the front of the slave's muzzle. The exhausted, sweaty, musky and quite gooey bear's head bowed in pure submission. Howard gently started to rub the back of his hand against that nice, wet tongue, then, with two finger extended, he started to press a bit deper... and deeper. The bear started to heave at first, then coughed. Howard went back a bit. "Relax, bear. Let it go. Just give into it." He started to press his fingers again, reaching the back of the slave's tongue, feeling the throat contracting... "Relax. You are not in control. You have no control. Give it up." There was a whining noise, the bear's shoulders slumped a bit more than they already were. His throat dilated a bit. The invasion made the poor creature drool uncontrollably, a thick continuous trickle of drool cascading down his chin, and dripping down. He felt Master adjusting a bit in his mouth and looked up blindly, through the fabric, allowing for better access to his throat. "I'm going to go deeper. Don't gag, now." Being ordered to not gag felt incredible. A pulsation of arousal travelled through the bear, and, as the fingers reached the back of his throat, each time he felt the tingle of a gag reflex, a nice, fuzzy numbness would wash over him and his throat would relax instantly. His breath became labored as two fingers became four. It became an almost permanent whine when four fingers became a fist. A fist that pushed past his throat. Slave basking in bliss, trapped in the dark, fist still going deeper, completely relaxed for it, yet his cock drooling permanently, now, from the sheer pleasure of being used, not even like a slave or slut, but like a toy of objects. His body limitations meant nothing anymore, he was Master's. And it felt like pure bliss. He could feel the limits of the glove getting past his throat, replaced by master's thicker and thicker forearm, turning him into a sleeve until Master's arm was down his throat nearly to the elbow. He slowly grew used to it, to let his mind just stop and relax as Master used him... Finally, the arm started to pull out. But Slave managed to not cough once it was out, only panting, and realising he was drenched in sweat, woozy but oh, so blissful. Moreso when Master silently patted his cheek as a reward.

With the slave's mouth properly trained, he could only afford a short break before using it. But there was a necessary reward, first. "These can come off." And with that, the bear was freed from the chains.

Just like before, the cell door was open. This time, Little John wasn't even immobile or drugged as harshly as before. But he wasn't Little John anymore, was he? No. The difference between the enslaved brown bear throwing himself at Master's feet and the bandit in Nottingham was immeasurable, and nobody from that past life would recognize him--that was how great the difference in posture, expression and demeanor that Slave carried himself with. Drooling, awaiting orders, with soulless eyes.

And a throbbing rock-hard cock. "Slave," the master said, tilting his gaze upwards. "Suck my cock and finger my ass." The slave nodded dimly and moved to begin, but Trueman grabbed Little John's wrist with enough force to crack it. However, any pain went unregistered. "When an order's given, it's only natural you vocalize your responses. Grunt for me, you fucking pig."

Saying that, he moved Little John's hand away, and the kneeling bear's arms went limp at his sides. "Again," master ordered. "Suck me and pleasure my hole."

The slave grunted in affirmation, nodded as he did. And with that, he was allowed to shove his low-class nose into his master's groin, sniffing the primal musk. Sniffing, then licking, lapping at the shaft to get into a good rhythm before nursing on the head of Trueman's dick.

As that began, the slave stroked the count's thighs, up and down, until his right hand moved in for the ass. Stroking and moving his fingers through the thick fur until he found his master's pucker, and began massaging at that as well.

"Mmm," Trueman groaned, mouth clamped shut. "Worship."

The simple command was obeyed instantly, and the tender service became obsessive kissing and suckling on his master's cock. After taking a whole fist, it was easy to shove every inch of master's meat down his abused throat, and when his chin contacted that heavy nutsack, the slave slobbered those, too. Bobbing up and down and sucking cock, providing the best service in the kingdom, all while slowly working two fingers up his master's musky crack.

There were more groans, oohs and ahs of pleasure, but mostly, Trueman silently enjoyed his slave. And his slave certainly wasn't talking. The only sounds of the dungeon were the usual choking and gulping that came with a blowjob--no--no, this was the sound of obedience. Of a broken bear and his new master, fucking him into apathy, grinding the tiny broken pieces of what was once Little John into a palatable dust.

The slave remembered everything. It was more vivid, somehow, in contrast to this. It was distant, but he could see who he was. The people he knew. The life he lived. The battles and principles and feelings and hopes--fuck it. Fuck it all. He couldn't begin to care about it, even if he knew how deeply he once did. None of it mattered compared to Master. Master's spit was worth more than anything from that once-life, and at any time, Slave knew his Master could blow the dust away.

He was eager for that, and he showed it by giving him the best blowjob he could muster. Two thick digits plugged and gestured inside that perfect ass, pressing into the prostate like a hot button, and that cock didn't stop getting its proper pleasure. Drool leaked down Slave's wide chest and arms as he choked, sucking and tonguing Howard's cock and balls. Slave was obedient. Slave was dumb. Slave was a perverted, twisted slut, but above all, he adored his Master. Slave wanted to show that too.

Without warning, the count grabbed both sides of Slave's face and slammed his cock somehow deeper, and it took all the programming in the brainwashed bear's brain not to gag. He was forced to bend backwards, halfway on the bed, as Master put both knees on it. Humping his mouth and suffocating him. Well, there were worse ways to die.

Luckily for the dumb bear, that wasn't Trueman's plan, and he found a more comfortable position that allowed Slave to breathe. Fucking him like a well-worn hole. Nobody would think he was a virgin only a few days prior. Maybe he wasn't. Either way, it was a proper wet mouth and soft throat to play with. Master Trueman was holding Slave's head so tightly, digging his claws in so deeply, one had to wonder if Trueman planned on crushing his skull mid-facefuck. Well, there were worse ways to die.

Again, luckily for the dumb bear, he was a sturdy toy, and his master was getting close to the edge. His harsh pumping slowed, and sped up, before slowing to a stop, and then, back to humping. Trying to make this last longer, closer and closer to the edge. The Slave thought nothing of any of this. He wasn't told what to think of it. He was focused on following the orders already given.

The whole time, Slave fingerfucked his master. Whether from that or the cock worship, before too long, the muscular bear above him shuddered. Freezing and silent, panting as warm liquid went down the slave's throat. Swallowing it or not wasn't a choice, that cock was far too deep--he couldn't even taste it. But it felt so fucking good, it did, feeling it radiate and illuminate his being, like being marked on the inside. Staining his soul.

It was nothing that flowery, in reality. Just two big bears fucking, one pulverizing another, but that's how it felt. Siding with reality, Trueman tapped his Slave's arm, forcing him to stop fingering. He was getting sore. With a short struggle and an oozing pop, he pulled his dick out of the slave's maw, tearing a weak grunt out of him, as the beast felt every detail of the thick cock stretching his maw pass his lips on the way out, thick tongue wrapped around it, almost trying to hold onto it, a few last spurts of bear cum streaking his face and open, panting maw, drooling a mix of spit and cum down his chin and neck. Slave didn't move from the awkward position of being bent back, and remained motionless. He felt simply incapable of doing anything more, body limp, mind numb, any control robbed from him. And once again, he felt Master's boot pressing on his cock. Looking up, he saw the glint of a predator in his Master's eyes and the rings of colors started to pulse more and more in his own. "We have a work to finish now, Big Lug. I was sent here to dispose of the bandit names Little John. It's time to get rid of him." More pressure on his cock and nutsack. The broken bear gave needy grunts starting to shake, yet his now embiggened member kept his mind busy with every little detail of the boot's sole pressed into his sensitive, rock hard cock. "You're a traitor, Little John. No one likes traitors. What I want is an obedient, loyal, completely devoted worshipping slave. Little John is not that. I want you to get rid of him. I want you to get rid of Little John. I want you to be Big Lug." The prisoner started to whine weakly, he had not blinked in many minutes now, eyes wide open and feeling the face of that evil bear searing itself in his empty mind. All he needed was Master Trueman. All he cared for was Master Howard. This had been sealed by the intense brainwashing. His past loves, loyalties, friends didn't matter. Only his Master mattered. Little John didn't matter. Perhaps he should just... Let Little John... The thought almost made him cum, his cock twitched at the mere idea, a thick wad of pre splattered over his chest, and his balls... They were churning, throbbing, something fierce. "That's it. I command you, Big Lug. Get rid of Little John." Standing in front of his broken slave, pants still open and cock throbbing, Howard grinned and gave his slut a strong, firm footjob, rubbing that sole up and down... "Cum him out." He finally ordered.

The castle's walls trembled, as a beastly bellow erupted from what once was Little John's throat. And finally, after those torturous hours, the creature finally came, in long, successive climaxes, draining, milking every ounce of his past, his mind and soul out, splattering his belly and chest with it, ropes after ropes. It went on and on, until the beast had completely drained his balls. Howard smiled, and there was a twisted, evil hint of affection here. "Who are you ?" "Master's Big Lug." The answer came emotionlessly, without the hint of a second to think about it. "Where is Little John ?" The beast grunted, seeming lost for a moment.. Then it looked down at his belly, utterly coated in his juices and scooped a pawful of it, webbing his paw and fingers, lifting it abit for Master to see, hoping this would be satisfactory. The Count gave a nod and a smile, and the exhausted bear fell back into motionlessness and silence. If not for the light motions of breathing, he could've been dead.

But, he wasn't, and after an unknown amount of time passed (it was all a blur, really) recuperating in the afterglow, Trueman stood from the mattress. Silently, not even glancing at the slave, he gathered his things. Clothes, monocle, bag, everything. Being clothed again felt nice, but a shower would be nicer. After double-checking that he had his objects in order, Trueman walked out of the prison cell.

It was only then that he gave a look to the slave. "I'll be back. Lay on the bed and sleep." And he closed the cell, not bothering to lock it.

Obediently, the slave grunted his affirmation, and moved his battered body into a resting position on the mattress. Just as obediently, he slept instantly.

Prince John was shocked when the Count entered his court the following morning. Little John, who was supposed to be imprisoned, entered beside him--and the giant oaf was buck naked. Or, nearly, if you didn't count a rope leashed around his thick neck. Sir Hiss seemed unsurprised though, and the Sheriff unwaveringly blank-faced. In that atmosphere, he was forced to suppress how he felt.

"Good morning," the Count said cheerily. "I hate to cut my trip short, but today will by my last here. Seeing as you've already paid me," he grinned seeing how that fact made Prince John cringe, "I'll be taking my servant home."

Sir Hiss seemed impressed, but Prince John had something else on his mind. "Neither of you will take one step out of my castle until you explain to me what's going on!" He roared, trying to take control of the situation. Fruitlessly, as none of the guards or bears were swayed.

"I showed him what I can do, and he felt his allegiances misplaced. Now he's mine." Trueman replied coolly. "And I'll prove it." He turned his head towards the chained ursine beside him, who stared at nothing and saw less. Glassy-eyed, stone-faced and head bowed. No thought to what was being said about him, his nudity, or anything else. It was only when the Count snapped his fingers that the slave grunted and lifted his head, as he'd been ordered.

"Robin never stays in the same place the same month. He's got thirty hideouts for the hot months and thirty for the cold. Hidden caches of food and tools. If you go to the edge of Nottingham forest, half-a-mile behind the blacksmith's, you'll hit a rock with red moss. Wait there and he'll run into you." The bear spoke hoarsely but clearly, making sure the instructions were good. "If he escapes or don't go there, he'll run to the river. If ya follow it from that waterfall where the ladies do their washing, you'll get him. And--"

"Enough!" Prince John said, throwing his hands up. "I'm impressed, Count," he said, unsure if he was overjoyed at this chance or furious at being proven a fool for doubting, "But I can't let you walk out until I have Robin Hood. No fox, no sale!"

Trueman didn't like being denied, but shrugged it off. He was staying on the Prince's dime anyway. For the Slave's part, they didn't seem fazed by their betrayal. Like a zombie, he kept his gaze half-lidded and bowed, not speaking unless ordered, doing and thinking nothing unless ordered, walking only behind his master to where the master went.

Little John's instructions would take at least two days to verify, and in those days, not once did his new demeanor waver. That was part of Prince John's reassurance that this was no act, helped by Sir Hiss's admiration of the man who did the enslaving.

None of the guards seemed to care about the crude, sometimes repulsive commands the Count gave. Sir Hiss certainly didn't. Quickly, it was as if the Prince was a ghost in his own castle, and he wasn't the one being ordered around.

"Feet," the Count would say. Nothing more or less, but Little John seemed to understand. With a grunt he'd get on all fours, face to paws, and don't stop worshipping unless told. The same was true of any body part. Prince John was forced to hear them all--Trueman made a point about using his slave publicly--feet, cock, armpits, ass. The first time it'd happened, the Prince was beyond disgusted, but after a few choice words from the Count, it was difficult to vocalize any objections.

Prince John hated the Count as much as the Count hated him, but the power was... Very interesting. He didn't enjoy his men going rigid every time the Count walked by or so much as sniffed in their direction, and the Sheriff was now proudly sporting a collar! A collar, of all things! But again, another conversation with the Count soothed the worries about anything too weird. It was natural for "stupid dogs" to wear collars, after all. Prince John did agree with that.

But, to the point, the ironclad charm the man had over everyone was enough to pique the Prince's interests, but how Little John--no, how the Slave, behaved, was what sealed the deal. Within the first day, he started imagining what it'd be like to have Robin that way. The delicious humiliation, after years of receiving it, to repay that in full--he'd wanted to execute him. He still did. But perhaps it could be more... Mental, instead of physical. Oh, there were a great many possibilities.

On the second night, awaiting the news of whether they'd captured Robin or otherwise--Prince John reluctantly popped the question. "What do you want in exchange?"

"For?" Trueman smiled, pretending to be oblivious.

Next it was the Prince's turn to smile, but this was a savage grin. A savage, full-toothed grin of lust, rubbing the front of his robes. "What you did to the bear, but worse. Stronger, that is. Nothing left but my every desire."

Trueman rolled his eyes, but kept the same smirk. A wide-eyed rhino guard ran in the room. "Two thousand coins," the bear said.

Prince John nodded, holding up one paw. "Two thousand it is."