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Little John was in a heaping load of trouble!

Robin Hood, his partner in crime, and he had been scouring the main road cutting through Sherwood Forest in search of a wealthy traveler from which to "borrow" a healthy bag of coin when they ran into the hated Sheriff of Nottingham and his posse! The two outlaws were making good on their escape, leading the fat wolf on a jolly chase over streams and through thick copses, when John the big brown bear made a critical mistake; daring to take his eyes off the path and look behind them he stumbled over a protruding tree root and went toppling head first into the trunk of an oak, knocking himself out cold!

When he came too, he found himself suspended horizontally from a stout oak branch, held by ropes looped under his shoulders, middle and ankles. His ankles and wrists had been tightly bound, and they'ed even gagged him with his own belt. He growled viciously as a large hand reached under his chin and lifted his head up until he was looking into the smug, cruel face of the Sheriff.

"Well Oo De Lally," he said in his high-pitched, cracked voice, "looky what he got here! Good thing ya got such a hard head, pal, otherwise I might not have tha pleasure o' deliverin' ya ta tha hangman."

He bopped the struggling bear's nose patronizingly with a pudgy thumb. "Now, Ah was gonna ask ya ta make things easier on yerself an' jus' tell me where we can find that criminal buddy o'yer's, but Ah can see in yer eyes y'ain't gonna tell me without alittle persuasion. Lucky fer you Ah think Ah know tha perfect thang! Nutsy, Trigger, git yer feathery behinds o'er here! Tha rest o' ya can head back ta tha road 'til Ah send fer ya."

As the 10 wolf guards under his control marched off, the two vultures --Nutsy, hood of his purple cloak pulled up over his head, and Trigger, cradling his precious crossbow-- who served as the Sheriff's right and left-hand men moved quickly next to the helpless bear and stood at attention. The fat wolf let his captive's head dropped as he sauntered down to where his feet hung helplessly. John gasped as his enemy hooked a thumb into the rim of his brown softshoes and whipped the leather coverings off in one feel swoop, exposing his massive, sweaty, padded soles to the summer breeze.

"Whew, how long's it been since ya washed these," the Sheriff said.

The bear grumbled into his gag, but his protests came to an abrupt stop as his captor teasingly rubbed the pad of his index finger slowly all over his upturned right sole! He desperately fought the smile that wanted to break his lips and the giggles that threatened to bubble up from his throat, but he couldn't stop the involuntary twitching of his pudgy toes.

"Uh oh," the wolf said, smiling as it seemed his personal favorite interrogation method was already starting to work, "seems like tha mighty outlaw may be jus' a liddle bit...ticklish, huh?"

The brown bear felt a fearful shiver run up his spine at the hateful word! He had no idea how the secret of his biggest weakness had gotten out, nor how it had gotten back to the Sheriff, but at that point there was nothing to be done about it.

"Trigger," the fat grey wolf shouted suddenly, taking his teasing finger away from the sweaty paws in front of him, "drop that darn peashooter o' yer's an' do yer job!"

"Yessir, Boss," the vulture said, throwing up a quick salute that somehow managed to send a bolt from his crossbow flying straight up into the sky.

He gingerly sat his beloved weapon against the trunk of the oak and took up his position facing the bear's paws. Little John screamed suddenly into his belt gag as the birds wings, dozens of feathers each, began brushing rapidly up and down his broad soles! He flailed his feet and wriggled his toes wildly, but it didn't matter. With so many plumes at once, there was no way to protect his excruciatingly tender foot flesh.

John's face, already red with laughter and exertion, grew more red as he felt the sadistic wolf lift up his green tunic, exposing his nether region to the open air, and reached between his legs, grabbing his flaccid cock. Much to his embarrassment, he felt himself growing hard in his hand despite the life-threatening situation he found himself in.

"Nutsy, yer up!"

"Right away, Sheriff!"

The hooded vulture sank down to his knobby knees and scooted under the thrashing bear. To John's utter shock he felt his erect member become encased by a hot, wet mouth. Moans shaded his tormented laughter as the bird's textured, pebbly tongue stroked the underside of his shaft. His heavy balls slapped a hard beak chin as the bird of prey's head bobbed enthusiastically up and down. He was surprised to realize he was already close to an orgasm despite the torture his tender paws were going through.

Before he even knew it was happening his back stiffened and he roared into his gag as an orgasm rocked him, pouring thick, creamy seed into the beak under him. As amazing as it felt, however, his pleasure was shortly lived as he realized with horror two things: one, his feet seemed to have somehow doubled in sensitivity, every single plume feeling as though it had been replaced with a dozen more, and two, the bird under him hadn't released his member after he came, in fact he seemed to have redoubled his efforts! The fat wolf, whom he hadn't even noticed move up to where his head was, must've seen those facts dawn on him. A hand on his chin lifted his head up once again until he was no longer looking at the ground, which had already grown moist with the dripping mix of sweat and tears pouring from him, but into the Sheriff's cruel, yellow eyes.

"Bird's got quite tha mouth on him, don't 'e? That's why we call 'im 'Nutsy,' ya know, 'cause he could suck a whole army dry an' still want more! I've given him orders ta milk ya fer as long as it takes, so I hope ya enjoyed that first load, yer in fer plenty more!"

While still keeping a firm grasp on his captive's chin, the Sheriff produced a feather --John managed an indignant grunt amidst the hysterical laughter upon noticing it was the small yellow feather from his own cap-- and teasingly stroked it back and forth under the bear's nose. The fronds of the plume found their way into his nasal cavities, irritating the delicate hairs inside until the outlaw sneezed violently into his gag, eyes squeezed tightly shut. No relief was to be found, however, as the fat wolf, a cruel smile stamped on his villainous features, continued, forcing the bear to sneeze several more times until his nose was drippy and inflamed. At some point he'd shot a second load down the vulture's throat, but it was impossible to tell when.

A grunting noise made him open his eyes, his vision blurry from tears at first but it quickly came back to him, allowing him to see the, in his opinion, distasteful scene in front of him. The feather that had been tormenting his snout was clutched between the wolf's teeth, and the hand that had been holding it was down below his waist, pumping in front of him, holding something else. He moved his eyes down and saw in an instant what was happening; that disgusting beast was fucking one of his shoes!

His anger was quickly replaced by fear as he realized just how much the Sheriff was enjoying his torture. The hated tax collector didn't care, at least at the moment, about asking him questions about Robin Hood, he cared about taking out his frustrations on his helpless captive!

As he reached this horrifying conclusion the Sheriff unleashed a mighty howl, filling one of John's brown soft shoes with his pent-up cum, squeezing the last drops from his shaft. With a sadistic chuckle he stuck the small feather inside it and quickly shoved the used leather paw-covering over the bear's snout, cinching it off at the top so no amount of head shaking could flick it off! As his enemy walked off behind him the poor, tortured bear's eyes rolled back in his head, his weakened constitution overwhelmed by the sharp, harsh scent of the fat wolf's jizz and his own powerful foot odor. Every time he thrashed his head it caused the cum-soaked feather inside to brush against his sensitized nose, making him sneeze again. He came a third time as Nutsy began to devilishly brush his overworked testicles with his wing feathers.

A fourth orgasm came as Trigger began to slide his wing feathers between the bear's stubby, thick toes --he tried his best to clamp down on them to stop their ticklish assault, but only succeeded in making the sensation even worse-- and nibble his wide, meaty heels at the same time. The tortured, hypersensitive brown bear shrieked into his gag, eyes bulging, as the Sheriff pried his round, meaty, jiggly asscheeks apart so he could teasing stroke his suddenly twitching asshole! As his pudgy finger broke through and the tip found his prostate John came a painful fifth time, dribbling what couldn't possibly be more than a few drops of semen at this point into the hungry vulture's beak.

By the time the Sheriff began to work a second finger inside him, Little John, thoroughly broken, would've willingly hunted down and turned Robin Hood in himself if it meant an end to his torture.

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That most charismatic and affable outlaw, Robin Hood, peered slack-jawed from his hiding spot in a nearby cluster of bushes at the treatment his partner-in-crime and best friend, Little John, was receiving. As much as the slender fox's heart went out to the big brown bear --he knew just how sensitive the poor bloke's paws were-- he couldn't stop himself from staring. He reached down and gave his erection, throbbing and pressed almost painfully against his green tunic, a squeeze before unbuckling his belt. He'd let loose his arrows and rescue his friend...in good time. First, there was a slightly different shaft that required his attention!