Free Creations 4: Caging the Beast by Marie Harte Page A

Don’t disappoint me, Beast.”
    “No, Master Furon.” Relieved Furon meant to agree, Zachem bowed his head, something he’d normally refrained from doing to annoy Furon.
    “Excellent.”
    He forced himself not to shy away from the touch of Furon’s hand over his chest.
    Everything about the slave master felt wrong. The lingering graze of his palm over Zachem’s muscle burned, like an oily fire licking at his energy.
    Furon nodded to himself and pulled his hand away. “Three days. Then I want results.”
    “Yes, Sir.”
    Guards led Zachem out of Furon’s quarters and to the training centre.
    For the next three days, Zachem prepared with a ferocity he hadn’t used in years. He couldn’t help anticipating the fight. The ability to challenge a worthy opponent ate at him. To go one on one and not pull his punches or limit himself was in itself freeing. Furon hadn’t issued him any mandates on how long to allow the fight, or when to crush his adversary in which round.
    Zachem did miss Tarn, but not seeing the male also allowed him to focus better. He still hungered for Tarn’s touch, but he didn’t have to live right next to temptation. And during the nights, Six continued to visit. Zachem talked about his dreams, about his needs and his confusing desire for the confined slave master. Six didn’t judge him, didn’t do anything but sit and listen with an acceptance that stole its way into Zachem’s heart. When he finally left this place, he intended to take Six with him.
    Comforted by Six’s presence, he wondered how Tarn fared. Furon had been a man of his word. Zachem didn’t see Tarn at all, but he didn’t worry. Furon would take good care of Tarn. He needed Slave Six for the big fight.
    Before Zachem knew it, the night had come. Several other matches played out as the crowd revved up to see the bout of the season. The Beast versus Slave Six. Oiled down and dressed in a pair of battle trews, rak hide trousers that protected his groin and legs from waist to mid-calf, Zachem felt like a real warrior as he met Tarn, similarly garbed, in the ring.

    Tarn’s eyes glittered, and that strange inner lid blinked at him once, enough to tell Zachem Tarn also wanted this fight.
    Zachem licked his lips and watched Tarn’s eyes narrow, drawn to the motion. He adjusted his stance, and Zachem didn’t need to look to see that Tarn sported the same hard-on he now had. Excitement, anticipation, and the thrill of what was to come hovered just out of reach.
    Yorum announced them, and a ring echoed in the sudden silence.
    They stood there, gauging one another. And then Tarn pounced.
    The crowd went wild as Tarn and Zachem struggled against one another.
    “I’ll try not to hurt you…much.” Tarn grunted and pushed him back, grinning.
    “I’m not as nice. I’m going to hurt you, oh so good. And when this over, that ass is mine.” Zachem glanced at Tarn’s crotch and smirked. “I’m going to rip you open and fill you right up.”
    “Promises, promises,” Tarn ended on a breath as Zachem took him to the mat.
    They continued to fight one another, testing each other’s strength and agility as they danced out of reach while trying to connect with each other, fist to body. Both took care not to hit the other in the face, though Zachem wondered if Tarn’s reasons matched his own.
    Simply put, he didn’t want to mar that face. A silly reason, but he could do more damage to Tarn by hitting his body anyway.
    The bell rang, announcing the end of the first quarter. Then the second, the third. When the fifth bell rang to commence the fight, the betting in the crowd swelled as they cheered for the Beast and Slave Six. No one had thought Tarn would last as long as he had, not even Zachem. Impressed and not trying to hide it, Zachem grinned even as he fell under a compilation of kicks and blows to his mid-section.
    But just when Tarn had gained real ground, he pulled back, as if winded.
    Annoyed at what he knew to be pretence,