Faceless Stranger

The erotic fantasy story filled my ears and my horny mind as I filled my mouth with his cock all while humping his leg. Fiction and friction always got me feeling wet, swoopy and out of control. I would grind hard, moaning for relief as I abused my engorged twat. He would wait for me to come, either by the humping friction or aided by my fast and furious fingers.

I was almost always good for a second O, and he knew it. While my breasts were heaving and my pussy was filled with echoing orgasmic vibrations, he would take me at my most vulnerable point. I would be tossed into his preferred sex position of that night, my tits squeezed and my juicy pink void would be filled with his manhood. I would beg him to fuck me hard, just like the babe in the story. I begged him to fill me with cock and explode inside of me with his white, hot sperm. "Get me, get me," I'd beg, "I want to feel your cum squirting inside me," I'd tell him and he'd lose control with my dirty talk. I loved to make him climax with my words and be rewarded with a hot, gooey, sexy mess dripping from between my thighs. Those were always memorable and satisfying, slow-burn lovemaking sessions, filled with fantasy and passion.

I caught myself; I'd vowed to never think of that wretched rounder again. I was here in the middle of the Pacific to forget about him - about us. I was in a mood to massage my dainty parts, but in no mood to include my ex- in this solo experience. I would invent a new fantasy, an image of me as a powerful, single woman who owns her body and has been called by the divine for a sacred sexual purpose.

Inching out further along the timber shaft, I indulged myself with a new fantasy. I imagined that I had just mounted the world's biggest penis. It was the erect male sex organ of this green island mountain and it was trying to penetrate the feminine turquoise waters below. I was riding the humongous penis of this island's earth god, coaxing him to be hard and stiff by my gyrating hips, encouraging this massive earth god to copulate with the expansive vagina of the sea goddess below.

It was working, my sacred love nectar was flowing from me. I worked my juices with lustful thrusts, feeling the tingling between my hidden lips as those warm fluids were forced up by my grinding movements to bathe my throbbing clitoris. I had been chosen to unite my aroused earth god and his sea goddess in a thunderous, simultaneous volcanic orgasm. In my fantasy I was the wounded-heart healer, and through my pain, I had been given the divine power to bring together earth and sea in a beautiful sexual union with healing sexual energy. It was my mystical revelation that this was the purpose for my heartbreak and my purpose for being here.

I was enraptured by my fantasy identity as a woman of healing sexual power. My uterus was warm and melty, a building, wholesome pre-orgasm percolated through my body, increasing my desire to get a better view of the sea beyond the island's rim. To watch the blue waters below as I reached orgasm, was to become one with vast feminine energy stretching to the horizon. I dipped and bounced as I crept out for a better view. The trunk wrapped beneath my legs met my driving plunges with a springing response that felt sexual. I was fucking a wooden log that had transformed into an enormous, living, throbbing and bobbing tally-knocker. Riding the phallic peter-totter at the edge of the forest primeval had me ready to implode...

Crack!

My manly timber ride snapped and dropped with a sharp jolt, tilting toward the shore below. With a lurch, it skidded to the edge and teetered there, stopped by some miracle. I was pointed head down, dangling at forty-five degrees facing nothing but eighty feet of air in front of my nose. Should I lose my grip, I had only air before me - until the moment gravity would take over and splatter me across the coral rocks at the base of the cliff. Gripped by intense panic, my eyes locked shut.

Instinctively, I dropped to press my tits tight to the log. Terror-stricken, I dug my fingers and knees into the once solidly attached pole, embracing it like life itself. I was too frightened to scream. I was alone on this trail, no use in screaming like a helpless, impulsive chick, even if I could.

I feared heights. My knees go rubbery when I look over long drops. My legs and arms were shaking, I was terrified that if I tried to move, I'd dislodge this precarious perch to which I clung. I kept my eyes closed, hoping I would not see my death coming headlong for me. It was futile to see myself getting out of this alive. The image of me falling and being dashed to pieces below had seized my emotions. I feared that if I opened my eyes, I would be compelled by a perverse terror and hopelessness to release my grip and fall to my death into the sea.

I regretted not calling Sis first and letting her talk me out of coming here. I was sorry to disappoint her with my impetuous decisions and my death.

***

"Hold on, Miss. Don't move, you are in a very delicate position - I suspect you do realize that by now."

Silent tears flooded my eyes, I had too many feelings to handle. Was that a real voice? Might I be rescued?

Was somebody there? What if he made a mistake and accidently pushed me to my death instead of saving me? I was still terrified. I was wobbly, unable to bring myself to look through open eyes at my perilous position. My chin quivered, my breathing was shallow, hard and panicked.

"Miss, you must stay calm. Can you check your emotions? No rash or impulsive movements. You must do everything I say. You understand?"

I was too scared to respond. Everything I did of late was rash and impulsive.

"Fine, don't say a word, just listen and do what I tell you."

"Miss, give me a moment, I am going to have to tie myself off to a secure tree. I will rescue you just as soon as I can. You must not move, stay very still until I get down to you."

I was afraid. I was afraid my heart was beating so loud that its percussive thumping would knock loose my log and send me into freefall. I was afraid I would be asked to do things that I could not do, even if I wanted to. I was afraid I was going to die before he got to me.

My rescuer was behind me, "Can you see the rope in my hand?"

"No," I said in a weak voice. "If I open my eyes, I will fall."

"Miss, you must look at the rope I'm offering you."

"I can't. If I open my eyes, I'll die. I can't look."

He had every right to be exasperated by my irrational denial of his help and lack of reason, but he remained calm; "We can't have you dying, can we?"

"Hold still," he said, "I'm going to tie myself off and then reach out and pull you to safety."

His hand seized my ankle. I was seized with terror. He tugged my leg. I hugged my log.

"I have you, let go,'" he commanded.

"I can't. I can't, I'm too scared. If I let go and look down, I will fall. I can't let go."

"Miss, you're like a horse inside a burning barn, it is damned hard to lead a mare out of danger if she sees the flames. I am going to blindfold you. Then you will have let go so I can haul your humpin' little arse back on solid ground. This is no place for a proper lady, and I don't think you're in a position to argue, right?"

With a tug that pulled my hair so that my stiff neck bent back, he knotted a silky kerchief over my eyes. "Miss, I count to three, you release and I save you. Agreed?"

"One, two-," he yelled, "Let go!" He yanked me backwards with a strong arm wrapped under my tummy. I sensed the log beneath me come loose, launching airborne between my legs, rumbling over the edge. There was a crunching, splintering sound from far below a few seconds later.

"Was that noise my log dashing against the rocks?"

"End of your nasty little ride, Miss." He paused, then surprised me with a thrust of his powerful arm between my legs, jerking me into the air and slinging me over his broad shoulders. "I've got your ticket to your next nasty little ride."

I found myself sprawled tits down across my rescuer's upper back with his bicep wedged in my crotch, his forearm pressed against my butt, his fingers bunched around the waistband of my shorts. I was a mess, having hit the most extreme emotions in my life in the span of two minutes; the sharp terror of imminently falling to my death replaced by the stratospheric euphoria of being rescued. My legs were still weak from my perilous predicament, my knees lost all their starch with the thrill of the rough, secure and dominant handling by my rescuer.

What did he mean by telling me, 'I've got your ticket to your next nasty little ride?'

Struggling to gain his footing, he climbed the slope balancing a foolish girl over his shoulders in a one-handed fireman's carry, while holding the tied-off rope for stability with his free hand, staggering up the incline to pull us to safety. I was relieved and overwhelmed with feelings of security and admiration of his strength and assured voice. I was flush with a swirl of emotions, not only deep gratitude, but an intense desire to throw myself naked upon this man who'd plucked me from danger and death.

Breathing heavily, he carried me to the safety of level ground, unloading his burden by easily swinging me to a standing position, which I was unable to maintain. My knees buckled and my butt plopped down on the trail. Now that I was safe, I lifted my hands to remove my blindfold. His calloused hand grabbed my wrist, knocking my arms back to my side. He growled a stern warning, "Leave the blindfold on."

Obedient to his demand, but puzzled, I replied, "I'm still pretty shaken, but it's all right, I can look now, I won't fall to my death from here."

"Leave the blindfold on. It's better for me if you don't see my face."

***

"Why? Why can't I see the face of the man who rescued me? I owe you. I'd love to see my hero, I owe you big time, even my life. I feel I need to give my hero the gratitude he deserves. I'd like to offer anything, anything that you might enjoy as your deserved reward." As I thought about paying this stranger my gratitude, a peculiar mix of shyness and raw, submissive sexuality pumped through my body.

"I'm not a hero," he answered with a terse verbal punch.

"Then what are you? Are you a wanted man? Is that why you're keeping me blindfolded?"

"Leave your blindfold in place, because you're a girl who asks too many questions. You're the kind of girl who throws up words. Your mouth and your eyes will cause me trouble." He moved behind me and tightened my blindfold. Grabbing the waistband of my shorts, he lifted me to my feet and pushed me so that I was leaning against the fallen log.

I protested, "No I'm not. I will do whatever you tell me, I won't be a problem. I just want to see you so I can thank you. I promise I will do whatever you say. You saved my life, I owe it to you to not be a problem. Don't you believe me?"

"No. You're trouble." He poked his finger on the bridge of my nose, "You're trouble from here to here," as his finger went from between my eyes to my lips and then he pushed his hand between my legs, "to here."

"What? What do you mean?" I blurted out, not sure where my lifesaving stranger was taking this conversation.

"I watched you, you're the kind of girl with the kind of a clit that gets her in big trouble. Right Miss?"

I threw my hands up to pull the covering from my eyes, it was another rash and impulsive move on my part, but his reflexes were quick, catching my arms and pinning them behind me.

"I said you're trouble. You said you weren't. Who's right?" He seemed more amused than threatened.

Holding my wrists tight, he leaned over and whispered in my ear, "Who's right, MIss? Me or you?"

"About what?" I asked, trying to avoid being cornered into admitting the kind of girl I really was.

He pressed his question, "Who's right about you being trouble, me or you?"

Still not wanting to answer his direct question, I hesitated then deflected the question, "I think I deserve a chance to see you. We have a bond between us now..."

He twisted my wrists, I winced in discomfort. "Stop," he whispered in a low, commanding masculine voice. "No, this is what you deserve." Still pinned in his grasp, he maneuvered around me searching for something and then he slipped a rope around my wrists and tied my hands behind my back. "Yes, you are correct, there is a bond between us, do you feel it?" He laughed as he snugged the knot.

"Without further adieu, what is your answer; who's right?"

"Maybe you are," I replied in a submissive voice.

"Maybe?" He repeated, yanking the knot around my wrists. "Maybe?"

"I am trouble," I confessed. "Mostly I seem to get myself in trouble, but maybe I cause trouble too. You're right, I am trouble. Okay?"

He laughed to himself at my admission. "I watched you get yourself into trouble. I watched you make love to what must have looked like a massive boner to you. I'll bet you are a lonely girl with a naughty, nagging nubbin enjoying one massive sex fantasy. I watched you hump up and down on this old tree, grinding and sliding along as you toyed with your pussy. I think you must have a fat, tingly twat that made you get into deep, fucking trouble. I enjoyed watching you enjoy yourself on your nasty little ride."

"What were you doing watching me?" I asked, a little embarrassed and a little more turned on by the idea of having shown off to a mysterious voyeur.

"When I heard you coming along the trail, I slipped back into the forest, waiting for you to pass before I got back to my business. But you stopped and mounted that log in front of you like a horny cowgirl mounting a bull's cock. You entertained and then aroused me with the way you wound your body, shoulders, hips and legs around your large, wooden sex toy. Miss, you were a pleasure to watch - it looked like you almost came to a glorious climax just before you almost went over the edge."

"Yeah, what a way to go, huh?" I offered a shrug.

He snickered, "You were so close. So close to the edge, a metaphorical and physical edge."

"So, you had the pleasure of watching me trying to get off, but you said you were on 'business' before I came by; mixing business with pleasure are we? What kind of business?"

"You're a girl with a lot of questions. You're going to get into trouble with those questions."

I shrugged, "I'm already in trouble. I am rash and impetuous and I am willing to risk getting in big trouble to get some answers. Such as, why can't I see your face?"

There was silence. I wasn't sure if I'd made my savior-turned-captor mad, or if my aggressive honesty and question had changed the dynamics with him.

Finally he answered, "Private business. Private pirate business."

"Bullshit! You're a pirate?" blurting out another of my impetuous responses. "There aren't any more pirates sailing on the high seas - where's your pirate ship? I suppose you've blindfolded me so I don't report your ship to the authorities. Hah!"

With a perturbed tone, he asked, "Have you ever heard of an 'orchid pirate?'"

"No."

"Have you ever seen an orchid pirate?"

"No."

"Good," he growled. "I'm going to keep it that way," twisting the knotted blindfold behind my head for emphasis.

"So, I was just saved from falling over a cliff by an 'orchid pirate?' What the hell kind of a man is an orchid pirate?"

"You've got a lot of personal questions - questions that are going to get you in trouble I fear."

"So, maybe you should gag me to keep out of trouble." I knew my mouth was saucy. I was acting rash, knowing I was flirting with trouble - and I liked it.

"Miss, don't think that I haven't already thought of that. But, I'm not going to gag you because I love to listen to a woman's moans as she gets close to the edge."

His words had an ominous character. I was unsure of what he had implied when he said; he liked hearing my moans as I 'got close to the edge.' Was he a sadist about to dangle me over the cliff again? Was he threatening me, or was he seducing me in a rough and dominant manner? Was he really a pirate?

"Have a seat, Miss," he said as he lifted me by my shoulders and dumped my ass on the solid lower part of the downed tree trunk; the half that hadn't snapped off and was still laying across the trail. I was impressed by his strength and the ease in which he tossed my body high onto the log behind me. Pirate or not, he was a powerful man who could, and probably would, have his physical way with me.

"Sit there and be still. Don't flap your lips or you'll lose your balance and get into more trouble. MIss, you get into trouble as easy as falling off a log backwards."

My thoughts were scrambled, trying to figure out what the situation was between me and my oddly secretive rescuer. I had to ask, "Are you going to leave me here and disappear back into the jungle on orchid pirate business?"

"I told you, I've got your ticket for your next nasty little ride. I've seen too much to leave you sitting alone on this log where it all began for the two of us. Sit still, I'll handle you as I please once I finish coiling my line."

"Do pirates always carry rope around in the jungle on their pirate business?" I asked, knowing I'd been told not to 'flap my lips.' I was curious about my rescuer and didn't mind provoking him, it made it interesting.

"I do. That's why I am the world's most successful orchid pirate. There are ninety-four, or ninety-six species of documented orchids growing in the archipelago of Palau - depending on who's doing the counting. But I have discovered another three undocumented species of orchid, species that prefer to grow on the faces of these cliffs. I have discovered them because I have these ropes and mountaineering skills that no one else has used to search for orchids growing on steep and dangerous ledges."

"Why the secrecy and the ropes?" I continued, "I've seen orchids for sale in the grocery stores in Chicago, they're pretty, but I don't think they're worth the kind of effort you seem to be investing into your games of orchid piracy."

"They're not." He was blunt. "I don't traffic in Easter corsages. I find and smuggle rare orchid species to a select clientele of collectors. They pay well for my services and the risks I am taking. The aesthetics of orchid collecting appeals to my interests in discovery, and it pays better than narcotics, besides, the penalties if caught, are less severe."

"Have you ever been caught?"

"I believe I've told you, you ask too many questions; questions that are going to get me and you in trouble." He left it at that. We were silent for a long time. I had a sense he was just looking at me, leering at me, as I sat blindfolded and bound with my hands behind my back.

I couldn't stand the silence. I broke it with a statement, "Hey, I'm sorry that I interrupted your orchid pirate business. But I am grateful that you saved me. I hope you find a really pretty, rare and valuable orchid."

He snorted. "I've got a good idea where I want to look for my next delicate orchid. I suspect it is a nice flowery pink-petaled orchid, filled with dewy, fragrant nectar. Do you think I will find the pretty pink orchid I'm desperately wanting if I look between these two limbs?" He ran his fingers simultaneously up my bare legs to the hem of shorts.

His touch and his question was startling; a mix of fear and creepy along with excitement and a curious fantasy to be with a faceless stranger while I had no control.

"What are you planning to do with me?" I asked another question, even though I knew I had no control in this situation, it was a question I thought he should answer.

"I'm a pirate. What do you think pirates do with girls that they catch secretly tickling their delicate orchids on an old log?"

From all I had heard, pirates were interested in raping, pillaging and plundering. They also had an outsized interest in 'booty' and chests filled with rubies and such. I was apprehensive and said nothing.