Santo Diablo
Copyright© 2025 by FantasyLover
Chapter 1
Action/Adventure Sex Story: Chapter 1 - I'm reposting a story that I pulled from SOL and then edited to meet the slightly more stringent guidelines from late March of this year. I also changed the story's name slightly. Yes, I know Santo Diablo is Western Hemisphere Spanish, and Portuguese is the official language in Brazil. Tough tookies. Story of a spy who gets out of the business. He retires to Rio planning to use what he has learned to create the life he's always dreamed of. adventure, action, intrigue, and espionage.
Caution: This Action/Adventure Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa mt/ft Ma/ft mt/Fa Fa/Fa ft/ft Fa/ft Rape Lesbian Heterosexual Fiction BDSM Harem
Notice: This is a re-post of my 2010 story São Diabo. Aside from editing the story to meet the meet the slightly more stringent guidelines from late March of this year, especially the age restrictions, I changed the title to what I originally wanted to use. Yes, I know, Santo Diablo is Western Hemisphere Spanish and the official language of Brazil is Portuguese.
I knew the second I saw her that she was the one. In the last eleven days, I had followed nine women to their homes, each successive quarry an improvement on the previous. I knew it could be years before I found another woman like this one. She was a dusky beauty. At six foot even, she towered above most of the men around her, which intimidated many but made some more eager to climb her slopes and conquer her. She was lean and muscular, the muscle definition in her legs drawing every man’s attention when she strode down the path to the edge of the sand in her spike heels and short skirt.
Her taut, well-tanned ass made men salivate when she removed her cover, wearing only the skimpiest of thongs underneath. The loose-fitting, deep-scooped top she wore showed more cleavage than many women possess, and her more than ample, and completely natural, bosom nearly caused a riot when she blatantly removed her blouse. Her face was a wet dream, and her mouth practically begged you to stick your cock into it. Her long, luxurious black hair hung down her back. What didn’t was draped around her face in tight ringlets and would make for great reins in the bedroom. Best of all, she had that vulnerable look about her, like a maiden waiting to be saved from something ... or ravaged.
Dropping her blouse on her towel, she jogged into the water. I saw more people walking into each other or into an object than I could count as men and women alike forgot what they were doing to watch her breasts bounce. In an obviously oft-practiced move, she lowered herself into the water, stood facing the beach, and flung her wet hair backwards out of her face. The fantail of water she sprayed would have done a thunder boat proud. She stood tall, head tilted backwards, playing with her hair, seemingly oblivious to the fact that her breasts jutted straight up from her chest far enough they probably should have had warning lights for low-flying aircraft. The tiny triangles of cloth had slipped just enough to display part of both areolae to the transfixed crowd around her.
Apparently oblivious to everyone and everything around her, she wandered back to her towel and lay down in the sun, legs spread wide to allow the sun to tan her there while affording every passerby a private peek.
I quickly reviewed the tiny video cameras I had covering the parking lot to find out which car was hers and wasn’t surprised to find a video of her climbing out of a cherry red Ferrari, bodyguard in tow. Since my Lamborghini was parked only four spots from hers, it was a simple matter to plant a tracking device on her car by accidentally dropping my towel right behind her bumper.
For two hours I watched, suffering from the most painful hard-on I think I’ve ever had. When she finally began to get ready to leave, I strolled by, mimicking everyone else within a hundred feet, staring blatantly at her charms. Her bodyguard was miffed when I bumped into him. He would have been more than miffed had he known that I had just planted a bug on him.
I followed them back to her home, not exactly surprised to find that she lived in the biggest, most opulent villa in Copacabana, one I had seen before and had checked out. It was at the top of a good-sized hill. Each level of villas below it was slightly smaller and less luxurious than the previous. Behind it, visible far in the distance, the slums ... the favelas of Rio ... climbed other, higher slopes, looking down on the wealthy, and beyond them, the beaches of Rio.
I doubted that the inhabitants of the favelas took time from their daily struggle for survival, to think about the irony that the favelas looked down on the wealthiest homes. I’d hoped to acquire this villa even before I knew she lived there. From there, I could look down on all the other villas in one of the ritziest sections of town. It was a perfect setup for what I wanted to do.
I listened as her bodyguard ragged on her all the way home about flaunting herself like that in public and how letting even common men see her almost naked body shamed her husband. She just laughed at him. God, but she had a beautiful laugh. I was encouraged that she seemed to have little respect for her husband, guessing that she was another of the trophy wives common in Rio.
When they got back to the villa, I listened to the bodyguard whine to what I assumed was her husband about her antics on the beach. Again.
I heard the husband comment, “Don’t worry. She won’t be doing it much longer. Soon, I’ll be looking for a new wife.” The comment sent chills through me, and I knew immediately what he meant. The divorce rate in Brazil is significantly lower than other countries in the region. However, the accidental death rate among married women is significantly higher. Any man who could provide even the flimsiest evidence that his wife’s death had been an accident was home free. Sometimes it might require the greasing of a palm or two, but the going rate to look the other way was reasonable. I was going to have to work quickly.
Fortunately, the bugged bodyguard gave me all the help I needed. I recorded him bragging at his favorite bar on the way home, telling his closest friends how his boss was constantly leaving large quantities of cash around and how he’d pocketed several thousand dollars over the last few months.
I accosted him outside the bar as he was leaving. When I played the recording for him, I could see him blanch, even in the poor light. “What do you want?” he hissed in a hushed tone, looking around to make sure no one else could hear.
“Mr. Forssler is planning to eliminate his wife soon. I know a wealthy sheik who will pay $250,000 for her. Instead of killing her, I will make sure she disappears permanently. You will get $50,000 and I will let you have your way with her for an hour before I send her away. I will also provide a suitable replacement body to be burned to a crisp when her car crashes,” I offered. I knew I had him even before I finished my offer. The cash alone would have been enough to secure his cooperation. The chance to spend an hour fucking the body he’d been assigned to guard, one that had more than likely given him uncounted painful erections, was icing on the cake.
Nervously, he inquired, “What do I have to do?”
“When does she go to the beach next?” I asked.
“Probably tomorrow. She goes every day unless it’s cold or raining.”
“Just let me talk to her, alone. I’ll let her hear the tape of her husband planning to kill her, and convince her to fly away with me. When we get to the airport, I’ll drug her enough to keep her under control. You can use her then, and when you’re done, I’ll drug her completely, load her on my plane, and send her halfway around the world,” I explained.
“Okay, I’ll do it,” he agreed, practically panting.
“Same beach and same time tomorrow?” I asked. He nodded, way too eagerly. The bulge in his pants let me know what he was thinking about.
“By the way, what’s her name?” I asked.
“Corrina,” he answered, as I disappeared back into the darkness.
I spent hours that night researching my mark. His money was from a major embezzling scam he pulled in Europe before disappearing to here. Not expecting his trophy wife to outlive him, he hadn’t insisted on any type of prenuptial agreement. That meant his money and the house would all belong to her when he died.
I was at the beach early the next day, and when she completed her near striptease, I wasted no time approaching her. She looked apprehensively at me when I sat next to her. She was even more apprehensive when her bodyguard took a powder. When I explained what her husband planned, she burst into tears. She had found out only a couple of months ago that his first two wives in Brazil each died in an accident after about two years of marriage. Her two years were up in a month.
I explained what I really planned to do, as well as what I had told her bodyguard. At least that got a smile from her. Then she wanted to know what the cost would be to her. “Five million Euros,” I told her. “There are other benefits I hope to be granted, but the choice on those is entirely yours. Five million will seal the deal,” I promised.
“And these other benefits you hinted at?” she asked coyly, practicing her obviously oft used, totally blasé look.
“I would love to spend as many nights with you as you will allow. You will be a wealthy woman, and as long as you don’t remarry, you should live a long and accident-free life,” I answered.
“I think that could be arranged,” she replied, trying to appear nonchalant. I covertly gave her four items and explained how to use each one. One was a two-part transmitter. It needed to be placed in the same room as her husband’s computer to transmit everything to me. The second part should be hidden less than fifty meters from the first part and near a window.
The next was a panic button. Setting it off would alert me to trouble and allow me to track her anywhere.
The third was a ring that could deliver two single doses of a drug that would render a person unconscious almost immediately. Each dose would last about an hour.
The final item was a tiny tracking device she was to attach under the rear bumper of her husband’s car. “I’m looking forward to providing those extra benefits,” she whispered seductively when her bodyguard returned. I winked at him as I stood up to leave and he grinned wickedly in return.
Each of the next two days, I strolled past the two of them, looking to them for any sign that something was amiss. Everything seemed to be going okay. The only problem was the information I got from Mr. Forssler’s computer. According to his bank records, he was practically broke.
Although his expenses had been reduced significantly in the last two years, and he had found a new source of income, the barely one million he had left would be gone in a year or two at the extravagant rate he was spending it. Fortunately, he’d paid cash for the house and had no outstanding debts.
MONDAY Nov. 5
This morning, I motioned for the bodyguard to take a powder. As soon as he was out of earshot, I asked Corrina, “Are you ready?”
“I’ve been ready for three days,” she replied anxiously. We reviewed what she was to do, and then I got up and found her bodyguard. I reviewed with him what he was to do, then nudged his shoulder.
“Just think, in a few hours, you’ll be fucking her silly,” I whispered conspiratorially. His grin widened.
I hurried to my vantage point and waited. I’d watched several times when Mr. Forssler drove away from his villa. His drive down the road that wound and twisted its way around and down the hill could easily be described as suicidal. Granted, he was definitely a very skilled driver, but even I wouldn’t drive like that on a daily basis, only in an emergency.
I watched as he practically shot out the front gate of the estate. Good, the bodyguard had done his job and had phoned on his private line, telling him that Corrina had jumped into the yellow car of someone he didn’t recognize when she came out of the restroom at the beach. The bodyguard was supposedly in pursuit, talking on his cell phone while following them towards a small airport near the estate. Instead, he was in the car at the beach, visions of what he would soon be doing to Corrina’s naked body filling his head.
Right on cue, Mr. Forssler’s car sped around the sharpest curve and skidded, out of control, on the bag of groceries that had “accidentally” fallen from someone’s vehicle, spilling cheap wine, eggs, vegetables, and fifty liters of cooking oil across the road. His car broke through the safety barrier along the edge of the road, arcing gracefully through the air, barely clearing the top of the villa below before landing, bouncing, flipping a couple of times, and then tumbling end-over-end before rolling the last hundred feet. It came to rest wrapped around a large tree near the front gate of that villa.
The residents of the villa hurried out to the car. Good, the police would be there soon and with so many witnesses there so quickly, there’d be little or no suspicion of foul play. I assumed he was dead, but even if he weren’t, he’d be easy enough to finish off in the hospital, and Corrina would be safe. I continued to watch as the police and ambulance arrived. They loaded his sheet-covered body in the back and drove away slowly with no sirens. Now it was time to finish the charade and deal with the bodyguard.
The police showed up at the beach, took her aside, and told her of her husband’s demise. The shaken bodyguard vouched for her whereabouts for the last two hours, as did the lifeguards and a dozen men who had taken up positions nearby. Once the police left, Corrina went into her act. “I don’t care. I’m still leaving. Take me to the airport by the villa, Hermann,” she ordered. The gleam was right back in his eyes as he thought the plan was salvaged, and he dreamed about rutting between her naked thighs.
I met them at the airport, escorting Corrina into a small office there, winking at the bodyguard as I closed the door. Five minutes later, I let him in the office where he saw her slumped in the chair. “All yours,” I said, slapping him on the back. Feeling the prick from the needle I’d retrieved from Corrina, he looked at me with a betrayed, questioning look in his eyes right before he passed out and collapsed on the floor.
“Now what?” Corrina asked as she perked back up.
“Now you go home, and I take care of the bodyguard,” I explained. “I’ll come by tomorrow and we can talk business.”
“What about tonight?” she purred, pushing her voluptuous breasts against me invitingly.
“Okay, I’ll be there as soon as I take care of the bodyguard,” I promised. Shit, my dick was aching thinking about spending the night with her. I hoped that today would be the proverbial first day of the rest of my life. I didn’t want to get my hopes too high, but it looked like the dream I’d had since high school was about to come true.
As a kid, I always wanted to be a fireman or a cop. It probably had something to do with my mother being a do-gooder. She was always doing things to help someone less fortunate than we were or someone in trouble. Idealism collided with hormones in high school. My freshman year, we had to write an essay about what occupation we wanted to pursue after college. Notice the brainwashing technique of making everyone assume they would be attending college?
I actually thought about it for two days, wrestling with my idealism yet wanting to do something where I could make enough money to surround myself day and night with beautiful women. The second night I had gone to see the newest James Bond movie and my life was forever changed. I wanted to be a spy. No, I didn’t think that the life of a spy would be the same as it was in the movies. I wanted to learn as much as I could and use the knowledge and techniques to separate rich criminals from their ill-gotten gains. Where better to do it than in Rio de Janeiro? Rio was filled with rich criminals and beautiful women, just the combination I was looking for.
I had already made the football team, and for the rest of my time in high school, I played football and basketball, and ran track. I wanted to be strong, fast, and agile. I worked weekends and spent summers working on the ranch of family friends, both to earn money and to stay in shape. At sixteen, I used the money I’d earned and started taking flying lessons, becoming proficient at flying both single and multi-engine planes. I got my pilot’s license for my eighteenth birthday.
Graduating with honors, and lettering in three sports all four years, I received a full scholarship to a major university. While there, I continued with track, but did gymnastics instead of football and basketball. My counselor commented on my unusual choices for a dual major, political science and electrical engineering. Rather than explain, I just shrugged. I supplemented my high school Spanish and German by taking Russian and Chinese in college, two languages I was sure would hold me in good stead in the world of espionage. Off the record, I had learned Portuguese from a neighbor lady as I grew up, assuming that it would be helpful in Rio.
I continued working, adding a helicopter license to my repertoire. Four difficult years later, I graduated summa cum laude with a dual major. Two years later, I had my master’s degree in electrical engineering, and was one of the school’s top computer students. As I had hoped, I was snapped up by the CIA. They were impressed with my overachiever attitude, my documented mastery of four foreign languages, my physical conditioning from sports, and my pilot’s licenses.
I started out with boring translations, eventually working my way up to analyzing satellite photos, and then working even higher up the ladder. My first chance to actually work in the field turned out to be more than I could ever have hoped for. Ignoring my advice, my “experienced” partner led us into a trap. It was only because of my quick thinking and physical ability that we escaped unscathed and unidentified, even managing to complete our assignment.
My field assignments gradually became harder and riskier. I quickly learned how to identify cash that was unaccounted for and how to make it disappear. While learning to hide the cash, I learned how to handle, drain, and juggle offshore accounts.
I was shocked when my boss asked me to become a double agent. Nervously, I agreed. I gambled when I presented myself to the Russians and told them I’d been assigned to become a double agent. They were both dumbfounded and impressed by my audacity. Like the CIA, they started me off with small things, and like the CIA, they were impressed with the results, eventually trusting me with tasks that were more complicated. I knew that they were watching me and made sure I cleared everything I leaked back to the CIA before doing it.
I watched from inside the Iron Curtain as the Berlin Wall crumbled, noting flaws and weaknesses in the internal structure of the KGB. I was fully prepared well before I got the assignment that changed everything. Worried about information that was being leaked to US and British intelligence by a highly placed mole, I got an assignment they didn’t dare give to anyone else. The information being leaked was information I had no access to, and I was out of the country on assignment when some of the events occurred so they knew it couldn’t have been me.
I was dispatched to China to help a Chinese scientist defect to Russia. He had supposedly perfected some new interrogation drug. He was worried that giving it to his superiors would lead to his sudden demise in order to prevent the information from getting out. When I found out what he had, I knew I couldn’t let the Russians get their hands on it ... or the Americans for that matter. The Chinese assisted me with the problem, showing up while I was in his lab. We had about ninety seconds warning before they arrived. I grabbed the formula and instruction disc, replacing it with a blank one.
Telling him that I would wait outside in ambush to free him when they brought him out, I escaped. I did wait in ambush, but made sure he didn’t survive the ambush either, and that his lab and all of his work was destroyed. I managed to pocket a small sample of the drug and a vial of each of what I thought were the two other precursor chemicals he had before torching his lab.
I was stunned on the trip back when I reviewed the disc. He’d progressed even farther than an interrogation drug. Using a second drug after the first would make the victim believe anything you told them and follow any instructions you gave them. The third vial contained a drug that, if taken ahead of time, would prevent anyone who took it from being affected by the first two drugs.
My superior was excited when I got back as I reported that neither the scientist nor his work had survived the destruction of his lab, but that I had the information on a disk. While he was poring over his computer, I pricked him with the ring I always wore, drugging him and rendering him unconscious in seconds. Once I completed his second course of chemicals, he quickly told me everything I needed to know and transferred both the money he had siphoned off for himself, and much of his operating budget to my offshore account, then promptly forgot about doing it. While I still controlled him, I had him copy hundreds of their most sensitive documents for me.
Then he called in his second in command and I drugged him, also draining his private stash. I left them with instructions to sneak out of the country, take a private plane with a kilo of C-4, and explode it over the ocean several hundred miles from land. I made sure that there was no record of my ever working for the KGB, and made it look like someone had taken the politically embarrassing files. I wanted this to look like a split between the two factions in Moscow politics: the hard line Communists and the new democracy-oriented politicians.
The two top men in the KGB had so much dirt on so many people in both the old and the new government that their disappearance was more of a relief to everyone than a concern. Everyone assumed that someone else had done the deed. The fact that all their personal files had disappeared with them, as well as over $500 million, was lost on everyone. They were too concerned about the top-secret files that had been compromised. The theft of those files became the impetus for the new government’s sudden openness and honesty, admitting many past misdeeds that the previous regimes had adamantly denied. Their relief later at finding the files containing their ultimate top secrets still intact and apparently undisturbed lulled them into a false sense of security.
Copies of those secret files had been my parting gift to my government, as well as the names of two highly placed moles in the US government, gifts for which they were exceptionally grateful. They claimed to be grateful enough to remove me from their database (no, I didn’t believe them, so I did it myself a year later), and create a new identity for me. That identity suddenly disappeared in Turkey a week later. Before leaving Turkey, I looked up a chemist I’d dealt with before and had him make batches of the three chemicals for me. I had used the last of my original samples on him to secure his cooperation and to ensure his silence.
I spent an hour in the marketplace before finding what I needed. I carefully opened the seals on the three clear bottles of juice, refilling them with the first chemical. The two blue bottles were filled with the second compound, and the one green bottle was filled with the third. Each bottle was then painstakingly re-sealed so that it looked like it had never been opened.
The new Turkish ID disappeared back in Russia. That one disappeared in Pakistan, and so on, back, and forth across the globe in countries where it was easy to obtain anything for a price, and even harder for an outsider to ask questions. My two least favorite forgers were my last two stops. I used part of the contents of the three refilled sample bottles on them.
They’d never be able to tell anyone about my being there or the about the disguises I had used to hide my features, especially the next to last disguise when I left Malaysia disguised as a woman.
My next to last stop was a plastic surgeon in Argentina where my natural roguish good looks were transformed into something of which my hero James Bond would be proud. My final stop was the stolen money capital of the world, Rio de Janeiro. After three months of living on the beach in a suite in a 5-star hotel, my preparations were finished. The homework that I’d done when I still worked for the CIA by doing background checks on the nouveau riche elite of Rio was about to pay dividends.
After disposing of the bodyguard’s remains, I headed for the villa. Corrina met me at the front door, lounging seductively against the doorframe in a short, yellow dress that exquisitely displayed her legs and much of her cleavage. “Took your time,” she teased.
An attractive young woman hurried over. “I’m sorry, I should have gotten the door,” she said anxiously.
“It’s okay, Marta, I was expecting Mr. Hyatt. He’ll be spending the night.”
“I’ll prepare a guest room,” Marta said as she turned to leave.
“That won’t be necessary, he’ll be staying in the master bedroom,” Corrina replied dismissively, but with a grin. The momentary look of shock on Marta’s face was quickly replaced with a muted grin. Before she scurried away to her other duties, Marta gave me the once over as if she was sizing me up as a potential sex partner of her own.
“Marta likes you. That’s a good sign. She’s a very good judge of character,” Corrina commented as she led me into the house.
Habit had me watching and assessing my surroundings carefully as we toured the house. Hormones had me watching the provocatively swaying ass in front of me. Good thing I could do two things at once, a trait that had served me well in my former profession.
“So, what do you think?” she asked, turning to me as we reached what was obviously the bedroom door.
“I think a guy could get a severe neck injury watching your hips move while you walk,” I answered.
She grinned, pleased with the compliment. “I meant about the house,” she chided playfully.
“I think the house is exquisitely decorated, displaying obvious wealth without being gaudy or ostentatious,” I answered.
Our lips met the instant the bedroom door clicked shut. By the time we came up for air, my tongue had traced and memorized every inch of her sexy mouth and my hands had done their own survey of much of her exterior. She ground her pelvis back and forth against my rock-hard cock and taunted, “I figured that you’d at least have my clothes off by now.”
“In due time; I figured that I had a better chance of being invited to spend a second night if I made sure that you enjoyed tonight as much as I’m sure I will,” I explained.
I undressed her slowly, tasting every inch of her body as I uncovered it, noting the spots that made her shiver and shudder. She sighed longingly when my tongue slipped between her labia to taste her arousal, and gasped when it teased her anal pucker, thrusting back ever so slightly, inviting further exploration. That went onto my list of things to do tonight. She pouted when I made her remain still while I stripped, a pout so sexy I almost took her right then.
She was surprised when I led her to the shower, more so when I washed and conditioned her long, lustrous hair before washing and teasing her body, and then performing a taste test to make sure I got all the soap off. She insisted on returning the favor, and between her talented mouth and my over-excited state, I quickly filled her mouth, watching as she swallowed all of it, grinning salaciously up at me from her knees the entire time. I surprised her one last time when I drew her up to me and kissed her, tasting the residue of my spend in her talented mouth.
She moaned her appreciation while I carefully combed her hair, planting teasing kisses and nibbles all over her neck and shoulders while I did. When we finally reached the bed, her breath hissed in between her teeth when I buried my tongue in her dripping sex, lapping up her piquant sex oils and making her scream when she orgasmed. Seconds later, Marta rushed into the room to check on Corrina, blushing and apologizing when she realized that Corrina was fine.
Corrina made no move to hide her nudity or our positions, and I took my cue from her. Corrina motioned Marta over and Marta sat carefully on the edge of the bed. “Marta, his tongue is every bit as talented as yours. As thoughtless and inconsiderate as my late husband was, he is the exact opposite. He has spent the last hour doing nothing but pampering and pleasuring me,” she sighed.
Those were two interesting bits of information. “Do you mind if Marta joins us tonight?” Corrina asked me. I’m sure my wide eyes and anticipatory grin answered for me. Marta was definitely a gatinha ... a very pretty girl. I don’t think she could have been more than sixteen, and that was probably pushing it. The thought of her nubile body naked and entwined with Corrina’s naked body practically set me off again. “Join us,” Corrina told Marta, who was naked and in bed with us in seconds.
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