In the Cybercafé Booth, I Finally Became Antonella

The morning after that party on campus, I woke with my head turned into a whirlwind. It hurt from the alcohol, my body was burning, and above all I felt strange: guilty and aroused at the same time, with a thousand emotions fighting over a single inch of skin.

After fantasizing about it for so long, I had given myself to two strangers at the first opportunity I got. I didn’t regret that. What had me feeling awful was being so reckless, letting myself get carried away without thinking about anything—without protection, without restraint. I could still feel the dried semen stuck between my buttocks, the burning in my ass from being fucked by two cocks one after the other, my throat raw from sucking so much. Every time I moved in bed, my pussy throbbed, begging for more.

I had to wait several weeks to get tested. I spent them locked in my apartment, alone with my toys and my anxiety. I was constantly sitting with the dildo buried deep in my ass, jerking off my hard cock while thinking about those two guys, about how they had used me, about how they had filled me with cum. Luckily, everything came back clean, but by then I had a pile of university exams hanging over me for which I hadn’t studied a single thing.

University devoured me. My grades were a disaster, and the first round of midterms left me discouraged. I was studying architecture because I liked drawing, but the truth was I was devoting less and less time to it. Trying to relieve my stress, I ended up spending my nights looking at ads on my phone, app profiles, videos watched in the dark with the sound barely audible.

I curled up in the chair, checking the same ads for the fifth time. Private cybercafés. Reserved booths. Anonymous chat. Fear made me bite my lip, but the need weighed more heavily. I hadn’t had anything since the party, and my toys were no longer enough.

Besides, I needed to forget. Forget the results of those tests that had scared me so much. Forget the stress of my assignments. Forget that I didn’t have a peso left after my scholarship payment was delayed.

I need a real cock buried all the way inside me. I need to feel something other than this anguish.

And I took the plunge. I put boys’ clothes on over everything, tucked some heels, a wig, a skirt, and a few condoms into my backpack, and left without thinking about anything but pleasure.

***

The place was in the basement of an old building right in downtown Rosario, with lights so dim they barely outlined the corridors. The guy at reception didn’t even look up when I paid for an hour.

“Booth five,” he muttered, sliding a key across the counter.

The room was narrow: a chair, an old computer, and a little stool. One of the walls had a rectangular window covered by a black curtain. No cameras. No names. Just that opening and the hum of the fluorescent tube.

I went into the adjoining bathroom and transformed quickly. I took off my men’s clothes, adjusted my wig, put on my heels, and painted my lips a vivid red. When I looked at myself in the stained mirror, that frightened student was gone. She was there. I was there.

I returned to the booth, locked the door, and sat down. As soon as I touched the keyboard, the monitor flickered with a message.

“What do you offer?” the screen said.

My fingers trembled before I typed.

“Mouth. Ass with a condom. Bottom.”

There was a long pause. Then the reply appeared.

“Through the window. Knock on the wall so I know where you are.”

A dry knock against the partition made me shudder. I knelt on the stool, slid the curtain aside with two fingers, and saw a shadow on the other side. Nothing more. A silhouette and, in the center of the opening, a thick cock already erect, its veins standing out and its glans shining with precum.

It wasn’t huge or perfect. But it smelled of cheap soap and raw desire, and that was exactly what I had come looking for.

I took it in my hand and felt it pulse against my palm, hot and hard as a stone wrapped in skin. I licked it slowly at first, from the base to the tip, gathering with my tongue the thick drop bubbling from its little hole. The salty taste burst across my mouth, and I felt my crotch growing wet. I ran my tongue around the glans, sucking it as if it were a piece of candy, and he let out a muffled moan on the other side.

Then I opened my mouth wide and swallowed him whole, all the way to the back of my throat, letting the rough hairs of his groin scrape my painted lips. I gagged, saliva running down my chin, but I didn’t let go. I pulled him out only to breathe and put him back in, faster this time, my tongue pressed against the underside while my painted nails scratched the wall. The wood was covered in little marks, as if other mouths had sucked there before mine.

“Harder,” he wrote, and knocked against the partition again.

And I obeyed. I sucked him like a desperate slut, both hands at the base, jerking him while I sucked, deliberately choking so the back of my throat would squeeze him. I spat on him, licked along his sides, and sucked his balls hungrily, one by one, feeling them heavy and full of cum against my tongue. Then I swallowed him again, this time until my nose touched the wall, and stayed there with his cock buried in my throat, feeling it pulse. I heard the hoarse grunt muffled on the other side. It was anonymous, it was ugly, and I still got wet as a bitch in heat. That was exactly what I liked about it: he couldn’t see my face, he didn’t care about my name, he only cared about my slut’s mouth.

The second knock against the wall was more impatient. It was time for the reward.

I turned my back to the window and hiked up my short skirt, red like my nails. I pulled my panties down to my knees, licked two fingers, and pushed them into my ass, opening and preparing myself for him. I felt my own hole contract around my fingers and moaned. Then I took out the condom, opened it with my teeth, and rolled it over the cock trembling in the opening. I spat on it to lubricate it better, positioned it against my ass, and pushed backward, my legs steady on my heels.

He wasn’t gentle.

With one rough shove, I felt his cock split my ass open in a single thrust, all the way in, until my butt slammed against the partition. I screamed. It burned, it scorched; I felt myself being torn apart, and my fingers dug into the edge of the stool so hard my knuckles turned white. It was different from Damián’s cock, the guy from the party—thicker, more brutal, more animal. He began fucking me mercilessly, pulling almost all the way out and driving back in to the balls, again and again, making the entire booth wall shake.

“Moan, slut,” a hoarse voice muttered from the booth next door, as if he were spying on me through the partition.

And I did. I moaned shamelessly, yelping like a bitch every time he rammed me, pushing my ass backward to take him deeper, searching for the angle that made my prostate shudder. My own cock sprang hard between my legs, dripping onto the stool without anyone touching it. I put one hand on it and began jerking myself to the rhythm of his thrusts, feeling each one make me squirt more fluid.

“Give me more, you son of a bitch, break my ass,” I gasped against the wall, not recognizing my own voice.

He sped up, grunting, gripping my hips through the opening and digging his fingers into my flesh. His balls slapped against my buttocks with a wet smack every time he buried himself inside me. I came like that, with his cock hammering my ass and mine shooting thick streams of semen against the cold wall, the condom plastic creaking with every thrust and my forehead pressed against the stained wood. I clenched my ass around him, milked him with the walls of my hole, and felt him explode seconds later, filling the condom inside me with spasms that reached all the way to my stomach.

When he finished, he yanked his cock out, and the booth fell silent. No thanks, no goodbye. Just the curtain dropping back over the empty window, while my open ass still throbbed, lubricant dripping down my thighs.

I picked up my bag, adjusted my wig, damp with sweat, and left. It had been impersonal. Dirty. Anonymous. And yet I walked toward the exit with my back straighter than ever.

That day, a frightened student entered that cybercafé, but Antonella came out, proud to be herself.

And Antonella was going to come back.

***

That night, I had trouble sleeping. A thousand things spun through my head: university, rent, my new adventures, how to keep going with all of it at once. I liked studying, but I no longer recognized myself in that life. Antonella, on the other hand, took over a little more of me every day. I preferred staying in the apartment as her, in front of the mirror, rather than going to class.

I decided after turning it over and over in my mind. Despite having so little experience, I was going back to the cybercafé the next day—but this time I would start charging, whatever I could get. It frightened and excited me, and just imagining it made me horny. University would continue, yes, but with a different focus. She would be the one going more often, having fun and meeting men.

I resolved to save money, look for a cheaper place, and someday be able to be Antonella full-time. For the first time, that idea didn’t scare me. It gave me a strange calm, like when you finally admit out loud something you’ve known all along.

***

The fluorescent light flickered over the booths on the afternoon of my first day charging. I tightened my backpack strap over my shoulder and took a deep breath before going down the stairs. The place still smelled of cheap bleach and stale sweat, but it no longer disgusted me; it gave me a kind of familiar vertigo.

I had a pair of black Lycra shorts clutched in my jacket pocket. I only needed a few minutes in the bathroom to transform: take off my men’s clothes, put on the lace thong I had bought, and paint my mouth with the lipstick that had cost me a week of going without little treats. With luck, no one would notice how badly my hands were trembling.

The bathroom was empty. I locked myself in the last stall and changed quickly. When I came out, I was no longer a penniless student. I was something else, something I was inventing right then, in front of a cracked mirror beneath a buzzing light.

***

The first man arrived right away, as if he had seen me before. Dress pants, wrinkled shirt, smelling of cigarettes and cold coffee.

“How much, little girl?” he grunted, looking me up and down.

“Five for oral, ten for everything else,” I said, trying not to let him hear how much my voice was shaking.

“Who do you think you are, princess? All the girls here charge three.”

I bit my lip. This is worse than I imagined.

“Okay… three, then,” I murmured.

He chuckled under his breath, buried one hand in my wig, and shoved me to my knees against his body without any further ceremony. He smelled of alcohol and heat. When I unzipped him and pulled out his cock, it was already hard and thick, the purple glans peeking out from beneath the foreskin. He shoved it into my mouth all at once, without warning, down to the back of my throat, and held me there, choking me, tears clouding my eyes and my nose crushed against his trousers.

“Suck, slut. That’s what I’m paying you for,” he grunted, gripping my wig with both hands.

And he began fucking my mouth at his own pace, giving me no chance to breathe. He pulled out only for a second to let me breathe, then buried himself to the balls again, making the tip pound the back of my throat. Saliva streamed down my chin, my lipstick smeared, snot ran from my nose, but he didn’t stop. I heard the obscene sounds of his cock going in and out of my mouth, the glug-glug of my throat squeezing him. He didn’t look at my face once. He used my mouth like a warm hole until he let out a grunt, shoved his cock all the way in, and filled my throat with hot, thick cum. I felt every spurt strike my uvula and swallowed it all, because I had no choice. When he pulled out, semen was still dripping from him, and he rubbed it over my mouth and face before putting himself away.

He left some bills on the desk and walked out without looking back.

I stayed on my knees for a moment, my mouth full of the bitter taste of his cum, counting the money and feeling my heart pounding against my ribs. It’s done. I got paid.

***

The next one was burly and sweaty, a wedding band gleaming beneath the dim light.

“Five, and you swallow everything,” he grunted.

“Seven,” I demanded, learning the trade on the fly.

He grabbed me roughly by the nape.

“Seven, but I’ll fuck you properly.”

He didn’t let me answer. He turned me around against the wall, yanked my shorts and thong down to my knees, and spread my buttocks with both hands. He spat on my hole and rubbed it with his thumb, pushing it in to the first knuckle. He drove one finger into me, then two, without care, hurried, rough fingers scratching me inside. The pain made me clench my fists, but I endured it, breathing deeply through my nose. I felt him put on a condom behind me, felt him stretch it over a cock that sounded enormous from the snap of the rubber.

Then he drove it into me. All of it, until his fat balls smacked against my perineum, and I screamed into the wall. He covered my mouth with a sweaty hand and began thrusting into me without rhythm, pure instinct from a hurried male, gripping my waist with his other hand to drive deeper. I heard his belly smack against my buttocks, a wet, greasy sound that grew faster and faster.

“You’ve got such a tight ass, little faggot,” he panted against my ear. “I’m going to fill you up completely.”

I felt my own cock harden against the wall, painfully trapped against the wood. He moved more and more roughly, breaking me open from the inside, until he released a deep moan, sank his fingers into the flesh of my hips, and came in violent spasms that I felt pulsing inside the condom. He left it inside me for a while, breathing heavily against my neck, before pulling out with a jerk that made me close my eyes.

When he was done, he tossed a few crumpled bills onto the stool.

“Thank you,” I whispered, my dilated ass dripping lubricant down my thighs, though I could feel tears stinging my eyes. Not from sadness, exactly. From something more confusing that I still didn’t know how to name.

***

The third man didn’t bother hiding anything. He entered with heavy steps, growling something under his breath.

“Give me your ass,” he ordered.

“It’s ten…” I began, but he was already turning me around himself.

“Shut up and take it.”

No gentle words. Just rough hands spreading my buttocks, a thick gob of spit landing directly on my still-dilated hole, and the snap of a condom being unrolled. He cared about nothing but his own impatience. He drove into me all the way with one thrust and began fucking me like a beast, gripping my neck with one hand and my hip with the other, forcing my back to bend over the stool.

“Look at how your ass opens up, you filthy slut,” he growled with his mouth pressed to my nape. “You like having it shoved in you, don’t you? Answer me, slut.”

“Yes… yes, I like it,” I gasped, my eyes rolling back.

“Say it properly. Say you’re a slut who loves having her ass broken for a few pesos.”

“I’m a slut… I love having my ass broken…”

He said things I didn’t want to hear, and yet a part of me—the part that had come looking for exactly that—received them hungrily. He buried himself in me with violent thrusts that shook the entire partition, yanked my wig, and squeezed my neck. My cock bounced hard against my belly, and when he put three fingers in my mouth for me to suck, I came without touching myself, shooting thick streams over the stool. My ass clenched around him in spasms, and that drove him completely wild. He roared like an animal, drove into me as deeply as he could, and unloaded in three final thrusts that nearly threw me into the wall.

When he left me, my legs were trembling. He yanked his cock out, removed the filled condom, and threw it onto my back before pulling up his trousers. He tossed a large bill near my head and left without waiting for me to stand.

Once the door was closed, I cleaned the semen and sweat off myself with rough paper and felt my own ass open and throbbing, so dilated it barely closed. I counted all the money: considerably more than I earned in an entire week at any other job, in less than an hour.

My body hurt, my throat burned, my ass burned, and my head was screaming a thousand things at once. But in the bathroom mirror, before dressing as a man again, Antonella looked back at me and smiled. A strange, tired smile, but a whole one.

For the first time, I had earned something by being her. Not just money. Something harder to explain: the certainty that the woman in the mirror was more real than the boy who climbed back into his baggy clothes.

I put the stained thong in my backpack, tied my sneakers, and climbed the stairs toward the street, where night was already beginning to light up with lamps.

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” I promised the reflection in a low voice before turning off the bathroom light.

And this time, I wasn’t afraid to keep that promise.