The Power Trip

The earliest experiments with orgone accumulation had taken place early in the twentieth century, been inconclusive and the research had, for a time, been discredited. In the early Noughties, with increasing fears of a fuel shortage leading to wars and bizarre alliances between states, a bright science student called Willie Carver - or Carpenter: some records of his life are inconclusive and his eventual fate remains unknown - read an account of orgone theory and began to experiment on his own account. Willie C made far more progress than the original theorists had ever managed, and soon had enough to go public with his discoveries. By 2009, the earliest orgone accumulaters had been tested and had demonstrated that the energy released at the moment of orgasm could be harnessed and used to power a lightbulb, a digital clock and, to the amusement of the media, an anal vibrator. In the early Teens, Orgone centres began to appear in towns and cities, and O-power was soon in use wherever possible.
The only drawback that anyone could see was that the ability to generate orgones was not universal. It had nothing to do with one's sexual skills or indeed the frequency of one's orgasms, but appeared to be a genetic variant, impossible either to acquire or to lose. Compulsory testing was proposed in Parliament, and rejected in favour of a seductive propaganda campaign. It was believed at present that approximately one in eight people was able to generate orgones during their sexual climaxes. The O-Centres offered the successful a range of t-shirts with slogans such as 1 in 8 Don't Hesitate or 12% Better In Bed. Though the T-shirts were made of good quality blacklight fabric, the young and fashionable seemed to dislike them, but the centre technicians defiantly wore theirs, whether in fact they themselves had O+ potential or not.

Matty still had his 12% Better t-shirt at home, but he rarely wore it. He supposed that some day soon, cosmetic O-implants would be marketed, though what good that would do anyone, he failed to see. There were still times when those who had the implants tried to conceal them, not wanting to be bothered with intrusive questioning, not sure how strangers felt about O-technology, whatever.
He had never thought about it very much, as the saying went, until it happened to him. There had been a girl on the fringes of his then social circle, with the distinctive circle defiantly visible on her shaved head, but he hadn't known her well and, even then, had felt a kind of delicacy about questioning her in too much detail. He'd seen some of the propaganda films - who hadn't? - but he was having a hard job reconciling their instructions with the vague symptoms he had begun to experience whenever he got turned on, the sensations that his partners didn't seem to share. In the end, the bald girl had watched him drop three drinks in the space of ten minutes, crossed the bar to stand in front of him and looked him full in the face.
"Better get to a centre, mate," she'd said, and left the room. He wasn't sure he'd ever seen her since.

Not long afterwards, though, he'd found himself pushing apart the black metallic doors under the flashing red and violet sign and stammering out his confusion to a serene receptionist who he still thought might have been a Reconstruct of some kind. He'd been sent to the third room on the left and told to strip, and to wait.
There was not much in the room: a low seat-module with a computer terminal on one arm of it, a long couch upholstered in a soft, smooth black substance and over it a bizarre contraption that Matty guessed must be the O-Machine. Other than that, there was only a hook in the wall to hang his clothes and this he made use of before lying face down on the couch, his head on his folded arms. The room was pleasantly warm and, rather than the odours of sweat or disinfectant that one would usually expect in any kind of institution, it smelled faintly of cut grass, and Matty thought of summer days, adolescent experimentation in the fields at the edge of town, and smiled in spite of himself.
There was a tap at the door and a woman came in. She had hair fairer than his own, piled up under a neat white cap and the dress she wore was artfully anachronistic: short, white, full-skirted with a red cross on the straining bodice and a nipped-in waist. He wasn't sure there had ever been nurses who dressed like that to mop up vomit and tend the dying, but something about her outfit seemed to speak directly to his body. She smiled at him and sat down at the computer module.
"Don't worry," she said, her voice a breathy purr. "This won't hurt a bit."
She asked him a variety of simple questions, his name, age, status, a little on his sexual history, and then, having inputted his answers, got up and pressed a discreet switch on the wall. Lights flashed in the thing above the couch, and it descended slowly from the ceiling.
"All right," the nurse said cheerfully. "Turn over, please."
Matty felt a blush suffuse his whole body as he turned over, knowing she would see the last thing he wanted her to see - that the strange situation had simply terrorized his cock, and that it nestled soft and shrunken against his thigh. Her smile, however, was sympathetic rather than sneering.
"This happens a lot, you know," she observed. "But not to worry, that's what I'm here for."
From some compartment at the head of the couch, she withdrew a pair of white latex gloves and pulled them on, flexing her fingers in a way that made Matty's cock begin to stir in spite of his embarrassment. With one gloved hand, she undid the top two buttons of her tight white dress, revealing the smooth curves of her breasts as she sat down again, sideways on so she could lean forward over the table where he lay. She wrapped her free hand round his cock and squeezed it gently, then took his hand in hers and placed it on the top of her tit. He gasped, then groaned.
"It's all right," the nurse encouraged him. "Let me help you, that's right, let me help." Matty felt his cock harden rapidly and shut his eyes for a moment, then opened them again.The nurse was wanking him steadily now, leaning over the table and pushing her breasts in his face: he touched them, fondled them, felt her nipples harden. He risked one look up at her face, saw no sign of an O-implant, but then all thoughts of that fled his mind as the tip of her tongue skated over his cockhead and her lubed, latex-encased finger slipped gently into his arsehole. He heard himself cry out as his body jerked and twisted and great jets of spunk sprayed the nurse's face and clothes. Above him, he heard the machine emit a low hum that suddenly rose in pitch, then gradually dwindled away.
"I love my job," the nurse sighed, sitting back and licking her lips.

Corinna rubbed her forehead and made her way slowly to the bar, intending to order another drink. She felt foolish and out of place, away from home even though she had not been to her family home for some time. Her mother had given her the talisman she wore on the day she left and, though she didn't believe in it, she felt obliged to wear it. The job had finished two days ago, and she knew she ought to be looking for another, but she couldn't summon up the energy. She gripped the talisman and then let it go, feeling even more stupid. Had her mother seen something, detected something? Or was her mother just going with the flow, keeping in with the views of the neighbours? Corinna had heard the jokes, heard the stories, even seen one or two of the propaganda films, and on one level of her mind she was fully aware of the implications of her headaches, her restlessness and strange dreams. She asked for her drink, paid for it and swallowed a mouthful. Without a job, she was in trouble. Without a job... In her pocket was one of the small plastic cards available on the bar, in any bar, in station waiting rooms, in shops and civic buildings, with the letter O large in red and purple and gold, and on the back a list of numbers to call for information about the nearest clinic.
There was a prickling sensation up the back of her neck, followed by a sense of something rushing through her body. She shivered, looking up in the direction of a small, fair man at the other end of the bar. He had been looking at her, she was sure of it. She looked again, aware she was staring but not really giving a damn. She wished he would raise his head so she could see if she was right about what might be glowing and gleaming in the centre of his forehead. Her nipples felt tight and hot, and there was a loose trembly feeling in the muscles of her thighs.

Looking up almost in spite of himself, his head still full of memories, the touch of latex-encased fingers on his throbbing cock, Matty saw the talisman-wearer gazing at him and was struck by the confusion and distress in her eyes. He got up and went over to join her.
"Buy you a drink?"
He half-expected her to call him unpleasant names or rebuff him coldly, but all she said was, "Yes, thank you. I'll have a.. uh... a Moonfruit, please." He almost said something snappy but got hold of himself in time and signalled to the barman. As he looked back at her again, the girl took the talisman from round her neck, sighed and shoved it into a pocket.

In the hotel room, paid for on an hourly basis by Matty, the girl told him her name was Corinna, and undressed a little hesitantly. Undressing himself, he reassured her, caressing her arms and shoulders before kissing her stiff, swollen nipples. She gave a little soft gasp of excitement as he led her to the bed and laid her down. Her body was as good as he had originally suspected, and his cock reared up in deep excitement. He was determined to take his time with her, licking and stroking, working on the soft globes of her tits for a long while, avoiding her quim even though her thighs were straining apart and her hands had, more than once, made tentative, desperate gestures towards what must be an almost volcanically superheated clit. When she was moaning aloud, he kissed the hollow of her throat and then moved slowly down her body, licking a path from her chest to her navel and then, finally, brushing a kiss across the moist curly hair that covered her mound. She drew up her knees, displaying the dripping pink cleft and showing him the erect nubbin of her clitoris, and he darted the tip of his tongue across the little pearl as he slid two fingers inside her and heard her squeal. She came almost straight away, thrashing and crying out, a spurt of her cuntjuice filling Matty's mouth, and he held her hips and kept on licking.
When her body stilled a little, he raised himself up, rose over her and drove his cock smoothly in between her puffy, parted lips, sinking home easily and kissing her mouth as her legs came up to lock round his back. It was a fast, frantic fuck but good nonetheless, Matty thought in the last seconds before he exploded inside her, feeling her pussy convulse on his cock as the implant in his forehead hummed and grew briefly hot.

"Does it hurt?" Corinna asked the question softly as she reached out to touch the gold-rimmed red and purple dot on his head. Matty laughed. "No. Never. It doesn't hurt when they put it in, it doesn't hurt when it's charged, it doesn't hurt when you discharge it. The worst you ever get is a little bit of a headache when you need to do the business. And that's nothing to the headaches you probably get, running around without one."
Corinna was glad of the dim light in the room, though she knew this man would be unlikely to mind if he saw her blushing. She lay back in the bed, biting her lip. "So, you really think I might be - you know, like you," she whispered, and felt his hand skate lightly across the surface of her mound.
"I know you are, sugar. I know you are. I'll take you to the clinic myself if you like."

Despite Matty's reassurances, Corinna was miserably nervous as she waited in the warm, pink-painted room at the clinic. She had assumed that he would be with her all the way through the testing, that it would be done by machinery, not that he would be left outside while she waited for a human technician to attend to her. Naked, as instructed, she sat on the edge of the comfortable couch, kicking her feet and resisting the urge to bite her nails. The door opened, and a woman appeared, and it took all Corinna's willpower not to get up and flee at once.
However, the technician, a slim brunette in a simple white coat and white sandals, her face lightly made up, was so serenely reassuring that Corinna found herself lying down on the couch quite contendedly. She closed her eyes, steadying her breathing, and answered the progressively more intimate and embarrassing questions quite calmly, lulled by the other woman's soft, husky voice. Finally, there was a pause, and she heard the technician standing up.
"You can do it by yourself, if you like," the woman said. "If you don't like to use your hands, we have a selection of sterilised toys in this cubbyhole. Or I can help you, if you would prefer."

"I...Uh...I'm..." was about all Corinna could manage, but the technician simply smiled sympathetically. "It's all right, a lot of people feel like that. Please don't worry, just relax a little bit." She was opening a hatch at the head of the couch as she spoke.
"It's all very easy and safe, just take it easy, let me help you." Now she had something strapped to her hand, a small pink rubbery device that made a faint buzzing noise. As Corinna lay rigid with confusion on the couch, the woman began to massage her arms and shoulders and then her thighs with the vibrating toy. The sensations were not unpleasant, and Corinna abruptly lost her embarrassment: really, she was acting like a silly teenager. The technician was bending over her, moving the little toy here, there and everywhere, and Corinna felt her pussy opening and moistening again. She pressed her thighs together, and heard the woman murmur encouragement. Then warm hands eased her legs apart, and she was aware of the lightest of fingertip caresses on her labia which made her whimper with a sudden frantic need. There was a louder buzz and then the startling but welcome sensation of a large vibrator being pushed inside her suddenly-greedy hole. The technician began to suck and lick Corinna's nipples as she worked the sex-toy in and out, in and out, and Corinna clenched her fists, feeling the orgasm building up inexorably, knowing it was going to be a big one when it happened, and the vibrator was buzzing faster and louder and she couldn't keep still any more, she couldn't control herself, and she was screaming in the tiny little room, screaming and jittering and drumming her feet against the couch, all but drowning out the sounds of the orgone machine as it registered a strong positive reading.

Part Two
Peach was humming to herself as she sat on the high stool behind the counter.The song, a hit before she was born, had recently been re-performed by an all-female band and seemed to be everywhere at the moment, probably because of it's O-friendly interpretation, the lyrics all about high voltage when lovers touch and kiss. Matty had offered to source her a copy of the original; he was into all that ancient music and knew just about everything from the end of the last century and the start of this one.Peach switched from humming to outright singing as she finished the last of the fiddly beadings on the collar of the dress she had made, a flashy shift in one of the new fabrics, red shot through with gold and the beaded collar carefully and subtly portraying the widely-recognisable O-symbol in purple.At the other end of the counter a glass case held several shelves of jewellery; necklaces, nose-studs, ear-cuffs, armlets and loops and chains for more intimate piercings, many of them featuring the O-symbol in some shape or form. Naturally, there were random patterns as well, little sprites, little Grays or fairy forms; hearts, daggers and the rest.Peach saw no need to restrict her creativity to any one area.
Slender and fair-skinned, Peach had high, proud tits and a sweep of reddish-gold hair that went with her name. This little shop was hers, paid for in sweat, hard work, stress and now, given the generous grant from the government that had been offered when she told the people at the O-centre that she didn't want to give up her business, kept more than solvent by plenty of orgasms.
Peach shook out the finished dress, then put it on a hanger and crossed the shop to add it to a rail of similar dresses and shirts, surveying her small domain as she did so. Three clothing rails, one on each side and one in the window, visible to the passers-by under the swirling modern graphic that announced the business as Peachworx; the counter, the little doorway that led through to the kitchenette, stockroom and loo, a changing cubicle and, in a similarly curtained alcove to the left of it, emitting a faint hum, pristine and new, her very own Orgone Accumulator. Any customer who chose could pay in O-energy rather than cash or credit, and Peach had found that being the only clubwear shop for six miles with such a facility had done wonders for her business. Of course, it also took away the need for regular Centre visits on her own account: she'd topped up her O-card that morning when she woke up from a horny dream, stumbling sleepily downstairs and letting herself into the darkened shop, where she pulled the curtains across the booth, squatted and masturbated vigorously, stimulating both cunt and arse with her fingers until she'd climaxed three times before making use of the machine.
Of course, one of the fringe benefits of having the O-facility in the shop was that, if a customer wanted to use that method of payment but had not had an orgasm that day, they might very well require Peach's assistance. More than once, a substantial sale had been improved by some vigorous fucking in that tiny little cubicle. She had developed a sneaking suspicion that one or two of her customers were buying rather more than they really needed in such a fashion, but it certainly wasn't in her to complain.
Back behind the counter, she took a Powersweet from the tin by the till and sucked on it, relishing the odd aniseed-like flavour. Life was definitely good this summer morning.
Then Matty walked in through the door and Peach decided that life was getting even better.

It was just over a week since Matty had met Corinna and helped her unleash her own O+ potential, and he had spent last night in the new flat she'd rented herself with the first substantial deposits of O-credit she'd been earning. Despite what she'd told him about her background - a family from the outerlying suburbs, a Church-inclined neighbourhood and a mother who was thoroughly uneasy about the new technology, Corinna seemed to be adapting rapidly to O+ life. Now she didn't have to worry about getting herself a well-paid job, she was considering which of her favourite hobbies she might like to pursue in more depth. Matty sincerely hoped that he might get to be counted as one of those hobbies, and was beginning to feel that it was more than likely he and Corinna would spend plenty of time together in the future.
However, the excitement of a new affair wasn't going to make him neglect his other friends, and it was more than time, he'd reflected after breakfast, that he caught up with Peach and found out how she was.
He admired her for a moment through the shop window before strolling through the door. Her tits were thrusting against the tight sparkly blue fabric of her top, and her legs in the brief white shortie-pants seemed to go on forever. He could tell, too, that she had shaved her muff recently and wore no underwear beneath the little white shorts. He pushed open the door and went into the shop, holding out his arms to his second favourite girl.
Peach flung herself forward with a shriek of excitement, whizzing round the counter to crash into his chest and they met with a bump and a brief, hard hug.
"Where the hell have you been?" she asked, kissing his nose. Matty squeezed her tightly, letting his hands move quickly down her back to her lovely bum as she nestled against him.
"Oh, around and about," he murmured. "How's things with you?" Peach had the usual collection of good customer stories and gossip to regale him with, and chattered away as she brewed them ginseng tea. Matty let her talk, just interjecting now and again where necessary, until she stopped, took a deep breath and said gleefully, "So, who is she then?"
Matty was startled despite himself. He knew Peach was perceptive; what he hadn't fully understood was how obvious his current good vibe actually was. He began to tell Peach about Corinna, conscious as he did so that his body was remembering as much as his mind was, and that his cock was hardening all over again, as it had hardened rapidly that morning when he woke with it nestled between Corinna's buttocks. He'd begun gently stroking her breasts, and she'd moaned in pleasure and ground herself back against him, lifting her leg to allow his tool smooth, easy access into her moist, welcoming slit. It had been a leisurely, languid fuck, a perfect way of easing into the day, tugging on her nipples and listening to her soft moans as her pussy muscles flexed and flowed around his steadily-pumping cock until both of them tensed, their cries reaching an equal sharp pitch as they orgasmed simultaneously.
"She's really taken to it," he now told Peach. "You know how some people get really freaked out at first." Peach rolled her eyes.
"Yeah. I knew a girl back in Tower District who said she felt like a freak all the time. She hardly ever used O-credit, and she got awful headaches. I don't know what happened to her in the end. But she had that whole big thing about sex being immoral unless you did it with the lights out or whatever."
"Poor bitch," Matty said. "Must have been rough. But maybe she met someone who could sort her out, sort her head out. I mean, Corinna's mother had her wearing one of those Church things, only Corinna told me she'd never been that bothered about it really."

Finishing the last of her tea, Peach licked her lips, and glanced down at her nipples, which were beginning to protrude visibly against her little top.
"The Church lot are full of shit," she muttered. "The whole thing about the O-machines is that they make life better for everyone, not just us. And it feels so damn good!"
She was feeling good. She was genuinely thrilled for Matty, who she thought needed a regular girl in his life, even though exclusive relationships were not common among those with O+ potential. She herself had no wish to be tied to any one individual, she much preferred to take her pleasure anywhere she could get it. She smoothed the bright fabric over her breasts and grinned at Matty.
"So, babe, is this a business trip, a pleasure trip, or a social call?"
"All of the above," he replied so pompously that the pair of them choked on their giggles, and didn't subside until Matty sucked on his finger and thumb then used them to pinch Peach's erect nipple through her top. He increased the pressure as she leaned towards him, her lips parting in a gasp of anticipation. Getting a grip on the nipple despite the slippery fabric shielding it, he led her towards the alcove where the Accumulator waited. She hadn't bothered to lock the door: her customers knew that if the curtain was drawn across that alcove, she'd be with them shortly and they should simply wait.
Matty pushed her against the wall and hitched up her blue top, baring her tits and dipping his head to kiss and then bite her now fully-erect nipples. Peach herself undid the snap fastening of her little white shorts and let them slide down her long, smooth legs. He reached down to stroke her pussy, enjoying the soft warmth of the newly-shaved mound, reaching lower to part her lips, which were stickily wet, and touching her clitoris very lightly. She was undoing his trousers now, tugging them downwards and freeing his cock, running the tip of her finger over the head of it. Matty knew he was very hard, his balls hot and heavy, precum already beginning to ooze from the tip of his penis. One of the benefits of the O-implant seemed to be this perpetual readiness, so that only a little stimulation was needed to arouse you fully, even if you had thought yourself drained before. He kept on fingering Peach as she fingered him, flicking her clitty with his fingertips as she hissed and gasped, then tweaking it between index finger and thumb while he probed further and lower with his middle and ring fingers.
"My arsehole," Peach whispered. "Matty, fuck my arse, you know what that does to me!" She broke away from him and, supple girl that she was, bent over and clutched her calves, legs spread so that her arse cheeks separated for him. She was so hot and wet that Matty could use her own pussy juice to moisten and open her anal ring. He fingered her bum for several minutes, rubbing himself with his other hand, keeping himself at a peak of hardness while Peach took over the job of diddling her clit. She was trembling now, and he knew she was ready, so slowly he began to ease his prick up her butthole. Peach, her breathing slowing as she relaxed to give him access, tentatively pushed back against him and he took hold of her hips. Slow, slow, steady, easy, Matty worked his way inside the hot, tight tunnel, murmuring encouragement to the girl who writhed against him. Only when he was fully inside and her hips were jerking and her moans getting louder and deeper did he give in to his urge to thrust, pumping her arse, biting her shoulders and the back of her neck. She'd got her hands on the wall of the cubicle now, balancing herself so she could push back harder, she was grunting and groaning, telling him how good it felt, her words gradually losing coherence until she stiffened and yelled, tossing her head from side to side in what was clearly a powerful climax. Matty fucked harder, feeling his balls slap against her bottom, enjoying her abandon, letting it take him all the way there to the moment when the spunk exploded out of him and the pair of them stumbled limply forward, the back wall of the alcove temporarily forced to bear their combined weight.

When she'd asked for more information about the club Matty wanted to take her to that night, he'd been aggravatingly mysterious, Corinna thought. All he would really say was that she should dress up and she would enjoy it more.
In the short space of time since meeting Matty and getting her own O-implant, Corinna had not give much thought to clothes. In her past life, as she was beginning to think of the time before discovering her O+ potential, clothes had been a matter of what was cheap and what was practical; light loose garments in whatever colours caught her eye. She was beginning to realise that the O-people on the whole dressed far more extravagantly, at least if they were in the mood to party. Matty had shown her some things he'd bought from his friend Peach, and gently recommended that Corinna check out the other girl's shop, but Corinna wasn't sure she was quite ready for that yet.
Today, she was wearing black silk-effect trousers, a pair which she knew flattered her legs, because Matty had told her so. She'd got on a pale pink top in the same fabric but, daringly, she hadn't covered up its clingy tightness with a jacket or overblouse before leaving home. Now, she stopped by the Transitway station and slipped her O-card into the autoteller machine to check on her credit. She'd allowed herself plenty of time to visit the nearest Centre before embarking on her shopping expedition.

There were more people in the Centre than on her last visit; some of them emerging in twos and even threes from the row of doors that marked the O-Facility cubicles. Several smiled in Corinna's direction; she returned the smiles but was still a little too shy to engage anyone in conversation.
These cubicles were a little smaller than the Assessment room she'd been in on her initial trip to the Centre, but they were pleasant and comfortable nonetheless. Corinna slipped out of her clothes and hung them on the hook by the door. An open cupboard contained a variety of toys, with a small green light glowing on its lid to show, as she'd been told, that everything had been sonically sterilized prior to her entering the cubicle. Next to the green light was a gold button which could be pressed to summon a Centre worker if she wanted any assistance of any kind. Corinna smiled to herself and examined the toys before choosing two: a small vibrating wand and a tapering, wide-bottomed anal dildo. She lay down on the soft pink couch, placing the things on the convenient shelf to her left. After a moment or two of deep breathing, she began to play with her own breasts, stroking and squeezing them and pinching her nipples. The delicate buds soon stiffened, and she eased her thighs apart as she felt her pussy begin to tingle, moisten and open up. Still only using her fingers, she caressed her labia, stroking the soft folds and occasionally, daringly, letting her fingers draw her juices towards the tight rosebud of her anus. She could feel that rarely-touched orifice tensing and relaxing, quivering with excitement and, careful and slow, she took the anal toy and began to nudge the tip of it in through that clenching ring.
Raising her legs for ease of access, she took long, steady breaths as she worked the column of silicone inside with one hand, using the middle finger of the other to titillate her clitoris. The minute she had achieved full penetration, she lowered her legs and reached for the vibro-wand.

Eyes closed, Corinna let her imagination wander; Matty fucking her over the bonnet of a city-car; Matty licking her arse; the technician from the Centre letting Corinna fuck her with a strap on; an assortment of nameless strangers touching her, stroking her, showering her with spunk, pushing their fingers deep inside her aching wet quim... She turned the vibrator up to its maximum setting and began to fuck herself with it, rocking backwards and forwards on the couch so the dildo in her arse moved in and out, in and out, and both her holes were filled and stretched, and her heart rate had speeded right up now, and her cunt juice was smearing over her thighs, and she could hardly get her breath, and there was that extra delicious throbbing in the centre of her forehead and - oh, oh, oh! She was coming with a succession of high-pitched yelps and her feet were drumming against the soft smooth fabric of the couch and it felt so incredibly nice. That was bound to have boosted her credit rating up to the maximum level.

Feeling good in every fibre of her body, Corinna retraced her steps towards the Transit, a bag in each hand carrying a small but pleasing selection of clothing and footwear. Just before she ducked into the entrance, she spotted a small shop selling confectionery and featuring a Broadcast screen, and decided to catch up with the headlines and get herself something sweet to eat for the journey home.
Inside, the shop was shabbier and dingier than she had expected, and Corinna felt suddenly uneasy. She glanced at the half-empty shelves of cheap curios and paper greetings that some people still swapped in a spirit of kitsch, and determined to get her candies or choco-lites quickly and get the hell out of there.
She made a quick selection and piled the little packets on the counter, fumbling her O-card out of her pocket.
"Cash or Unicredit only in here," growled a voice, and the shop's presumed proprietor loomed over the counter, a great unwashed bear of a man.
"We're not set up to take those freak cards."
"But I- " Corinna knew she shouldn't be surprised at such opposition to O-credit, it had been common enough among her mother's friends. She thrust the card back and felt in her pocket for what cash she actually had: she always felt safer with a small amount of the stuff on her person.
"No freaks in here!" the man suddenly shouted, and reached over to swipe her confectionery selection to the floor. "Get out! Get out!"
Corinna wasn't stupid and she wasn't going to argue. She snatched up her bags and fled, not stopping till she was on the Transit platform and the next one was just pulling in. So much for the perfect world Matty had invited her in to.