Transit 22, Part 2 (Patreon)

Lori had never expected a simple meal to become a source of such intense embarrassment. As she bit into the sausage, her senses were overwhelmed by the flavors, and she couldn't help but moan softly in pleasure. It was the best thing she had tasted in what felt like forever, a small beacon of comfort in her ongoing ordeal at the hotel.

However, her enjoyment was short-lived. As she savored the meal, Lori's eyes closed in delight, her fingers—adorned with trashy long red nails—wrapped suggestively around the sausage. It was an innocent moment of indulgence, one that anyone could have misunderstood.

Suddenly aware of her surroundings, Lori's eyes snapped open, and the reality of her actions hit her. The looks from other patrons weren't just curious—they were amused and somewhat judgmental. She could see it now: her demeanor, her outfit, and her way of eating all painted a picture she hadn't intended to portray.

Flushed with shame, Lori quickly set down the sausage, her appetite vanishing as swiftly as it had come. She reached for her napkin, trying to cover up her embarrassment as she wiped her mouth, her movements hurried and flustered.

Needing to escape the prying eyes, Lori stood up, her chair scraping slightly against the floor. As she made her way to the exit, her walk was brisk, almost fleeing. She could feel every gaze on her as she hurried through the bar, each step echoing louder in her ears than the last.

Just as she reached the doorway, she glanced back, hoping to leave unnoticed by the staff. That's when she caught the bartender's eye—a knowing wink sent in her direction. The gesture, though perhaps meant as a friendly joke, only deepened her humiliation.

Lori's cheeks burned hotter, and she quickened her pace, eager to leave the judgment behind. Once out of the bar, she navigated the hotel’s corridors with a single-minded focus: to reach the safety and solitude of her room.