The bite stick tasted like cheap plastic and desperation. Mimosa spat it out onto the grease-stained concrete floor of the warehouse break room.

"Christ, Roger, warn a girl next time you decide to play dentist," she muttered, rubbing her jaw where the manager's knuckles had grazed her cheekbone during the frantic scramble for the dropped tool. Roger, thick-necked and sweating through his company polo, just grinned, wiping engine oil onto his pants. "You dropped the torque wrench, sweetheart. Can't have you swallowing a socket." His eyes lingered below her chin, tracing the curve of her pink blouse where it clung to her small frame. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting harsh shadows across the shelves stacked high with alternators and fan belts. It smelled of rubber, stale coffee, and something sharper – anticipation, maybe, thick as spilled coolant.

Mimosa adjusted her tartan skirt, the hem riding higher as she bent to retrieve the bite stick. The sheer tops of her white stockings flashed against her thighs. "Five minutes till closing," she announced, her voice pitched deliberately light. "Anyone staying late to... tidy inventory?" She held Roger's gaze, then let her hazel eyes sweep slowly over the others: Dave, the lanky forklift driver leaning against a pallet jack; Ben and Leo, the twins from Receiving, already exchanging knowing smirks; and young Pete, barely nineteen, shifting his weight nervously near the fire extinguisher. Silence stretched, thick and electric.

Roger cleared his throat, a low rumble that echoed off the towering shelves. His eyes locked onto each man in turn—Dave, the twins, Pete—holding each stare a beat too long. "No more customers," he stated, the words flat and final. "Shut up shop now." He didn't yell. He didn't need to. Dave flicked the break room light switch off, plunging the space into near-darkness save for the emergency exit sign's sickly green glow. The distant hum of the main warehouse fluorescents clicked off one by one, a mechanical sigh. Pete fumbled with the deadbolt on the rear door, the heavy *thunk* unnaturally loud.

"Mimosa," Roger said, his voice dropping into gravel. He didn't move from where he stood, a solid shadow against the pallets. "Get that lovely little ass over here." The command hung in the thick air. Mimosa didn't hesitate. Her ankle boots clicked sharply on the concrete as she walked towards him, the sound deliberate, rhythmic. The green light caught the sheen of her blonde hair and the pale flash of her stocking tops beneath the impossibly short tartan skirt. She stopped inches from him, tilting her head back to meet his eyes.

He reached out, not gently. His thick fingers closed around her upper arm, pulling her roughly against his broad chest. Her small breasts pressed flat against the oil-stained fabric of his polo shirt. Before she could speak, before anyone could react, Roger crushed his mouth onto hers. It wasn't vicious, not quite brutal, but it was hard, possessive, and utterly devoid of tenderness. His lips mashed against hers, his tongue forcing entry immediately. Mimosa gasped into his mouth, her hands fluttering for a second before settling on his shoulders, not pushing away, not pulling closer. The sheer *claiming* of it made Dave shift his feet. Leo whistled low. Ben sucked his teeth. Pete stared, frozen, his knuckles white around the fire extinguisher nozzle.

Roger broke the kiss as abruptly as he started it, leaving Mimosa breathless, her lipstick smeared. Without a word, he spun her around, his palm landing hard on her tartan-covered ass cheek with a sharp *smack* that echoed in the dimness. She yelped, more surprise than pain, staggering forward a step. Before she could regain her balance, Roger hooked his fingers into the waistband of her skirt and yanked it upwards. The cheap fabric bunched around her waist, exposing the backs of her thighs, the sheer white tops of her stockings held by lace garters, and the flimsy scrap of sheer black panties stretched taut over her ass. The green emergency light glinted off the pale skin revealed above the stocking tops. A collective intake of breath hissed through the break room – Dave’s sharp, the twins’ synchronized, Pete’s ragged.

The sight was electric. Dave shoved his hands deep into his pockets, rocking back on his heels, his gaze fixed low. Leo nudged Ben, a wide, predatory grin spreading across his face. Ben’s smirk vanished, replaced by a focused intensity as he stared at the exposed curve of Mimosa’s ass. Pete remained frozen by the extinguisher, his eyes wide and fixed on her, his knuckles still white on the nozzle, but his stance subtly shifting, his worn jeans suddenly straining at the fly. Mimosa felt the weight of their stares like physical pressure, hot and heavy on her exposed skin. She didn’t try to pull her skirt down. Instead, she arched her back slightly, pressing her ass back against Roger’s thick thigh where he stood close behind her. A low groan rumbled from Roger’s chest.

Mimosa knew she was the conductor. She turned slowly within the circle Roger’s arm made around her waist, facing him fully. Her hazel eyes locked onto his, bright and fearless in the dim green light. She reached up, her fingers surprisingly steady, and traced the line of his stubbled jaw. Then, she leaned in and kissed him. Not a yielding kiss, but a deep, demanding one, her tongue pushing past his lips, claiming his mouth with deliberate intensity. She felt the surprise in his momentary stiffness before he melted into it, his grip tightening on her hip. She tasted cheap coffee and the metallic tang of the bite stick still clinging faintly to his breath. When she finally broke the kiss, a thin strand of saliva connected them briefly. Her lipstick was obliterated.

Stepping back half a pace, Mimosa’s gaze never left Roger’s flushed face. Her hands moved with practiced efficiency. She hooked her thumbs into the worn leather belt of his work pants, popped the button, and dragged the zipper down with a harsh, metallic rasp. The heavy fabric of his trousers sagged instantly. His cock, thick and already straining, sprang free, jutting upward against the stained fabric of his boxers before pushing fully out into the cool air of the warehouse. A low whistle came from Leo. Dave shifted his weight forward. Pete’s breath hitched audibly near the extinguisher.

Mimosa wrapped her fingers deliberately around Roger’s shaft. The heat radiating from it was intense, the skin taut and velvety under her palm. She gave a slow, firm stroke from base to tip, her eyes scanning the circle of men illuminated by the sickly green exit sign. Her own arousal was impossible to hide; the thick ridge of her cock pressed insistently against the thin tartan skirt, creating a prominent tent that drew every eye. Ben licked his lips. Leo’s smirk widened into a hungry grin. Dave’s hands flexed at his sides.

She sank slowly to her knees on the cold concrete, the deliberate scrape of her ankle boots echoing sharply. As she descended, her own straining cock sprang free, pushing aside the flimsy skirt and sheer panties. It stood tight and firm, curving proudly upward toward her belly, the flushed head glistening faintly in the dim light. A collective gasp filled the break room—sharp, ragged inhalations mingling with Roger’s low groan. Mimosa didn’t glance down. Her hazel eyes stayed locked on Roger’s face, holding his gaze as she leaned forward.

Her lips parted, warm breath ghosting over the slick tip of Roger’s cock. Then she took him into her mouth, just the swollen head at first, swirling her tongue slowly around the ridge. A shudder ran through Roger’s thick frame. Mimosa sucked gently, deliberately, hollowing her cheeks as she slid lower, taking him deeper. Her rhythm was unhurried, almost meditative—a slow, wet glide down his shaft, then back up to the tip, her tongue tracing the swollen vein beneath. The only sounds were her soft sucking, Roger’s ragged breathing, and the frantic rustle of fabric nearby.

Dave moved first. Mimosa saw his worn boots step into her peripheral vision as she worked Roger’s cock. The metallic rasp of Dave’s zipper cutting through the humid air was loud, deliberate. His cock sprang free, thick and straight, already leaking against his faded jeans. Ben and Leo mirrored each other perfectly, twin clicks of zippers echoing almost simultaneously. Their cocks were similar—leaner than Dave’s, but hard and urgent—jutting out beneath identical grease-stained company shirts. Pete hesitated by the extinguisher, trembling fingers hovering over his fly. Leo nudged him sharply. "C’mon, kid," he hissed. Pete fumbled, his zipper catching halfway before finally yielding. His cock was slender, flushed pink, trembling slightly as it joined the others exposed in the green-tinted gloom.

Mimosa released Roger’s cock with a soft *pop*. She didn’t look down at the wet shaft glistening inches from her mouth. Instead, she tilted her head back, her blonde hair catching the sickly green light as she surveyed the circle. Her gaze traveled slowly, deliberately: Dave’s thick cock twitching impatiently; Ben’s lean shaft pulsing; Leo’s matching hardness angled forward; Pete’s slender erection trembling near the extinguisher nozzle; Roger’s slicked cock standing proud above her. Then her hazel eyes lifted—up past straining belts and oil-stained shirts—to lock onto each man’s face. Dave’s jaw was clenched, eyes narrowed and hungry. Ben’s nostrils flared, lips parted. Leo grinned, sharp and predatory. Pete’s mouth hung open, breath shallow. Roger’s face was flushed, sweat beading on his temples, his stare possessive yet expectant. *This is my show now*, Mimosa thought, tasting salt and cheap plastic on her tongue. The raw lust in their eyes wasn’t just for her—it was for the control she held, kneeling at the center of their need.

She stood. Her ankle boots clicked once against the concrete as she rose. The tartan skirt fell back into place, hiding nothing—her own cock jutted upward, straining the fabric, flushed and glistening. Mimosa didn’t adjust it. She didn’t cover herself. She stood tall—beautiful, sexy, proud, defiant—amidst the five men breathing heavily in the gloom. Her small breasts lifted with her inhale, the pink blouse clinging to her skin. The green exit light traced the curve of her stocking tops, the sharp line of her jaw. She held Roger’s gaze, then turned slowly, deliberately, toward the break room table. A tube lay there, half-buried beneath discarded coffee cups and a grease-smeared clipboard: industrial silicone lubricant, thick and clear, used for hydraulic seals. Mimosa snatched it up. The plastic felt cool and familiar in her palm. She didn’t hesitate.

Twisting the cap off with a sharp snap, Mimosa scooped out a thick, viscous dollop onto her fingers. The lubricant gleamed wetly in the dim light. She reached behind her, beneath the bunched tartan skirt. Her fingers slid past the sheer black panties, past the lace garters holding her stockings, and pressed firmly against her own puckered entrance. She worked the slick gel into herself with slow, deliberate circles—deep, thorough, unhurried. There would be no pain for Mimosa tonight. Only slick, stretching pleasure. She arched her back slightly, a soft sigh escaping her lips as she coated herself inside and out. The men watched, silent and rapt, the air thick with the scent of rubber and sweat and the faint chemical tang of the lubricant. Pete whimpered softly by the extinguisher.

"Roger," Mimosa commanded, her voice low and clear, cutting through the humid silence. "On your back. Now." Her hazel eyes pinned him, unblinking. Roger didn't hesitate. He sank heavily onto the cold concrete floor, his oil-stained polo riding up his thick belly. His cock stood rigid against his stomach, slick from her mouth, glistening under the sickly green exit sign. He spread his legs wide, planting his boots flat, watching her with hungry, expectant eyes. Dave shifted closer, his own cock bobbing impatiently. Ben and Leo mirrored each other, stepping forward in unison. Pete remained frozen, knuckles white on the extinguisher nozzle, eyes glued to Mimosa.

Mimosa crouched over Roger, her tartan skirt brushing his knees. The cold concrete bit into her stocking-clad knees. She reached behind her, fingers slick and shining with the thick silicone lubricant, and grasped his shaft firmly. It pulsed hotly in her hand. She guided the swollen, slicked head unerringly towards her own prepared entrance, the puckered ring already coated and yielding. Roger sucked in a sharp breath as the blunt pressure registered. Mimosa held his gaze, a flicker of defiance in her hazel eyes. "Hold still," she murmured, her voice steady despite the tremor low in her belly. She leaned back slightly, adjusting the angle.

Her own cock strained upward beneath her skirt as she lowered herself slowly. The lubricant did its job. Roger's thick cockhead pressed insistently against her tight ring, stretched it wide, and then slid smoothly, deeply inside her ass. A low groan tore from Roger's throat as her body enveloped him, hot and impossibly tight. Mimosa gasped, her spine arching instinctively as he filled her completely. She paused for a heartbeat, adjusting to the intense stretch, the unfamiliar fullness. The cool air of the warehouse brushed her exposed thighs above her stocking tops. She felt the slick slide of silicone easing the friction as she settled fully onto him, his hips pressing flush against her ass.

Mimosa began to move. Reverse cowgirl, perched high on Roger’s thick shaft. She set the pace: slow, deliberate rolls of her hips. Each upward lift drew a ragged gasp from Roger beneath her; each downward grind earned a deep groan as she took him deeper. Her tartan skirt pooled around Roger’s waist, leaving her ass bare and exposed to the hungry stares circling them. Her own cock bobbed freely beneath the skirt’s fabric, flushed and hard against her belly. She kept her back straight, her movements controlled, a languid rhythm that made Roger’s hands clench helplessly at his sides on the cold concrete. Her gaze swept the circle of men, their cocks straining in the green-tinged gloom. "Come closer," she commanded, her voice low and steady despite the breathlessness. "All of you. Now."

Dave moved first. He stepped directly in front of Mimosa, his thick cock inches from her face. She didn’t hesitate. She leaned forward smoothly, and took Dave’s entire length into her mouth in one slick glide. He groaned, his hips jerking forward instinctively, but Mimosa held firm, her lips sealing tight around his base. Her throat worked against him, swallowing him deep. Dave’s hands hovered near her head, trembling, resisting the urge to grab her blonde hair. She sucked hard, hollowing her cheeks, her eyes flicking up to meet Dave’s stunned gaze as she pulled back slowly, letting her tongue swirl around his tip before plunging down again. The wet sounds filled the humid air.

Without breaking rhythm on Dave, Mimosa lifted her left hand, slick fingers gleaming with residual silicone, and pointed sharply at Ben. Then her right hand gestured Leo forward. The twins understood instantly. They flanked her sides, their lean cocks bobbing near her shoulders. Mimosa’s hands shot out simultaneously. Her left palm wrapped firmly around Ben’s shaft, her thumb pressing into the leaking slit. Her right hand mirrored the motion on Leo, fingers tightening just below his crown. She squeezed deliberately, twisting her wrists slightly. Twin gasps escaped Ben and Leo as Mimosa began stroking them in unison, her grip steady and practiced. The rhythm matched her mouth’s work on Dave – slow, deep pulls followed by lingering swirls of her tongue or thumb.

Pete couldn’t hold back any longer. His frantic jerking grew wilder, his hips bucking against his fist. A choked whimper escaped him as he stared at Mimosa’s own cock, bouncing freely beneath her skirt with every roll of her hips onto Roger. The flushed head glistened, a bead of pre-cum trembling at the tip. Pete lunged forward, scrambling on his knees across the cold concrete. He shoved his face between Mimosa’s thighs, ignoring the tartan skirt brushing his cheeks. His trembling lips parted clumsily, enveloping the slick head of her cock in a wet, desperate suck. Mimosa gasped sharply around Dave’s shaft, her hips stuttering against Roger’s thrusts. Pete’s tongue flicked wildly at her slit, tasting salt and silicone, his hands gripping her stocking-clad thighs for purchase.

He jerked himself faster, his own cock slick with spit and sweat. The frantic rhythm of his hand matched his sloppy sucking. Mimosa’s muffled groan vibrated against Dave’s cock as Pete hollowed his cheeks. Pete’s eyes squeezed shut—the warehouse sounds fading to a dull roar. He couldn’t hold it, didn’t want to hold it. His back arched violently. Thick wads of cum shot onto the concrete floor beneath Mimosa’s boots, splattering warm and white against the grease-stained gray. A ragged cry tore from his throat against her skin. He slumped forward, forehead pressed against Mimosa’s thigh, panting, his cock twitching weakly in his hand.

Dave’s groan deepened. Mimosa’s mouth tightened around him, her rhythm relentless. Leo hissed sharply through clenched teeth as Mimosa twisted her wrist faster. Ben bucked into her grip, his free hand clenching into a fist. Roger’s hips snapped upward beneath her, driving his cock deeper into her ass. Mimosa gasped sharply around Dave’s shaft, her spine arching. Her own cock pulsed violently against Pete’s slack lips. A hot jet of cum spurted onto Pete’s cheekbone, thick and pearly in the green gloom. Pete flinched but didn’t pull away, his tongue instinctively darting out to catch the salty tang on his lips. Mimosa’s thighs trembled against Roger’s hips.

Roger exploded into Mimosa’s ass, thrusting upwards as he did so. His guttural moan filled the air. The atmosphere was electric. His thick cock pulsed violently inside her, flooding her with wet heat. Mimosa cried out, muffled by Dave’s cock still filling her mouth. Her body clenched around Roger’s shaft, milking him through the convulsions. Dave’s hips jerked forward uncontrollably. Mimosa swallowed convulsively as he erupted down her throat, thick spurts coating her tongue. She gagged slightly but held him deep, her throat working against his base. Dave shuddered violently, his hands finally tangling in her hair, holding her head firmly against him.

The twins' excitement was palpable. Ben’s lean cock jumped in Mimosa’s slick fist, pulsing urgently. Leo’s matched it, twitching against her palm. Mimosa continued her stroking, faster and harder now as her own stiffness subsided. Her grip tightened, twisting expertly. Ben bucked against her hand, a choked cry escaping his lips as he came. Hot stripes of cum sprayed across Mimosa’s shoulder, soaking into her pink blouse. Leo followed instantly, gasping sharply as his own release splattered against her arm and the tartan skirt pooled at her waist. Mimosa kept pumping them both, drawing out every last shudder until their cocks softened in her hands.

The silence that followed was thick, broken only by ragged breathing and the distant hum of a refrigerator compressor kicking on. Mimosa released Dave’s spent cock from her mouth with a soft gasp, wiping her chin with the back of her hand. Roger shifted beneath her, his softening cock slipping wetly from her ass. She climbed off him slowly, her legs trembling slightly. The cool air of the warehouse felt sharp against her skin. Pete remained slumped against her thigh, breathing heavily. Mimosa gently pushed his damp hair back from his forehead. "Alright, Pete," she murmured, her voice husky but calm. "Get up." He blinked, dazed, and slowly pushed himself upright, avoiding eye contact.

Mimosa moved first. She grabbed discarded shirts—Dave’s flannel, Roger’s polo, Leo’s grease-stained company tee—and tossed them onto the cold concrete floor near the break room table. "Sit," she instructed, her tone leaving no room for argument. Wordlessly, the men shuffled over, lowering themselves onto the makeshift cushions, their movements stiff, spent. Ben retrieved the dented coffee pot, still lukewarm from hours ago, and filled chipped mugs. Leo silently passed them around. Pete stared blankly at the extinguisher nozzle still clutched in his hand before setting it aside. Mimosa pulled her skirt down, not bothering with the torn panties, and perched on the edge of the table itself, her stocking-clad legs swinging slightly. She accepted a mug from Ben, the cheap ceramic warm against her palms.

Silence settled, thick and strange after the frenzy. Dave stared into his coffee, tracing a chip on the rim with his thumb. Roger leaned back against a pallet, eyes half-closed, a deep exhaustion etched into his face. Ben and Leo exchanged a glance—not predatory now, just bewildered—before sipping their coffee. Pete kept his gaze fixed firmly on his own trembling hands clasped around his mug. Mimosa watched them, a small, satisfied smile playing on her lips. Her pink blouse clung damply where Ben’s release had soaked it, a pearly patch stark against the fabric on her shoulder. Roger’s cum leaked slowly, warmly, down the inside of her thigh beneath her skirt, cooling in the warehouse’s evening chill. She didn’t flinch; she savored the sticky reminder.

"Quite the team effort," Mimosa murmured, her voice clear and relaxed in the quiet. She took a deliberate sip from her mug, the cheap coffee tasting unexpectedly good. Five pairs of eyes flicked towards her, expressions ranging from Roger’s dazed acceptance to Pete’s wide-eyed disbelief. She met each gaze calmly, her hazel eyes bright. "Honestly," she continued, setting her mug down with a soft clink on the tabletop, "we achieved remarkable synergy tonight." A faint blush crept up Pete’s neck.

Dave chuckled, a low, rusty sound. He rubbed a hand over his stubbled jaw. "Synergy? Is that what we're callin' it?" He glanced around the circle. Roger grunted noncommittally, Ben smirked into his coffee, and Leo just shook his head slowly, a bemused grin playing on his lips. Pete remained silent, staring into his mug as if it held the secrets of the universe. Mimosa’s smile widened, genuine and unapologetic. The damp patch on her shoulder where Ben’s cum had soaked her pink blouse was cooling rapidly in the evening air drifting from the loading bay doors, a tangible reminder of the intensity just passed. "Absolutely," she affirmed. "Communication, coordination, mutual satisfaction… textbook team building."