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The part that bothered Lance most about working in a convenience store wasn't the fact that he had to work the graveyard shift. Nor was it the boredom, or the mind-numbing fluorescent lighting, or the constantly looping channel of top-40 radio hits that served as its soundtrack. What bothered Lance the most about working in a convenience store was the fact that he had to stand the whole damn time. The Lucario never liked standing for long periods of time (he was terrible at waiting in line for this reason), and the coffee he drank to keep himself awake made him shift irritably from one foot to the other until it was time to punch out.

The coffee (which will become redundant in a couple of minutes) tasted like it had been percolated in an old shoe, and it Lance made a face after every drink. Still, it kept him from falling asleep behind the counter, which would leave him vulnerable to whatever baggy-eyed crack addicts would want to rob a piddling little convenience store. The Lucario wondered sometimes what the point was in staying awake. It's not as though he'd be able to stop a robber from taking whatever he pleased (Lance had anemia, which considerably hampered his development as a Fighting-type). Perhaps they'd see him napping and take care to be extra quiet as they took from the-

This train of thought was interrupted by a loud SMASH, followed by the tinkle of broken glass upon linoleum. Lance's head shot up from the screen of his cell phone to the source of the noise; he saw a Scrafty climb in through the now-broken window, dragging a baseball bat behind him.

Lance put his hands up, but he didn't stay quiet. "What the fuck?" He glared at the Scrafty in anger and confusion. He could have said any number of things to the Scrafty at that moment-"take anything you want" or "please don't hurt me", for instance. Instead, he said, with a tone of apoplectic bafflement, "There was a door!"

The Scrafty glanced over his shoulder, as though he was checking whether there was, in fact, a door. His leering face turned back to Lance. "Yeah?" he said, before shrugging and making his way to the counter. His bat dragged along the ground, his other hand sweeping bags of chips and jars of peanuts to the floor for no other reason than to make a mess. The Scrafty was shorter than Lance by a few inches, but was built considerably stronger. His long, toned arms were exposed by his black sleeveless shirt, yellow skin marked with careful tattooed patterns. They looked vaguely Polynesian, although they weren't; they didn't mean anything at all.

Cruel green eyes scanned the scrawny Lucario, and the Scrafty laughed. "Guessing you'll want to make this easy on yourself, huh?" His voice was raspy with cigarette smoke, and the edges of his words seemed to curl like a burnt newspaper. Lance found himself nodding, which satisfied the Scrafty. "Good. Now, open the cash register and let ol' Damien have a peek inside." With a kchunk, the Lucario opened the cash register, letting Damien do as he pleased with the contents.

Lance had been robbed twice before while working the graveyard shift. The first time was an Umbreon who seemed fresh out of high school; he stuttered as he gave orders, and his gun was obviously made of black plastic. Lance thought he could hear him burst into tears once he left the store, which made him almost feel bad about calling the cops. The second time was a middle-aged Arcanine with a missing eye who sounded like he gargled with gravel in the morning. Neither of them was quite like this; the Scrafty seemed to be enjoying himself as he sorted through the money, pushing it into his pockets and lowering his pants more and more with each stack of bills.

Lance's eyes began to drift slowly downwards, down to Damien's hips. They were noticeably wide even in the baggy pants they were imprisoned in, and as his pants slid down he could see the yellow flesh exposed. The Lucario's breath caught, and he blinked to try and refocus. This asshole is robbing me, thought the rational part of Lance's brain. It's not the time to try and sneak a peek. Just give him the money and-

"You fuckin' deaf?" Damien grinned maliciously at Lance, snapping his finger before his eyes. "I said hand over your fuckin' phone."

Lance was thrust back into the reality of the situation, and he stuttered. "Uh. I can. Um..." Visibly impatient, Damien rolled his eyes (his pants were down below his waist now, Lance realized). "I didn't ask if you COULD, retard. I told you to give me your fucking phone." (Was he going commando? It looked like it, based on the thick yellow flesh on display) "Now, are you gonna listen, or do I have to rip it out of your asshole?" (Oh god he had to say something!)

"Y-your pants...!" Lance said, weakly. They had slid down from the weight of the bills, leaving half of Damien's ass covered and half exposed. Even facing Damien from the front, Lance could tell how big they were. Two massive, bulbous yellow cheeks, jiggling like jelly as Damien moved closer to Lance.

"Huh? What about 'em?" A predatory grin spread across Damien's face. "Better question. Why the fuck were you lookin' at em?" Lance's eyes widened as Damien needled on. "You lookin' at my ass?"

As Damien continued, he really couldn't stop looking at the Scrafty's ass. Christ, the thing was huge. Each cheek was as big as someone's head, and every time Damien moved or shifted his weight they wobbled like a stripper's. Hell, a stripper would be jealous of it! Lance only returned to the scene at hand once Damien said: "Y'wanna look closer?"

Lance looked at Damien like a chicken caught in the rain as the Scrafty leered. "Get your ass over here," Damien said. Lance didn't move, and Damien tried again. "Get your ass over here before I paint the fuckin' counter red," Damien said, lifting up his bat and resting it on his shoulder. This time, Lance obeyed, stepping out from behind the counter and standing before the domineering Scrafty.

"On your knees," Damien ordered. Lance almost didn't obey again, but he glanced at that heavy maple-wood bat and sunk down, genuflecting on the linoleum and looking up at the cocky thug. For a brief moment, Lance wondered if he would be ordered to suck Damien off, before he was reminded of why he was beckoned closer anyway when the Scrafty turned around.

It was one thing to look at the width of Damien's hips, and quite another to look at that magnificent rump inches away from one's face. He had pulled his pants off, exposing the bare flesh of his ass cheeks to the Lucario's gaze. Beads of sweat trickled down from the top of Damien's ass cheeks, glistening in the fluorescent light and giving Lance a good whiff of his masculine scent. It was hot, salty and earthy, making Lance's nose wrinkle and eyes water from its potency before Damien spoke again. "Kiss it."

For a moment, the convenience store was quiet. The only sound was the radio, playing some commercial for iced tea while Lance was struck by Damien's demand. He had never done anything so debasing, so humiliating in his life! He was aghast, pinned to the spot in fear. Another long moment passed before Damien repeated himself. "Kiss my ass, faggot." A beat. "Now."

Lance took in a deep, wheezing breath, stifled a whimper in the back of his throat, and leaned forward. His chapped lips pressed against one of Damien's massive yellow cheeks, sinking into the pliable flesh and sucking in some of that hot, sour sweat that made Lance's eyes water. He kept it pressed there for a moment before popping his lips, making a loud SMMMMRTCH!

Damien laughed, and Lance felt as though he had shrunk. "Do it again," he ordered, leaning on his bat. Lance hoped it would get easier, his heart sinking in his chest as he switched cheeks, smacking his lips with another wet kiss to those juicy hindquarters. "Keep going, asswipe. I'll tell ya when to stop."

And so it continued for five minutes. Lance's hands gripped Damien's meaty thighs, almost automatically, and continued his forced worship. SMECK! One kiss on his right cheek, warm and moist. MMMMTCH! Another on the left cheek, before breaking off and moaning with pathetic humiliation. Damien rapped the tip of his bat on the floor. "Keep going!" And so it continued, with Lance on his knees behind the cruel Scrafty, slavishly kissing and nuzzling into those cheeks.

Damien eventually got bored, or tired of standing. He turned around and pushed his hand into Lance's face, shoving the Lucario onto his back before the Scrafty stood above him. "Sit still," he snapped, placing one foot on each side of his head (heavy boots, Lance noticed, in the back of his mind). Slowly, he began to squat.

Lance knew what was coming, and fruitlessly tried to stop it. "NO!" he squealed out, kicking his legs and trying to reach his hands up to push into those ever-lowering ass cheeks, trying to keep Damien away. It didn't work; it was like he was trying to push away the tide. Damien cared little for his resistance, and soon enough his ass dropped down, sitting on Lance's face and burying his nose deep up his sweaty ass crack.

Damien sighed, getting himself comfy on the Lucario's face and settling down. "Mmmmf...you're not bad," he said, wiggling his rear, soaking Lance's face in his sweat. "Lots of people's faces are so bony, but yours is pretty comfy!" This wasn't any particular comfort to Lance, who moaned and wriggled impotently into that gelatinous ass.

Five minutes passed, the Lucario's nose deep in that bare ass crack, mind fogging with the muggy sweat and scent of Damien's rear. He'd never so much as rimmed someone before, and here he was being subjected to the bullying Scrafty's ass. His nose pressed against Damien's asshole, that tight and pulsing star, and gave a whimper as he inhaled. "Mmmgh!" he cried out, muffled by Damien's cheeks.

"Don't like the smell, huh?" Damien made himself comfortable, idly twiddling about on his phone as he sat on Lance's face. "I think I can do something about that..." Lance watched with horror as that tight asshole puckered open, letting a soft, hissing burst of air out.

Lance had never been maced before, but he imagined that it would feel something like being farted on by Damien. He was assaulted with the burning scent of meat and veggies, along with the earthy depths of the Scrafty's bowels. His struggles renewed, the Lucario kicking and moaning muffled curses beneath Damien's monstrous booty.

"Oh, shut the fuck up," Damien said. He kept fiddling on his phone, playing some game or another, keeping his fingers busy as he sat on the Lucario. For about ten minutes, it continued on like this. Damien smothered Lance in his ass until Lance stopped wriggling around, at which point he would lift up to give him a gulp of air or two. Then, it was back to being a cushion.

Every so often, Damien would grunt and relax a few muscles, letting another wet, thick fart rip out of his hole just to make Lance squeal. The Lucario was trapped in this hellish gas chamber, and it was up to Damien to decide when he would get out.

Eventually, Damien got bored. He stood up, his sweaty ass peeling off of Lance's face. With a smirk, he watched Lance gasp and cough, face soaked with sweat and tears from his experience. Damien spoke as he pulled up his pants, pushing the stolen money into his pockets. "Now, y'ain't tellin' anyone about this, got me?" Lance nodded, before recoiling as Damien pointed his bat right into his face. "If you tell," Damien said, "I'll come right back here and beat you into a fuckin' pulp, y'hear?" A weak nod, and Damien was on his way, striding out of the convenience store and into the night.