Date: Sun, 16 Oct 2022 20:04:50 +0200 From: roby bobby Subject: midnight-express-to-neverland-01 This story contains graphic sexual scenes between males under 18: if material of this nature offends you then you should not read this story. Additionally, if you are under 18 years of age in most states, the law may have forbidden you from reading this story. Please understand this is a work of FICTION. The actions described in the story are neither real nor encouraged or condoned in real life. It's just fiction, folks. Please be sure to support Nifty and keep it going with your donations. Feedbacks welcome at de182tg@gmail.com. I'm not native English speaker, so please be kind to me! Thank you! *** Midnight Express to Neverland - Part 1 *** It was incredibly exciting. My mother packed bags, suitcases and crates for days. I understood that a new life would begin for us now, right at the end of summer break. I had turned nine a few months ago and was due to restart school after the move. While my mother was packing her bags incessantly and getting more and more nervous, I spent all day in my little village close to Marquette (Michigan) with the peasants and their children: I waited for the cows to come into the barn for milking, fed the sows and chickens and romped with the other boys in the hay, or carried orphaned kittens around. My last summer in the Upper Peninsula, or UP as the locals used to call the place, was wonderful. I knew we would soon go far away, to a big city called Chicago. The first to leave was my father, alone in his beloved car, a'70 Camaro the same blue color of the sky in a clear winter day. He wanted to take care of the apartment. My twin sister, my Mom and I arrived a week later. For us children it was the first trip by plane. Everything was immensely exciting. My parents had told us wonderful stories about the giant apartment with six large rooms in which we were going to live. And they wanted to make a lot of money. My mother said we would have a large room to ourselves. They wanted to buy nice furniture and she then explained to us in full detail what our room would be like. I still remember this because as a child I never stopped imagining this room. As I grew up it became more and more beautiful in my fantasy. Nor have I forgotten what the apartment we had arrived in was like: to my child eyes it was so big and empty that I was afraid of getting lost. When we talked to each other aloud our voices boomed terribly. Only in three rooms was there a couple of pieces of furniture. In the children's room there were two beds and an old kitchen cabinet with our toys. In the second room there was a bed for my parents and in the larger room an old sofa and a couple of chairs. That's how we lived in West Woodlawn, South Chicago. After a couple of days I trusted myself to go on my bicycle on the street by myself, where children who were a little older than me were playing. In the village in UP the older guys had always played with the little ones, and they also watched us. The children of our neighborhood immediately said to me: «What do you want here? ". Then they took my bicycle. When I got it back it had a flat wheel and a bent fender. My father hit me because the bicycle was broken. Since then I only rode a bicycle to and from school. Two rooms were actually to become the office. My parents wanted to open a marriage agency. But the desks and armchairs they talked about never arrived and the kitchen cabinet remained in the nursery. One day the sofa, the beds and the kitchen cupboard were loaded onto a pickup truck and taken to one of the cheapest high-rises around, a place called Parkway Gardens. There we got a two-and-a-half-room apartment on the ninth floor. And in our half children's room, all the beautiful things my mother talked about would never enter. Parkway Gardens, a.k.a. The Gardens: home for five thousand people, mostly black or mixed race, poor and unemployed, close to parks with outstanding meadows and big shopping centers. From afar all new and well cared for. But when you were in the middle of the blocks of red brick condos you could smell piss and poop everywhere. It came from all those dogs and children who lived there. Most of all, the stairwell and back alleys stank really bad. My parents railed against the children, mostly blacks, who soiled the stairwell. But the children in most cases could not do anything about it. I noticed this the first time I was playing outside and suddenly I had to go to the toilet, and I was living on the ninth floor: waiting for the elevator that did not come, I peed myself. My father beat me. After a couple of times I hadn't made it to our bathroom in time, and I had been beaten, I would snuggle up somewhere to do it where no one saw me. Since every corner was visible from the condos, the safest was the stairwell. Or one of the back alleys. Even in Chicago, when I was on the street I continued to be the naive country boy I used to be. I didn't have the same toys that others had. I've never had a water pistol. I was dressed differently, I was speaking differently. And I didn't know any of the games they played. And I didn't like them either. In the village we often went into the woods by bicycle, up to a stream with a bridge. There, we built dams and castles in the water. Sometimes we grouped all together, some other times we did each on our own. And when we destroyed them later, we all agreed upon it and we all had fun together. In the village there was no boss: everyone could make suggestions on the games they wanted to play. Then we argued until a proposal passed. There was nothing strange if for once the older ones gave in to the little ones. It was a true children's democracy. In Parkway Gardens, every building had his children boss, and they all referred to a gang of twenty-something guys who ruled the complex. In our building Tyrone, a lanky black teenager boy about 16 y.o. was the boss. He was the tallest, the strongest and had the most beautiful toys, even an X-Box and a cell phone. We often played bandits: the bandits were six boys (three blacks, two whites and I, a mixed American native/white) and four girls (all black except my sister), between the ages of nine and thirteen. There were many other children in the building, but they were not "bandits". The most important rule of the game was that we had to do everything he commanded. At the beginning it was mostly simple things related to the games we were playing at the moment. Then, his requests gradually turned sexual: he started with innocent kisses from the girls, went on to full "Frenching", as they called it, while fondling immature breasts and groping little asses with his long and slim hands. Rumors were that he did "the thing" with a couple of the oldest girls he invited back to his room on the first floor: "Netflix and chill" seemed to be the code for "it". One day he asked for the youngest boy in the pack: it was me. "What's your name and how old are you, mixed race?" he asked with a smirk. "My name is Jeremiah, but everyone call me Jerry. And I'm 9 and a half" "Ok, Jerry. You will be Mixy from now on. If you want to keep playing with us, you must pass the initiation ritual. Do you want to pledge, Mixy?" I was a little doubtful: I had no tits to fondle and I was a boy, so I couldn't do "it"... So I asked what the ritual was all about. "You are not allowed to ask questions, kiddo. You either accept to do whatever I ask you to do, or you leave the group this instant!" was his reply. I didn't feel comfortable with that. I was going to say no when I crossed my twin sister gaze: she smiled and slightly nodded YES with her head. I always trusted her, so I relented and accepted. "Good choice, Mixy. Now, kneel in front of me" I knelt in front of him, on the hard and dirty pavement of the back alley, on my naked knees. "Unbutton my jeans and pull them down to my ankles". Surprisingly enough, I didn't have to force myself to do that: I felt more curious than humiliated, and was extremely determined to complete the initiation. When i pulled his jeans down, a red, tented pairs of boxer emerged. I was exactly at crotch level and admired to two lean but muscular legs, with only the calves barely covered by thin hair. I felt a rush of blood to my head, my cheeks must have been beet red. I briefly looked to my sister, she was smiling and clearly enjoying the little show. "Now, without using your hands, pull my boxers down" instructed Tyrone. "And be careful not to poke your eyes out with my hard stick!" He added, causing everyone to laugh. Including myself. I was not 100% sure about what to expect. Back in UP I'd fooled around with a couple of friends, and compared our hard, little spikes, barely three inch-long. We more or less knew what an erection was, but I'd personally never seen one on a kid older than me. And Tyrone's one seemed to be quite big. And frightening, honestly. Using only my teeth i pulled Tyrone's boxer down and fished the black meaty dick out. The big, black cock was cut, the big purple head dripping a clear liquid I later learned to call "precum". I noticed his crotch and balls were clean shaved. "Ready to suck my little black dick?" he asked looking down at me, a 9 year-old boy going to become a black-cock sucker. "Now put it in your mouth and suck on it like a lollipop, Mixy". The "little black dick" was a monster of flesh, standing proud and thick at 8 inches at least. "WOW! That's a little dick?" I asked, amazed by its size. "Well, you should see my pop's... it is more than a foot long and thick like a can of Bud!" said the black teen with a mischievous grin. "Now come, just lick a little around the head and suck on it, we done in a minute". I didn't waste my time and bent my head toward the huge, purple dickhead, extended my tongue and gave a first, tentative lick to the cock-snot covered dick. The taste was surprisingly good and sweet. I began lapping around the head with gusto, and even managed to get five or six inch of cock into my drooling mouth. After sucking on it for a bit, he instructed me to move and lick the thick shaft underside up and down. My tiny, white hands could not even circle the fat dick, he clamped his own bony hands on top of mine and moved them up and down in a jerking motion. That was enough to push the black teenager over the edge. He extracted his black dick from my mouth and started to pump it with a sense of urgency. "Open your mouth and get my cum, but doncha dare to swallow or spit!" commanded Tyrone. I complained. He pointed his dick to my wide open mouth and started to fire volley after volley of something hot and gooey, filling my mouth to the brim. When the creamy substance started to dribble out of his piss slit, he put his dick head on my extended tongue and squeezed the last drops out. "Let me see your mouth full of cum, kid". So, "cum" was the name of the warm goo. I obeyed the black teen and, if possible, opened my tiny mouth even more. "Okay Mixy, now swirl your tongue around a couple of times and then swallow it all". I did as told, my taste buds appreciating the thick texture and sweet flavor of Tyrone's juices. Then, I swallowed the mouthful of "cum", as he called it, in a couple of gulps. Or three. "Well done, Mixy. Now suck all other kids here to show them how much you want to be their friend". While he pulled up his boxers and jeans, the other kids approached me, hard dicks in hand, already close to "cumming". I sucked them all, I swallowed their loads and, that day, I went back home a proud "bandit" with a stomach full of cum and somehow empowered by this otherwise humiliating experience. ******* You might wish to give a look to my other stories on Nifty: https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/incest/little-alex/ - The Mother of all my stories https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/young-friends/little-alex-friends - A spin-off adventure among Alex's friends https://www.nifty.org/nifty/bisexual/incest/little-alex-jenny-and-the-machine - A Bisex variation with a little sister https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/sf-fantasy/a-romanian-in-paris/ - A dark fantasy packed with young, nasty boys.. https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/incest/the-devil-lives-in-paris/ - Remastered version of A Romanian in Paris, with a different twist https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/i-am-back - An hommage to fellow Author Norfolkandgood.