This is a story. It never happened and never will. The General Disclaimer is incorporated herein by reference.

Christina Rose Akin lived with her father after her mother died. He didn't like children, and as a young lawyer who preferred the company of ladies, he hated having a daughter underfoot all the time, taking up his valuable time and interfering with his social life. Several months before her sixth birthday, he decided to send her to a boarding school. When he heard of a previously all-boys boarding school, he couldn't pass up the opportunity to make a name for himself as a lawyer. He just had to sue the school to get her admitted.

He had won the lawsuit, his smug smile as he left court contrasting sharply with the scowls of the ranch owner and manager, and the sullen demeanor of Christina herself. Her sixth birthday had been during the trial, but of course he had been too busy with his work and his social life to have a party for her.

She hadn't wanted to go to that school, but like most adults, and especially lawyers, he had no respect whatsoever for what children want, so her desires didn't count. "It's a matter of principle," he had told her. "They have no right to keep you out of that school, so that's the school you're going to go to, if I have to force them to let you in." The principle of everyone having their wishes respected if they're able to express them never once occurred to him, of course, so he forced her to go.

The school consisted of a ranch in Montana with nothing but vast wilderness for thirty miles in any direction, except a small rutted dirt road. The boys (amend that now: the students) were required to help with the ranch chores. The school limited students to 25, so there were 25 desks in the classroom, arranged in five rows of five desks. All the students lived in five bunkhouses, between the stables and the milking shed, and each bunkhouse had five cots. Except for the ranch manager's home, none of the buildings had any plumbing.

Christina's new classmates were all aged 7 to 16, and of course all of them were boys. Most of them had lived at the ranch for many years without ever seeing a girl. The older boys were sometimes allowed to drive to town in the pick-up truck to buy supplies, but the younger boys were kept on the ranch with essentially no recreation except what they could make for themselves.

The ugly old woman who taught at the school drove out to the ranch five days a week, only because it was a living, even though she could hardly tolerate the job. She did as little as she had to do, then left for home and put the place out of her mind.

At the start of the school year, her father took Christina to the ranch and left her at the gate, without even saying goodbye. A typical adult, he detested the company of children, and couldn't be rid of her too soon. He had packed her suitcases for her, with all of her clothes and a few toys. He was glad to get the room and the closet space back to use for something important. She had begged him to let her take her fluffy kitty-cat doll, Mew, but that was the only doll she had. The furniture and the rest of her toys, he would throw away or send to her when he got the time, same to him either way. He didn't expect to see her again for a decade or more, and that was the way he wanted it.

She stood under the weather-beaten ranch sign in her pretty pink and white short knit dress, lacy white socks, and shiny black leather shoes. Her long brown hair hung nearly to her waist. Christina waited, wondering about the ranch sign, just a simple vertical line and part of a circle under it. While waiting, she also wondered what she was supposed to do if no one came to get her. After an hour of waiting in the hot sun, the innocent little cutie was so distressed that she would have got into any vehicle that came along, no matter who drove it, or where the driver planned to take her, or what the driver planned to do there. Unfortunately for Christina, no one came along in time.

The ranch manager finally drove up in a truck so old it was impossible to tell the original color. He pulled up beside her and called out the window, "You the brat I'm supposed to pick up?" When she nodded, he got out and brusquely said, "Welcome to the Bar-in-Hole," though his tone said the opposite, as if he'd sooner spit on her than welcome her. "Your dad owes us for my time," he added angrily, "and the gas. And if he don't pay, you will." He threw her suitcases in the back of the truck and told her to get in. When she tried to get in the cab, he just pointed and glared.

Christina climbed into the back of the truck and sat on her suitcases. The truck jolted forward and turned around to the rough dirt road. The engine roared and the truck picked up speed. She lay back on her suitcases to keep them from sliding as the truck tilted and bounced. Hot dusty wind assaulted her, and she had to constantly push her dress back down. Needing both hands to keep the wind from tangling her long hair, she eventually gave up and just lay there on her suitcases, hands on her head, legs wide apart for stability, letting the brutal wind hold her dress up around the middle of her stomach, and letting her panties show to the hostile sun overhead for thirty miles as she rode to the ranch, that being the first time the sun had ever shone on any sort of flowers at the ranch.

The truck stopped in front of the manager's house. He took a suitcase and growled for her to follow him, and walked off without looking back. She climbed out of the truck with another suitcase and ran after him, to the third bunkroom, where he threw her luggage on the middle cot. All five cots were cheap and crude metal frames, but strong, and solidly welded together. Four rough metal posts on the corners defined the cots. Crudely sawed off, and left unpainted, most showed signs of rust. The head and foot of each cot formed a plain metal "H" with the crossbar just below the height of the thin mattress. Metal rods on the side ran the length of the cot, welded to remnants of a wire fence to support the mattress.

The beds were of different sizes. Christina's bed, the only unused one, was the smallest. The mattress exceeded the frame in size, and had to bend to fit in, forming a hump in the middle.

"Where are the pillows?" she asked.

"No pillows," the manager answered gruffly. "This ain't no hotel. As for sheets, you'll get some after laundry day."

Dismayed, Christina looked around at the rest of the bunkroom. The walls were unpainted boards, showing the outer shingles through large cracks, with bare wall studs, and no inner boards or insulation. A few shelves had been nailed up between the studs, but they were all out of her reach, let alone her view. Four other cots surrounded her own, two on each side, covered with rumpled sheets and blankets. A thin wire ran upward from a cheap light switch by the door, along a roof stud, and hung down, suspending a bare light bulb as the room's only light source, directly over her cot. This was obviously not an establishment that cared much about its image.

With afternoon class due to start in ten minutes, the manager led her to the classroom. He told her to sit in a certain chair, and pointed to the middle chair of the middle row. Christina obediently sat, and began drawing on the papers with the crayons on the desk before her. Turning abruptly, he left without another word, having more important things to deal with.

No matter how you numbered them, left to right, right to left, back to front or front to back, Christina's desk, the very center, was always Desk 13.

She was sitting there quietly drawing when two boys about ten years old entered the classroom. They took one glance at her and their faces lit up. "Wow! Are you the new student!?" one asked her. She looked over at them and silently nodded.

"Youuu're prehhtty!" the other boy exclaimed, drawling out the words for emphasis.

Christina smiled shyly. "Thank you," she replied, remembering her manners.

"Yeah, you have pretty hair!" "And a pretty face!" "And pretty arms!" "And pretty hands!" The boys took turns praising her. Christina smiled and answered each compliment with a shy "thank you" to one or the other of the boys, but she wanted to get back to her coloring. One boy walked around and stood on her left, the other stood on her right, and both kept looking at her.

"You have pretty legs!" one boy added, kneeling.

Christina began to feel uneasy.

"I like your dress, too," the other boy said.

"Me too, we like your dress," the other boy confirmed. "It's so pretty, with the lace and everything, and besides, it's so short."

"Oh! Pretty panties!" said the boy on her left, while peering up her dress. Christina quickly held her legs together and pushed her dress down with her hand. She wasn't smiling any more.

"Let me see too!" demanded the other boy, but Christina resisted his pull on her arm, keeping her hand between her thighs. "Come on, let me see!" the boy insisted, pulling harder. She tried to squirm out of his grip.

"We like your dress so much, we want to keep it," said the first boy. "Help me out," he asked the other boy. They each took one of her arms and by superior force easily twisted them away from her body.

Christina began screaming and struggling, but it was no use; the two ten-year-old boys were much stronger than one six-year-old girl could ever be, and she couldn't free her arms. "Let me go! Stop it! Hey, stop it!!" she screamed, as the boys began sliding her dress up.

They pulled her dress higher and higher, past her panties, past her belly button, way up so her tiny pink titties showed.

Just then another boy came in the room and saw what was happening. Before Christina could call out for rescue, the new boy yelled "Hey, let me help!" and rushed over, pushing her desk out of the way. He grabbed her wildly kicking legs and held on while the other boys held her hands high, jerked her dress past her face, making her whimper, and tugged it off her.

"Stop it! Stop it! Let me go!" she begged, squirming wildly, as the boys began slipping her panties down. "Help! Help me!!" Christina screamed desperately when she felt her panties slide off her bottom and past her pretty little pussy.

The boys reacted in a most undesirable way to her screams. They laughed. And they continued working her panties down, past her knees, wrapped around her ankles by her lacy socks and shiny black shoes. They pulled her panties off her feet, and tossed them aside.

"Stop it! I'll tell!! You'll get in trouble!" she threatened. The boys snickered. They didn't seem worried about that at all, as they shoved her chair away and dropped her to the floor. One boy held her arms by her head as the other two boys held her legs spread wide apart. Christina felt ashamed, knowing the boys could see her pussy.

More boys came in the classroom door. As soon as they heard Christina's desperate screaming and pleading, and saw her naked titties and pussy, they ran over and crowded around to watch, standing on the desks or kneeling down to peer between the legs of the boys in front.

Christina squirmed and twisted and kicked madly, but her slender arms and legs were no match for the five boys now holding her spread out on the floor between them. More than a dozen grinning boys crowded all around her, watching the nearly naked little girl squirm and struggle desperately. Two boys unbuckled her shoes and started removing her lacy white ankle socks. Not one of them made a move to help her.

Poor helpless little Christina started crying. This was going to be a very long day for her. And the next year was going to last forever.