Cybil had two favorite games that she played by herself whenever she explored the snowy, forested hills. The preteen girl liked to push the boundaries of how far from the village her parents would let her go, always wandering a bit too far but always staying not far from the road and within sight of the village. Below in the bottom of the valley, chimney smoke rose through the frosty air in curls and puffs from the huts nestled safely between the high walls of soaring mountain peaks. The girl�s pale, freckly skin was flushed with the bracing cold, her cheeks rosy red in a color that almost matched the shining fire-orange of her chin-length hair.

One of her favorite games was to pretend she was a warrior maid, slashing at tree branches with the wooden sword she wore in a scabbard on her belt. Cybil�s mother, Salme, had been a warrior maid when she was young. Once she was married she hung up the armor and sword and took up the bow as a huntress. The eleven year old was fiercely proud of her mother for being such a strong woman, and her father too; he was the village blacksmith.

But that wasn�t the game she was playing today. Today she was playing her other favorite game. She was sitting on a stump that she had cleared of snow and the knot in her rope belt was untied as her hand went searching inside the waist of her skirt. Her fingers found the right spot and she closed her eyes as she began to rub. Her little slit was already wet and gooey and so warm on her chilled fingers, while her cold touch down there made her shiver but felt so good. Her other hand played with the nipples on her flat chest, her icy fingers making her nipples diamond-hard and covering her skin with goose-pimples.

The horny little girl liked playing this game--a lot. It was very fun to play this game by herself, but she often though about how nice it would be to play this game together with someone else. The village wasn�t very big, but there were still a few other kids around her own age. It made playing the game more fun if she thought about bringing someone else with her, one of the boys... or one of the girls.

She knew about the differences between boys and girls and it made her curious how a boy might play this game, but she only wanted to see, not touch, because she was worried it might be gross or icky. But when she thought of bringing another girl up here with her, she thought about how fun it would be to put her hand inside the other girl�s skirt to find that the other girl was as horny as she was. She thought about slipping one finger inside the other girl�s slit and feeling how warm and wet she got, and about kissing the other girl like how adults did. She thought about finding the other girl�s little button, about rubbing her finger across it back and forth, up and down, in little circles.

Her mind was racing with her imaginings, and she felt herself getting closer to the best part of the game when all her muscles would clench and she would give a little shudder, feeling waves of pleasure flowing across her young body. Her breathing was coming in short, quick breaths and she could hear her pulse building in her ears. She found her own little button with her fingers, rubbing it like she wished she could do to another girl. And if Cybil could touch the other girl, then the other girl could touch Cybil on her...

She gave a little whimpering moan, hearing her heartbeat thumping in her ears. Getting closer and closer--gasping breath, grunt of pleasure. Her heartbeat was nearly as loud as thunder, now--closer and closer--thudthudthudthud--

But wait! Was that a dog barking? She stopped suddenly. Part of her wished she could continue, wanted so badly to finish, but more of her was curious about the noise. She quickly realized that the thundering wasn�t her own heartbeat. She was hearing the hoof beats of horses; lots of them, maybe a score! Horses were approaching the village, riding along the road not far from where Cybil had stopped to play her game.

The young girl hiked up her skirt, re-knotting her rope belt as she ran back toward the village, her horniness forgotten. But the horsemen had speed and arrived before Cybil. By the time she got back, a skirmish had already broken out and Cybil, being just a young girl, had no choice but to hide on the edge of the village and pray to the gods, watching the men in black armor attack her friends and family. It was from her hiding place that she saw war dogs maul her father, the blacksmith. A scream escaped her lips before she could stop it, and two of the big men quickly seized her before she managed to run away.

By now the fight was coming to a close, and most of the villagers who hadn�t been killed or gravely injured had been captured and were now being held at sword-point by the men in black armor. The two men who held Cybil pinned by her arms were dragging the screaming, thrashing young girl into the open area where the other prisoners were being held. The last of Cybil�s horniness disappeared when the fear overwhelmed her. Salme, seeing her daughter in the hands of the evil men, broke loose from her captors and, taking up a sword from her husband�s smoldering forge, rushed at them.

But before she could cover the distance, Salme stopped as if frozen in place. Cybil was unsure what was happening, seeing the confused, stricken look on her mother�s face. Salme appeared to be staring past her daughter, off to one side. Looking that way, Cybil saw a tall woman dismounting from the biggest horse she had ever seen. From the moment she saw the woman, Cybil was almost entranced, unable to move or take her eyes off the woman, even though the two men who had been holding her now let her go.

The woman had skin the color of chocolate, smooth as silk and flawless. She was dressed all in black: leather, metal, and fur. She wore a corset of hardened black leather tight across her flat stomach and supporting her moderately sized breasts. Below that was a skirt of soft black leather, studded with metal that hugged her hips and showed off her ass but swished freely at mid-thigh as she strode across the village green. Her feet were clad in black leather high-heeled boots that came up to just below her knees and were polished to a mirror shine. Over all this, a cloak of black sable draped around her shoulders, and on her head was a circlet of black iron over her jet-black hair worn in a well-oiled braid that reached down to her ass.

Cybil knew instantly through some sixth sense or instinct that this woman was a sorceress, a worker of black magic, and she was the leader of the marauders. Cybil�s fear had overwhelmed her horniness some time ago, but now she felt it coming back, not in place of her fear but together with it. The sensation was strange, but it didn�t take her long to realize it was the result of some enchantment the woman in black had worked. Lust flowed off the woman in waves, bewitching and enthralling all those in her presence. No doubt it was why the marauders served her, but it also captivated the surviving villagers as well. Cybil could see with horror that the magic had wormed its way deep into her mother�s mind, the dark sorceress concentrating her power on Salme.

The woman in black strode up to Cybil�s mother, and the sword in Salme�s hand fell from loose fingers, clattering on the ground. The huntress�s eyes were half-lidded as she stared, transfixed, into the sorceress� eyes, and Salme�s breath was almost panting. Finally the leather-clad woman spoke.

�Kneel.� Salme obeyed the woman�s command instantly, unthinkingly. She sank to her knees, still looking up at the dark skinned woman�s face. Salme�s mouth hung open and she looked like she might start drooling at any second. The sorceress stepped up closer and with one hand she lifted the front her skirt--Cybil was briefly shocked to see that the woman wore nothing under her skirt! The shock gave way to a renewed rush of arousal as she drank in the sight of the sorceress, her womanly folds crowned with a patch of close cropped pubic hair, jet black like the hair on top of her head. The woman spoke again. �Lick.�

Cybil watched with horror as her mother again obeyed instantly. Salme buried her face in the other woman. Tears ran down Cybil�s face. Try as she might, she still could not bring herself to look away from the awful sight of her mother pleasuring the other woman. Her thoughts drifted inexorably back to the game she had been playing in the woods; she had never imagined doing this with another girl, but... it looked fun. Cybil saw that her mother�s hand was inside her woolen trousers, between her legs and working furiously. The young girl hadn�t been able to move under her own will, but now she found her hand drifting on its own accord toward the waist of her skirt. Gritting her teeth, she was able to force it back to her side.

The dark-skinned woman inhaled deeply through her nose, letting it out in a long, wavering sigh of pleasure, here eyes drifting closed. When they opened again, they were locked on Cybil, and one corner of the sorceress� mouth was twisted up in an evil half-smile that was almost a sneer. The hand that wasn�t holding her skirt was now on the back of Salme�s head, pulling the other woman in and... doing something else. Dark energy pulsed around her hand, and it appeared to be flowing from Salme into the sorceress.

Cybil saw with ever growing horror that the dark skinned was working some black magic on her mother! Salme�s already pale skin was turning a sallow grey, as if she were withering. Cybil wanted to scream �Stop! Please!� but couldn�t find her voice, instead letting out more sobs. Besides, she could already tell that her mother�s mind had been burned away, replaced by a pure lust that had no other thought than to continue working her tongue on the other woman. Finally with a shudder and a moan, the dark-skinned woman climaxed just as the evil spell she was casting culminated. Salme fell over onto the cold ground, unmoving, and Cybil knew that she was dead. The sorceress straightened her skirt, saying to the captain of her marauders �That was the best orgasm I�ve had in a month.�

The tremendous grief finally broke the spell over Cybil, and she let out a long wordless scream as she ran to her mother. Several of the marauders reached out to snatch her, but she dodged and twisted away from their grasping hands and collapsed onto the ground next to Salme�s lifeless form. The dark-skinned woman looked down at her as if regarding a piece of garbage.

�Look at this little whelp. No no, leave her be. I will teach her a lesson for her insolence.� The marauders backed off and Cybil, still crying, looked up at the sorceress, terrified that the woman would force her to do as Salme had done before killing her just the same. But no; the woman moved her hands and spoke some words, and Cybil knew right away that it was a very different spell taking hold of her.

Cybil fell over onto the ground and curled up into a ball, feeling the magic working across her body but unsure what was happening. The woman in black stepped over the young girl, striding back to her gigantic horse. �Gather up what valuables we�ve found. Chain the survivors; we can sell them to the slavers. Leave the girl, though. Let her learn for herself the power of my magic.�

As the dark-skinned sorceress and her marauders rode off leading a train of slaves, Cybil writhed on the ground, her body wracked by alternating waves of pleasure and pain radiating outward from her chest and the area between her legs and. She could feel something down there; somehow her body was... changing. Finally she passed out, to wake hours later.

...

By sundown the following day, Salme and her husband lay buried side by side under a cairn of stones. In the hut they had lived in, Cybil�s bedroll was gone and the pegs on which Salme�s armor and swordbelt had once hung now stood empty. The rest of the dead villagers had been gathered into one of the huts, and now that hut was blazing as a giant funeral pyre.

And a trail of Cybil�s footprints lead off through the freshly falling snow.