You undo her bonds.

You have few options. Miles from civilisation. Slavers, trappers, forest girls... none are likely to be your ally. Instead they will capture you and sell you for profit. You are certain. But will she?

“What is your name?” You ask.

“Tracy,” She says.

“And you give me your word you will not enslave me?” You ask.

Tracy nods. “May the overlords strike me down.” She vows.

You grunt and undo her manacles. Tracy rubs her wrists and stands. She is taller and stronger than you now and to prove it she grabs your breast. You whimper as she squeezes, clenching, fingers pinching your nipple. With her other hand she unbuttons your shirt and slips it off your shoulders. You swallow, large breasts swaying, nipple tender and sore, fully naked, realising you have erred. She grips your wrist and manacles it with your own bindings. Then your other wrist behind your back. She sneers. “Simpering slut. We are true women not serum girls and we venerate the outsiders. You are a **** now.” She places a hand between your legs and toys with your new sex. “You are brolled cunt.”