Penelope Will Be Late for Class (m+/f)
Posted: Sun Sep 07, 2025 6:31 pm
I've told this story once before, on my old Yahoo 360 blog. Aside from experimenting with self-bondage on my own, this was my first time tied up.
I was somewhere between 9 and 11 years old, in the last couple of years of primary school. I attended a little Church of England school on the edge of our rural village. At the back corner of the playground, there was a little wooded area outlined by trees, a den of narrow passages with an entrance even a small child had to duck to get inside. There was something illicit about it; going in there felt like we weren't entirely on school grounds anymore, and it seemed ambiguous whether we were allowed to be in there or not. A no-man's-land between the playground and the miles of farmland that lay beyond.
I wouldn't quite use the term tomboy, but I was that girl who was into computer games and science fiction, comfortable spending time with the boys. A group of three or four boys I'd usually hang out and play with. And on this one unremarkable day, I suggested... if they tied me up, I'd be able to get free, no matter what.
I have no idea what imp of the perverse made me say that. I don't remember it being any particularly prurient desire to be tied up; not consciously, at least. I remember my thought process being: I can't imagine being tied up in a way that you couldn't escape from. How hard can it be, right? People get tied up and escape on TV all the time. Besides, they're just kids...
Was it autumn? I don't remember it as hot or cold, but a faint chill. Perhaps it was early in the school year, our last year there, confident in being the oldest and ruling the playground. Autumn is by far my favourite time of year now. I wonder if this is why.
We acted on my bet at lunch. The better part of an hour to kill outside, before we went back in for the afternoon. Of course, we went into the woodland den. And I was tied to a tree, at the far corner, the furthest boundary between school and the world beyond.
I was tied with a ramshackle collection of whatever was available. A scarf, somebody's discarded sweatshirt, even my own jacket. I'm pretty sure it was the scarf that formed the all important wrist tie, with everything else being ceremonial at best. Sitting down on the ground - sparse grass that didn't see much sunlight, over hard dirt - in my knee length skirt and sensible school day shirt, my arms were around the tree behind me and my wrists tied there. My legs tied at the ankles. Another piece of schoolboy clothing rather needlessly cinching my waist to the tree. I didn't fight, happily playing along. It was whoever tied my hands who knew what they were doing. Nobody seemed to take any precocious pleasure in tying me up, but there was an undercurrent of sadism as they pulled that scarf tight, and I started to think I might have made a mistake.
I struggled a bit, feeling out how I was tied. It started to become apparent that I wasn't just going to pull my arms free immediately, as I might have anticipated. They laughed at me. And then it was one o'clock. "Bye Penelope!" They ran back to school chuckling among themselves. Without me. The stupid girl who'd asked to be tied to a tree where nobody would find me.
I wasn't gagged. It wasn't part of the deal, and hadn't been suggested. At that distance nobody would have heard my voice from the school building. I'd have been lucky if a farmer was in earshot. I wasn't calling for help anyway, out of embarrassment, and I still hoped I'd be able to get myself free sooner or later. They didn't notice I was missing. Nobody came looking, and I imagine my captors said nothing, merely continuing to enjoy their private joke. Safely inside while Penelope was tied up, out of sight.
I tried struggling again, my bonds holding me firmly in place. My knee-length skirt suddenly didn't seem short enough as my legs scraped the cold ground. I couldn't tell how much time had passed, but I was definitely late getting back to class. Would I even make it back inside by the end of the day? It was starting to look like I might be lucky to get home in time for Press Gang. This would never happen to Lynda.
All I could do was keep trying. I could get out of anything, no matter how they tied me up, right? All that was really keeping me there was that scarf around my wrists. I tried to work my hands out of its tight grip. A tiny bit of give. I tried to push the scarf down against the tree. Tugged my hands out a little bit more. Pushed the scarf down some more. Very slowly, with some discomfort, the scarf was slipping down over the widest part of my hands. I tried to change their position to ease it over my joints. A little bit more, a little bit more... Finally, the tightly tied scarf slipped down over my fingers. They were, after all, just kids. At least none of them were scouts. With my hands free, everything else was simple to untie.
I slipped back out of the den's small opening and walked through the empty playground back to the school. The air seemed colder and the sky darker than when I'd been left alone. My skirt and socks were dirty, my hair thoroughly dishevelled; I pulled twigs out of it. I felt furious about being left tied up (even if I'd asked for it). But walking through the doors and entering the classroom, I tried to reappear triumphantly with a smirk. I'd succeeded. I could escape from any tie. Even if the state of my hair and clothes and the time on the clock told a more complicated story.
Everything else, how our teacher reacted, who got in trouble, is a blur.
I was somewhere between 9 and 11 years old, in the last couple of years of primary school. I attended a little Church of England school on the edge of our rural village. At the back corner of the playground, there was a little wooded area outlined by trees, a den of narrow passages with an entrance even a small child had to duck to get inside. There was something illicit about it; going in there felt like we weren't entirely on school grounds anymore, and it seemed ambiguous whether we were allowed to be in there or not. A no-man's-land between the playground and the miles of farmland that lay beyond.
I wouldn't quite use the term tomboy, but I was that girl who was into computer games and science fiction, comfortable spending time with the boys. A group of three or four boys I'd usually hang out and play with. And on this one unremarkable day, I suggested... if they tied me up, I'd be able to get free, no matter what.
I have no idea what imp of the perverse made me say that. I don't remember it being any particularly prurient desire to be tied up; not consciously, at least. I remember my thought process being: I can't imagine being tied up in a way that you couldn't escape from. How hard can it be, right? People get tied up and escape on TV all the time. Besides, they're just kids...
Was it autumn? I don't remember it as hot or cold, but a faint chill. Perhaps it was early in the school year, our last year there, confident in being the oldest and ruling the playground. Autumn is by far my favourite time of year now. I wonder if this is why.
We acted on my bet at lunch. The better part of an hour to kill outside, before we went back in for the afternoon. Of course, we went into the woodland den. And I was tied to a tree, at the far corner, the furthest boundary between school and the world beyond.
I was tied with a ramshackle collection of whatever was available. A scarf, somebody's discarded sweatshirt, even my own jacket. I'm pretty sure it was the scarf that formed the all important wrist tie, with everything else being ceremonial at best. Sitting down on the ground - sparse grass that didn't see much sunlight, over hard dirt - in my knee length skirt and sensible school day shirt, my arms were around the tree behind me and my wrists tied there. My legs tied at the ankles. Another piece of schoolboy clothing rather needlessly cinching my waist to the tree. I didn't fight, happily playing along. It was whoever tied my hands who knew what they were doing. Nobody seemed to take any precocious pleasure in tying me up, but there was an undercurrent of sadism as they pulled that scarf tight, and I started to think I might have made a mistake.
I struggled a bit, feeling out how I was tied. It started to become apparent that I wasn't just going to pull my arms free immediately, as I might have anticipated. They laughed at me. And then it was one o'clock. "Bye Penelope!" They ran back to school chuckling among themselves. Without me. The stupid girl who'd asked to be tied to a tree where nobody would find me.
I wasn't gagged. It wasn't part of the deal, and hadn't been suggested. At that distance nobody would have heard my voice from the school building. I'd have been lucky if a farmer was in earshot. I wasn't calling for help anyway, out of embarrassment, and I still hoped I'd be able to get myself free sooner or later. They didn't notice I was missing. Nobody came looking, and I imagine my captors said nothing, merely continuing to enjoy their private joke. Safely inside while Penelope was tied up, out of sight.
I tried struggling again, my bonds holding me firmly in place. My knee-length skirt suddenly didn't seem short enough as my legs scraped the cold ground. I couldn't tell how much time had passed, but I was definitely late getting back to class. Would I even make it back inside by the end of the day? It was starting to look like I might be lucky to get home in time for Press Gang. This would never happen to Lynda.
All I could do was keep trying. I could get out of anything, no matter how they tied me up, right? All that was really keeping me there was that scarf around my wrists. I tried to work my hands out of its tight grip. A tiny bit of give. I tried to push the scarf down against the tree. Tugged my hands out a little bit more. Pushed the scarf down some more. Very slowly, with some discomfort, the scarf was slipping down over the widest part of my hands. I tried to change their position to ease it over my joints. A little bit more, a little bit more... Finally, the tightly tied scarf slipped down over my fingers. They were, after all, just kids. At least none of them were scouts. With my hands free, everything else was simple to untie.
I slipped back out of the den's small opening and walked through the empty playground back to the school. The air seemed colder and the sky darker than when I'd been left alone. My skirt and socks were dirty, my hair thoroughly dishevelled; I pulled twigs out of it. I felt furious about being left tied up (even if I'd asked for it). But walking through the doors and entering the classroom, I tried to reappear triumphantly with a smirk. I'd succeeded. I could escape from any tie. Even if the state of my hair and clothes and the time on the clock told a more complicated story.
Everything else, how our teacher reacted, who got in trouble, is a blur.
