Germany, mid 80's, drunken jock caught by the guard thrapping away in the bogs sucking a bratwurst - class lol

When I was stationed in Detmold in 1980, we had one bloke who was regularly caught galloping his maggot. We all had single rooms in the block & the usual drill if you were going to knock one off was to lock the door, leave the key in the lock & hang your beret over it so no peeping could be done.....
He forgot the last part of the drill, so could be observed with chopper in hand giving it rice for all he was worth. One of the blokes duly produced a fully-charged water pistol & its nozzle was inserted into the keyhole & 1st/2nd pressure applied repeatedly to the trigger. Screams ensued from within the room & it was quickly ascertained that he'd been hit by the high-pressure jet right in his jap's eye......
We didn't see him in the cookhouse or the bar for 2 days after that - wonder why?

Just remembered another one.

I was on a battle camp as a JL (can't exactly remember where, could have been Wathgill) and a mate was dying for a tug. He had his copy of Escort on standby and was actively seeking pad furniture in the readers wives section. The rest of the room was down the NAAFI at the time and i was getting changed after a shower.

"Blackrat. Do us a favour mate and keep dog while i have quick one off the wrist mate"
"No probs" i said. "I'll wait outside and give a shout if anyone comes along".

I sat outside having a fag when i saw our troop OC bimbling in my general direction. Not wanting to attract attention, i tried to look busy, which is a bit difficult when wrapped in a towel with a smoke on the go. Just my luck, he came right up to me.

"Alright thing? What are you up to?" said the Lt.
"Smoking Sir. About to get dressed Sir" stated JL Blackrat.
"Good man. I'll just have a looksee in the lines to see that all is ticketyboo then"

Sh1t.

I pressed my ear to the door and could hear my oppo leap to attention. "Carry on" i heard the boss say and i saw him exit the room rather sharpish. I stuck my head around the door to see my mate happily beating away like Gene Krupa.

"What the fcuk? What are you doing?" I said. "What the hell did the boss say?"
"He said carry on Blackrat so that's what i'm doing"

There is no arguing with this logic. Mind you, he would knock one out at every mealtime without fail. He must have had a schlong like a stick of pepperami.

....and with this Freudian slip blackrat proves that he was in fact THE CULPRIT

Taboo - you are welcome (nay - encouraged) to interrupt my thrapping any time you like.

Only question - one lump or two?

Rocketeer - I'd watch ms back, were I in your shoes . . . .

Going though puberty with two brothers was severely limiting - elder bro had a room to himself, while I had to share a bedroom with my younger brother - until the day older brother departs into the forces. As next in line, naturally I get use of his bedroom with the proviso that I vacate it for him should he return on leave. Smashing, thinks I, and even before he's out the front door I'm into his record collection and stash of Fiesta.

One Friday afternoon, having had a while to settle-in to my more palatial - and private - surroundings, I race home from school to an empty house, mind full of thoughts of Susan Grieg's budding breasts. Within a very short time I'm pulling myself around my bedroom when I'm suddenly, and totally without announcement interrupted by the appearance at the door of big brother.

I learned two important facts that afternoon; firstly, that the bolt on the door only works when you remember to slide it across, and secondly, the RAF stack early on a Friday. Gits.

I went out on a saturday afternoon bender, at the time I was living in digs with a kindly old lady and her daughter (who was a bit of a hottie), I got in late afternoon and had a kip as you do, I arose from my slumber and proceeded to the bathroom to make myself ready for the evenings alcohol abuse, before getting in the bath I thought it would be a really good idea to "clear the tubes" so next thing Im sat on the toilet tugging away to deluded thoughts of nubile young ladies when all of a sudden the door opens, it was the landladys daughter.

At this point I would love to tell you a Dashing Chap style tale of how she then entered the room, felated me, then gave me a soapy tit wank and then rode me like Seagrass, but honesty being the best policy:

She must of looked at me and thought i was a Japanese Helicopter Pilot, she then shouted at the top of her voice "Errr you dirty barstard, wanking in the bathroom". The landlady heard, the neighbour who was in having a cuppa heard, and the daughters friend who I had designs on also heard. By the time I got to the pub, about 30 minutes later, my mates knew, everyone in the road knew about it by Sunday. I was ashamed and hurt but got over it by wanking into the daughters bathwater one night while she was on the phone and once I had a really itchy arrse and used her hair brush to give it a good old scratch.

Whilst on Op Granby, commanding a Challenger 1 we were inundated with idiots from Vickers worrying that we might not be operating their blessed tanks properly! Every time we moved or got in the tank one of their technicians would suddenly appear out of nowhere to ask what we were doing and how we were going to do it? One morning bright and early my driver started to clamber into the drivers cab of the tank and one of said vicekers engineers was in his face, what you doing asked vickers engineer. * off said my driver im gonna have a wnak. The look on the vickers guys face was priceless and we saw less and less of them after that. Good man that driver!

Kingsley Barracks, Minden, a thousand years ago....

The front sangar was a breeze block affair, painted black and green for reasons I cannot fathom and it also had hessian screens on the windows, I assume so that spetsnaz snipers could not shoot you when they parachuted onto the parade ground.

On one lazy Friday afternoon, which was also pay day, all the pads had gone home, the lads were down the swimming pool or were pissing it up in the 'Shack' and the camp was dead.

As I had won the weekend guard lottery again, there I was, hidden by sniper screens, in my very own disruptive pattern sangar, combats around knees, SLR against the wall and eyes closed, belting out the first of many for that day.

"open the farkin' gate, I can't stop" came the sudden cry and I looked out of the screen to see the Power Sgt, on a bike, with a ladder over his shoulders (a ladder ffs), struggling to maintain balance and momentum as he slowly approached the barrier.

Quick as a flash I trousered up, picked up my weapon and got to the barrier to raise it.

but the excitement had all been a bit too much for 'little E-layer' and the inane and half-arsed grin on my face did little to hide my disgust as he rode past me, and I stood there, pumping fluid ounce after fluid ounce of manfat into my combats, my shreddies and all down my leg.

On Telic 2, providing comms for Dutch contingent at As Samawah, during their takeover from the Yanks.
I'm on night shift on a sat det and my tech has left his laptop out so I can play Football Manager during a long, boring shift.
After a few hours, I bore of the game and being an inquisitive person (nosey tw*t) I have a little look around his document folder as we all would.
I happen across some pics of his wife-to-be, also in the regiment, and get a little excited. Starts off pretty tame, some underwear shots, bit of cleavage, moving on to topless before progressing on to full on bacon blind shots. Not that many but enough to facilitate a good thrap.
I come up with what I thought at the time was a great way to prevent any unwanted visitors breaking the magic, and tie the flimsy wooden door with a bunjee cord to the handle, barring the septic marine comms det next door from entry.
So I set up the laptop on the desk, open as many pics of her as I can get on the screen, drop the dessies and rip off several sheets of blu-roll and park myself down in front of it.
I'm battering away, when the door swings open, the bunjee cord simply extending with the force, great idea that, not.
In walks the laptops owner, lets call him Taff to protect his identity, although that was his name.
He walks over to his bergen, announces he can't sleep and needs his book, catches sight of me throttling Darth Vader, spies the pics of his fiancee and without missing a beat says "I see you've found the pics of the missus, enjoy", and leaves me to crack on.
Cheers Taff, that's what you call a mate

Lauged my face off at that one mate! Beautifully written.

'Lets call him Taff to protect his identity..........'

What about your fnucking identity!!! Reading this thread over the past two days I have both pissed and s*** myself in equal quantities. Its good to know that Britain's finest are ready for anythnig as long as you give them a ten second head start to get their keks back up and hide the man-juice stains.

Oh gents.....I would doff my cap to all of you except I'm not wearing one..

Twisting the thread around a little. What's the most anyone has ever cracked out during a two hour barrier sortie? I once managed five in the 'Super-sangar' at Palace Bks NI. God, the blokes were safe that night......

My Mum nenver liked my girlfriend when I was 17. My folks went away for the weekend so I invited the girl over for a shagfest... delicious. Come dhobi day Mum comes into my bedroom and says "I know what young men do, but please don't make a mess of the sheets again." Do I say "Sorry, Mum, but Elaine was with me all weekend!" or keep the peace and admit I'm a w**ker? I went for the w**ker story....

Not strictly a thrap story but one of being caught in the act.

Young Outcast and Mrs Outcast taking new first baby to visit outlaws in Scotland in February. Old council house with no central heating so Mother in law says, sleep in our room with baby as it has a gas fire. Anyways, on first night, have a few drinks and off to bed with baby tucked up in cot. Mrs Outcast gets horny and says come on, do me from behind. Anyways, I oblige, giving it hammer and tongs pushing her head into the pillow. Just getting to the vinigar strokes and notice a light coming from behind me. Looks over my right shoulder to see the door ajar and light coming from the hall. At this moment I hear a noise to my left at the bedside cabinet. Mother in law's voice comes from that direction "Sorry, I was just getting the dogs treats out of the bedside drawer". Anyways, good job it was dark as my face would have been scarlet, Pulled duvet over both of us and when heard door shut, both Mrs outcast and I fell into fits of embarrassed laughter. Obviously Outcast wanted to finish the job off but she wouldn't hear of it. Was very embarrassed at breakfast the next morning but mother in law eqally so. Found out dog wouldn't settle on night without its nightly treat. It got a treat later that day with a size 8 for costing me a shag. Bar Steward.

8 AES, Bosnia 98-99 tour. Two of the older REME blokes decided to square away one of their sprogs. They had purchased a cam-corder and concealed it on top of the locker in their Corimec so that it had a full view of the room. They pressed record then put on some porn. In walks the sprog 10 minutes or so later. After a few minutes of watching filth the two older guys say they are off to the bar but the sprog chooses to stay for a bit. He has a w@nk and then goes to the bar.

The next day posters were up all around the camp saying come to the Engineer Bar on Saturday as the most hardcore porn film ever is on. Needless to say most of camp turned up. The look of horror on the sprogs face was priceless as they showed his thrapping efforts on a big screen projector!

A "couple" of years ago I had reason to spend a few weeks living with my uncle and aunty. Now aunty my dads sister was a bit of a stunner. As a 15 year old on leave from an all male boarding school I had little to do during the day. Not a single fcuk to my name. Uncle and aunty both worked during the day.

As any normal 15 year old would, I went through the bedroom drawers investigating the Knicker department, this gave me the horn big time. However this was not good enough, I then decided to raid the laundry basket situated in the utility room. A lovely pair of red french camis were withdrawn for inhalation purposes. Sat on the washing machine knob in hand, trousers round ankles, sniffing away I had forgotten the cleaner was due around. Bitch just laughed!

Not many female confessions here.

We're just more careful not to get caught Yokel

Another one which springs to mind….

Deployed on exercise to Flensburg from Gutersloh – it was one of the ‘non-tactical’ exercises that we are allowed to have in the Royal Signals………vehicles, berets, different locations but fuck the weapons and cam!. As was typical for the British Army, they’d timed our deployment to be at exactly the same time as the German national holiday and roads were chocker to say the least.

Anyway, as the traffic came to a standstill, I did the honourable thing as vehicle commander (it was a Landrover) and got my head down in the passenger seat, leaving my crewman to amble along at a snail’s pace. The remainder of the journey was uneventful and we got to our exercise location, safe and sound.

About 4 days into the exercise, I was chatting about life in general with my crewman over a tab and a brew (and who I will add at this stage was fucking huge – known in the Corps as BF (Big Fucker)). BF mentioned the hundreds of gorgeous birds in cars on the way up and how the speed of traffic enabled him to letch for Britain, short skirts, pearly white teeth as they flashed a smile, glimpses of leg and even panties on the odd occasion……..cracking stuff.

He confessed to me that while I was asleep in the passenger seat, he’d ‘knocked a couple out’ while watching the fit birds crawling past in their cars. I laughed and said words to the effect of ‘fair play mate, I’d have done the same’

I then asked him where he shot his load

‘in your beret’ came the reply

twat

Not an amazing one but...

At depot in 2003 everyone was regularly bashing one out both in their bedspace and in the bogs - no-one had any dramas with it and it was fairly normal to walk in on eachother ragging one out.

One day I walk into the toilets and I can see from the gap under one of the cubicles a thrash mag laid out and a slight slapping noise - mega, thinks I we'll play some sort of prank. I went back to my Sections room and we all decided we'd sneak in, grab the magazine from under the cubicle and at the same time using one of the lads newly purchased video recorders video the 'lads' reaction from over the top of the cubicle.

So we all slip in in our socks, camcorder bod creeps into the cubicle next to the thrapping one and climbs carefully onto the toilet awaiting the removal of the magazine before popping over, one lad moves forward and snatches the magazine only to get his fingers crushed under a size 9 boot and to hear the roaring voice of one of our Section Commanders (we were Crows so obviously they were wrathful gods to us!) swearing and screaming words that are a blur to me now, we all barreled out of the room in fear back to our room, when we got back in lads started writing up best books and polishing boots to look as if we'd never left the room - thinking we'd got away with it the lad who got his fingers crushed went sick the next day with two of his fingers in clip and when questioned by said Section Commander sang like a bird...

We got well aquainted with b*stard pressups.