Thread: Caught Thrapping?

Two man tent Snowdonia.

I woke up to the sounds of a willy hampton being soundly thrashed, willy had obviously been bad because he was getting the spanking of his life.

thrap, thrap, thrap - wait, wait, dum de dum - thrap, thrap

"Hey Mickey whatya doin"


"get fcuked you cnut, you coudda let me finish"


Breakfast was eaten in silence.

Originally Posted by Stonker

Depot Queen's Div, circa1976.

Wednesday (sports afternoon - ironically).

Heard strains of Ian Dury and the Blockheads' album 'New Boots and Panties' (more irony) froma Queen's Regiment subby's room on the ground floor and barged in trhough his unlocked door to ask for a loan of his steam iron.

To my vast amusement, there he was (all hairy-arrsed 6 feet of him) on his bed, rugby shorts round his ankles, Mayfair Magazine in his left hand and in his right (in a curious overhanded, fingertips-only grip, as I remember it) - his manhood, as stiff and proud as Academy Sar'nt Major Huggins on any commissioning parade.

P.S. I'm having a senior moment - his name slips my mind - BUT YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE :D :D :D :D

Brill!!!

I just remembered -

HEY SIMON - if you don't want the rest of your name published on here - PM me :D :D

Germany, '92. Good mate of mine, who shall obviously remain nameless, came back from town with me in a taxi on a real high. Both of us were very drunk and i was feeling rather ill.

"Did you score tonight you jammy bugger?" says i.
"No man" says he. "I did persuade her to give me her kex though like"

He then proceeded to pull out an alarmingly sized pair of Bridget Jones hand me downs from his pockets. Thrusting them in my face, he urged me to "Have a sniff, gan on. They smell of her reet enough". If "She" smelt of urine and cack, then he had the correct undercrackers. I politely declined a more detailed inspection stating that if they came within a foot of me, i would chuck up the pizza i had recently consumed.

Back at the block, we retired to our respective rooms and i lay on my pit. Closing my eyes, i had a feeling not unlike that of being on the black hole at Alton Towers. Deciding that a chat with Hughie and Ralph down the big white telephone was in order, i set off hot foot to the karzee to razz. Making it just in time, i ejected vomit at a speed that would have impressed Werner Braun and could hear moaning from the trap next to me. On exiting, i noticed the next door trap was slightly ajar. Being the good samaritan that i am, i had a shufti, thinking someone else was being sick as well. I wish i hadn't bothered. My northern friend was on the throne, hampton in hand, tugging furious away wearing only the aforementioned gunts over his entire head. The vision was enough to make me dry retch while laughing furiously. Sadly for him, he fell asleep where he was and was found a couple of times during the night by others who were luckily so drunk, they thought they were hallucinating.

I caught my son just before he joined up so would make him 17.

I nearly died,he just said he had a itchy leg and being a mum i said do you want a cup of tea.

well, if we're going to talk about walking in on a thrap..I should say that, while he wasn't self abusing... I did walk in on my son [17] putting it to his girlfiend..

got a right nice look at her perky norks before she managed to cover up and the two, all flustered crashed about..

Think she was giving him a nosh..funny, since she's an avowed vegetarian...

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

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.

Originally Posted by blackrat_scaleyback

Just remembered another one.

"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"

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

Originally Posted by taboo

I caught my son just before he joined up so would make him 17.

I nearly died,he just said he had a itchy leg and being a mum i said do you want a cup of tea.

Originally Posted by Rocketeer

well, if we're going to talk about walking in on a thrap..I should say that, while he wasn't self abusing... I did walk in on my son [17] putting it to his girlfiend..

got a right nice look at her perky norks before she managed to cover up and the two, all flustered crashed about..

Think she was giving him a nosh..funny, since she's an avowed vegetarian...

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. Fuck 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