Contributor: Allen Taylor - - I awoke one morning to the sound of footfall under the covers. The sounds of boots, pedes shod and unshod, hooves of human miscreants, and stomping substructures pounding upon my fundament. Shouts of protests accompanied said racket and in truth it amounted to nothing short of bedlam to my naked alarm clock ears. What I felt was every bit disturbing as the hubbub upon my flaps. The clamorous clang upon my orifice made a madhouse seem quite sane. They gathered first in small numbers, then the maelstrom grew. A peaceful protest against the residents of my inner parts. Some of the dissidents carried signs, signs which read, “Down with the 1%,” or “Liar, Beggerman, Thief.” A few derided in anger the status of the turds that lingered deep within my colon; others arrived simply to join in something bigger than...

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Author: Allen Taylor

Contributor: Moxie Malone - - Poor Jerry. It was difficult to watch him slowly deteriorate day after day. It's never easy seeing someone you care about suffer. Unable to do anything to ease the pain, you feel helpless, irrational and guilty. There were moments - fleeting moments - when it crossed my mind that maybe, just maybe I was somehow responsible. Hell, at the end, Jerry blamed me, but any rational person would know that it was ridiculous to fault me. To my knowledge, stepping on cracks never broke any mother's back and secret curses don't come to pass. It's true, there were times when I was angry with wickedly cruel thoughts, but I would never act on them and certainly never tell him. I didn't really mean to cause any actual harm, which is not to suggest that it is possible to inflict pain with a simple thought. Obviously,...

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Author: Moxie Malone

Contributor: Quill Enparchment - - Coming home for the evening after a hard day of work, I had two things on my mind: a hot bath to wash the stench of ink off my skin, and a date with the dragon. President Grant visited Virginia City today and the streets filled with hullabaloo the moment he stepped off the train. I wanted to cover the story for the newspaper but that son of a bitch editor I work for reminded me that women weren't real writers and told me to go cover the quilter's circle. My afternoon had me up to my ears in tea and talk about the ladies' work being done in time for Halloween. I'm not part of the quilter's circle. In fact, I don't sew at all - not a stitch. Can't even darn my own socks. I write minor stories and help the guys on the printing presses. Every evening my skin is covered in stinky black ink and sweat. No...

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Author: Quill Enparchment

Contributor: Korrie Calanthe - - I want to fuck you. I want to drag my tongue across your lips, your face, nibble your ear, breathe it, fog and tonguefuck your skin, tease you, bite lightly, pull, teeth scouring, clawing, fingers just enough to make you hot, hot, ready, eager. Grab me, take me, take me! you're mine, mine every inch of you every inch every inch. Give me every inch lose yourself in me lose yourself and become mine. mine. - -...

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Author: Korrie Calanthe

Contributor: William Clifford - - Who can sleep anymore? Not me. Not after Heather. Not after Marvin. My bed belongs to my cat. Sleep has become a foreign country. I can’t speak the language. I stumble along, never quite understanding, taking wrong turns. I squint. I stagger into a bodega on Avenue B to buy a beer and the cashier demands 64,000 dong. I reach into my pocket and produce a trembling handful of pesos. And my hands, they’re not good, they’re bad, they shake. My cigarettes are sparklers. My bad hands are probably the result my nightly bouts of Homeric drinking, but who knows? A neurologist might know, but I’m too nervous to see one. What is going on? I know what isn’t going on-- rock and roll and sex. There is, however, a fair amount of drugs: a little of this, a lot of that; a lot of this, a little of that. Contrary...

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Author: William Clifford

Contributor: Eric Boyd - - (an excerpt from the novel Multiplex) Augie was having an art show. Like any good painter, he whored himself out to everyone he knew, including me, to bring people for his opening. “Fredrick, after that first night,” he said, “I don’t care who comes. Anyone can come; I hope a lot of people do. As long I get enough people to buy back my rent on the gallery, I’m happy.” The gallery, Artplace 107, was about twenty feet square, with a backroom and toilet. Augie had paid four hundred dollars to have it rented out for a month. That was the minimum he could pay, he told me. The rent on the space was six hundred, with the gallery getting a flat fifteen percent of all of his sales. For five hundred the gallery received twenty percent until the balance was met and the regular fifteen after that. Augie paid them four...

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Author: Eric Boyd

Contributor: J. Holgar - - Cunt. That's what he calls her, snarls it as he throws her to the rug. The way she likes it, the way she needs it. Need runs down her thighs in sugary slicks. Skin rises red as he beats her. The way she likes it, the way she needs it. Need comes echoed in the subtle tones of her desperate moan. He is hard. She knows he is hard, but as she reaches, arches, he pulls away, rises more skin red and ready. Arching, she feels his heat, the heat of his need, reaches, arches, reaches, arches. Hands twist into the rug, and then she has him. She has him. Every inch of him. Every inch of his hard, hot cock. He is the fire, she is the fuel. She takes him, rises, screams, rides, rides, and as he stiffens she rolls over him, tightens in the way he likes it, the way he needs it. hands twist into skin, and then he has her....

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Author: J. Holgar

Contributor: Donna M. - - Joleen turned slowly in front of a full body mirror mounted at the end of a short hall in the garden apartment she shared with Galen. She gently straightened the dark fabric of a "Wings" uniform that had been specifically tailored to fit her slim figure and nodded in silent approval. It had been a gift from her close friend Karyn to celebrate her nineteenth birthday and it was, as Karyn had claimed in the accompanying card, “A way to make Jo feel like part of the gang!” “I like it.” Joleen commented, turning slightly to the left, her dark eyes moving across the reflection as they followed a gentle curve in the fabric that modestly complimented her form. “It looks good on you.” Galen acknowledged as he rested lightly against a nearby wall with his arms crossed. She took a deep breath and her eyes drifted, meeting...

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Author: Donna M.

Contributor: Amanda Firefox - - What can I say? I was 19, he was 22, blond hair, eyes the color of country denim. Gorgeous. Running around the beach with no shirt all day, I could tell he wasn’t a six-pack kind of guy, but he was damn close. Several times I watched him massage knots of sunscreen into the curves of his tanned biceps, down the hard lengths of his arms and into the toned musculature of his swimmer’s legs, imagining myself there beside him, lathering him in creamy lotion, feeling those muscles harden and flex under my thumbs, the eager, caressing fingers of my hands. I spent almost three days watching him from the window of the timeshare bungalow a friend of mine had suggested I stay at when my first vacation from work came around. I spent a week there, afraid to really touch anything, staying in a lot and mostly...

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Author: Amanda Firefox

Contributor: William J Fedigan - - Crazies on Ward B hear Captain screaming, screaming all day, night. Crazies not surprised. Crazies know Captain. Captain’s frequent flyer on Ward B, visits 10-12 times/yr, like his home away from. Crazies used to Captain screaming, screaming at his thumb, screaming: Fat Mike you motherfucker motherfucker motherfucker. Fat Mike is what Captain calls his thumb, right thumb, split nail, dirty, nasty fucking thumb. Crazies know Captain. Crazies know: Stay the fuck away from Captain. He got sharp teeth. What happens when Captain stops screaming, he bites his thumb, bites deep, bites til it bleeds. Next thing, Captain screaming again, waving thumb, calling it Fat Mike, blood flying round. Orderlies, big as coup deville, grab Captain, tie him down & into rubber room. Nurse puts bandage on thumb, doc...

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Author: William J Fedigan

Contributor: Henry Otomo - - My hands, fingers. Close, prayer, holy moment. My tongue, wet, mouth as wet, as ready as her honey, sticky. Her pussy is my altar, my throne, and as I rise to clasp her, fall into her, breathe her, I taste the sweet there, the sticky, the honey. She is mine, alive, trembling, wet goddess of soft skin and movement, hair cascade, the touch and shiver of love as sweet sacrament rubs soft across my nose, my lips, wets to wetter, slides slick, bucking, bucking, fucking my face as she moans. My hands are the dais of her hips, my mouth the dais of her lips, labia, worshiping lingually until the rise of sweet release, until the goddess comes down from her throne, takes me into her arms, and shows me the way to heaven's doors. - - - All women are goddess...

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Author: Henry Otomo

Razor Dildo is adult fiction. It's a place that publishes stories either too violent, too erotic or too crazy for mainsteam markets. Prepare to be scared. Prepare to be turned on. Prepare to be mindfucked. Providing a platform for both new and established authors to reach readers based solely on the merit of each individual piece of writing, Razor Dildo endeavors to give unheard authors the voice they deserve, the readership they crave, and the respect they're owed. Only the people decide what stories are best. Currently, Razor Dildo is edited by author E.S. Wynn If you like the site and want to see more, consider buying a book (or a CD) from the store at Thunderune Publishing. Profits from all sales go toward funding Razor Dildo and other...

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Author: Errata

Razor Dildo is currently closed to submissions. Feel free to enjoy the stories and poetry already on the site. Thank you to those who contributed during our short run. - -...

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Author: Errata