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"Freddy and the Old Dildoe"

FIC: "Freddy and the Old Dildoe"
SERIES: "The Strange Case of Alfred Borden"
AUTHOR: Mistress Marilyn
DATE: October 26, 2008-January 4, 2009
FANDOM: "The Prestige"
PAIRING: Alfred / Freddy / Angier (Christian Bale, Christian Bale and Hugh Jackman)
WARNINGS: Slash and incest and other good stuff, including a little non-con.
DISCLAIMER: I don't own 'em. They're characters belonging to Christopher Priest, Christopher Nolan and Warner Brothers, not to mention the respective actors of the movie, and to the ages. This is a work of a fan, done for no remuneration save the satisfaction of the work.
NOTES: We got our copy of 'The Pearl' some 40 years ago, and, along with selected works of the Marquis de Sade, it was one of the first examples of published pornography we ever read. It's a collection of the journal printed briefly in Victorian England from 1879-1880. No doubt this underground publication would have been a favorite of at least one of the Borden brothers, who were probably teenagers when it was available in London.

"Don't you ever get tired of carrying those things around?" he asked his brother, eyeing the dog-eared periodicals stuck in the leather valise, nestled next to the extra set of clothes.

"Never! I can recite some of it from memory."

Alfred didn't have to be reminded. His twin was a talented mimic, adept at imitating accents and voices; and Alfred had certainly been regaled over the years with readings from the work in question, the bawdy journal The Pearl, briefly published but long-lamented by its libidinous followers.

"You know my favorite," said Alfred's grinning twin, Freddy, who started to recite the long, lyrical tribute to a precious wooden implement owned by the Madame of a house of prostitution, a poem fittingly titled 'The Old Dildoe.' His voice rose as the rhyme recounted the tale of a lusty young prostitute borrowing her lady's inanimate companion, first searching high and low for its hiding place and then stealing it away to the privacy of her own room. The bawd in question, Peggy, was looking to put out the fire in her loins by a go with the well-used and well-loved fake phallus. Instead she ended up quite literally setting herself on fire and being fatally consumed by the flames.

Freddy's eyes glinted as he described Peggy's passion:

"Through each vein in her body the fire lurked,
Surely and quickly the engine worked;
Face her, back her, stop her, no, no!
Faster and faster flew the old Dildoe."

His tone turned tragic during the final stanza, as the occupants of the whorehouse discovered the terrible fate of poor Peggy.

"Away they all flew to Peggy's room.
But, ho! 'twas filled with smoke and fume,
And a terrible stench came forth from the bed,
Where poor Peggy lay all burnt and dead.
Sad, sad, was her fate, instead of a fuck,
With the old Dildoe she had tried her luck;
And when at the short digs she so hard did go,
It caught fire with the friction, the old Dildoe."

Freddy's voice held a laugh as he finished:

"Oh, the old Dildoe, oh, the old whore's Dildoe."

Alfred frowned, having heard this verse many times before. "Rubbish," he commented, wishing his brother would spend as much time composing the sometimes illegible scribbles he contributed to their shared diary as he did reading and re-reading his pornographic periodicals.

"You know what the moral of the story is?" asked Freddy with a knowing smile.

"Don't borrow a dildo without permission."

"No! Don't use one made of wood, for Chrissake! You can get them made of rubber or wax, and it makes for a far better ride." Freddy laughed aloud at his own joke.

Alfred raised his eyebrows, reminded of the monstrous thing Freddy kept in his valise opposite the curling copies of The Pearl, a phallus formed of carefully carved and polished red wax with raised veins and a mushroom-shaped head, an exaggerated effigy of Freddy's own male organ. He had fashioned it himself, supposedly unwilling to pay the seemingly exorbitant asking price of a similar instrument made of rubber, although Alfred was convinced his brother enjoyed the novelty of having manufactured his own device, one personifying his gifts as both an inventor and a cocksman. He would never forget the long, lurid afternoon Freddy spent making the mold. They had nearly missed their evening performance.

Alfred was surprised the precious instrument hadn't melted away entirely from the amount of use Freddy had given it in the many months since making it. Freddy's waxen cock now fit the description of his favorite poem, definitely qualifying as an 'old dildo.'

Freddy liked to make up imaginary tales of what he might do with the device as much as he enjoyed its actual use. How many times had Alfred heard his brother speculate on what it would be like to restrain some amoral wench or prowling cutthroat and terrify her or him with the rampant organ of wax. His favorite victim of this contemplative rape was their arrogant rival, Robert Angier, the prancing dandy who billed himself as 'The Great Danton' and endlessly attempted to steal both the secrets and the thunder from the Bordens' popular magical act.

Woe unto their former colleague and most earnest competitor if Freddy did, indeed, manage to capture and contain him! Alfred could only imagine the lengths, both literally and figuratively, his brother would go to in exacting revenge for the years of malicious mishaps caused by Angier, including the bullet catch 'accident' that resulted in the loss of two fingers on Alfred's left hand. He was forced, of course, to share this terrible pain with Freddy in order to maintain the match and preserve their secret. What had been worse? Having his own flesh and bones blown away by the bullet a disguised Angier slipped into the gun just before the trick, or later taking the ax to his brother's intact limb?

Alfred shuddered away the memory, as well as those of the terrible events that led to Angier's animus. His beloved wife Julia had been killed during a dangerous illusion years earlier. Had the Bordens been responsible for her death? What did it matter? No magic on earth allowed for correction of the past.

"I believe it's time for Fallon to prepare the props backstage," Alfred reminded his brother, glad it was Freddy and not himself who would assume the guise of their ingenieur, Bernard Fallon, on this particular day. Alfred was happy to delay his own necessary assumption of Fallon's false whiskers and belly and spend the few hours before showtime sketching in his journal rather than tinkering with the equipment. He would later be the first to appear in front of the audience as their more well-known persona, the famous prestidigitator The Professor, until the twins finally traded places at the climax of the act during the prestige of their famous illusion, The Original Transported Man. Freddy would take the bows, and he, Alfred, would fade into the shadows and retire to their dressing room.

Alfred would then become Fallon and be obliged to spend the night at the workshop on Elgin Avenue, while Freddy would return to the house in St. Johns Woods and sleep overnight with Sarah, the wife they shared. And hopefully Freddy would be on his best behavior and do nothing to arouse Sarah's burgeoning suspicions; Alfred had no desire to spend the first few hours of his next meeting with the woman he loved attempting to allay her fears and sorrows over her husband's strangely altering moods.

The Borden brothers were so alike they could fool the world into believing they were one. That is, their deception was so complete that there was no one alive who knew that Alfred Borden was not a singular man. This included the two women who shared their most intimate embraces, wife Sarah and Olivia, their on-stage assistant. The success of their well-known stage illusion was contingent on their ability to succeed at hiding their secret. And despite the slight differences in their tastes and temperaments, they were both completely devoted to that precious secret, including Freddy's forced endurance of the excision of his fingers to match his brother's disfigurement.

When that night's show was finished and Freddy had claimed the final curtain call, Fallon secured the equipment, gave the last orders to the stagehands and then slowly walked the six or seven blocks to the workshop. It was a cold, damp evening, and there seemed to be the threat of snow in the sooty overcast. Fallon shoved his gloved hands deep into the pockets of his heavy overcoat and kept his gaze cast down as he walked, which was his habit. Usually silent and unassuming, Fallon was known as a man of few words and no known associates, the sort who made for a trustworthy assistant to a necessarily secretive employer.

When he arrived at the workshop and painstakingly opened its three separate locks to let himself in, his first business was to light the woodstove and two of the lamps. He hung his heavy coat on a rack near the door, then peeled off the leather gloves that revealed Fallon to have the same disfigurement as Alfred Borden. He didn't bother removing the entire disguise--only the cheek padding and false teeth--before opening a tin of sardines which he ate with the last of a loaf of bread, washing down the meager fare with Freddy's favorite red wine. Within an hour he was warm and cozy, seated on the cot in the draped-off corner of the workshop that served as a makeshift bedroom.

He found himself too drowsy to read or write, and he idly wished he hadn't waited to finish the letter to the agent who was already pestering The Professor about his summer bookings. Deciding he would post the important communication in the morning, he allowed himself to fall asleep.

When he woke less than an hour later, the fire in the stove had burned low, but the lamps were still lit. He wasn't sure what had awakened him from his slightly restless sleep, although it might have been the partially full bladder that was exacerbated by the vague arousal of an amorous dream. After he relieved himself in the small water closet adjoining the workshop, he blew out the lamps and navigated his way back to bed by virtue of the stove's ruddy illumination. Then he stretched out on his back and stared at the flickering firelight playing across the high ceiling, ignoring the itch of the glue that secured his side-whiskers, as well as the more persistent itch in his oversized trousers.

When he drifted off again, the twin brother Olivia had christened 'Freddy' joined him in his dream. And he brought a better-than-life-sized companion, his own version of 'The Old Dildoe.'

"'Member this?" Freddy asked, poking the waxen glans toward Alfred's face.

"Of course I do. Put it away, for godsake."

"I'd like to do just that, Fallon. I'd like to put this away in you."

Alfred pulled away, noticing now that he was completely naked, stripped of his disguise and his underdrawers. "You're not putting that awful thing in me," he protested. "Not now, not ever."

"Then who? I've got to put it in someone!"

"Do as you usually do. Put it in yourself. Or put it in your mistress. Or one to another, back and forth, however you do it. But leave me out of it."

Freddy's eyes looked thoughtful in the light from the stove. "What if there was someone else nearby who would make an appropriate host for our lonely friend here?"

"Such as?"

The cot gave a little groan as Freddy rose and moved to the lamp across the bare floor. He slowly turned up the gas and enlightened the center of the room in a dramatic flourish; there, near a large worktable, was a straight-backed wooden chair that held an unexpected occupant, a tall, dark-haired man wearing nothing but a blindfold and a gag.

It was the Great Danton!

Alfred shrank back into the draped shadows near the cot; despite the blindfold, he feared being seen. "Freddy! Are you mad?"

"Quiet, Bernard, you'll wake him. We wouldn't want the effects of the chloroform to wear off too quickly, now would we?"

Alfred now understood why his brother was audibly referring to him as their shared doppelganger; Angier could easily fake unconsciousness in order to gain the advantage in a sloppy kidnap attempt. The man could never be trusted.

"He came to our performance tonight," Freddy said, "in disguise, of course. Even though his own version of our trick is getting such fawning reviews from the London tabloids, he can't stop obsessing over how it's done. He didn't learn it by sending Olivia to steal the journal, he didn't learn it by burying you alive and extorting me to reveal it, and he didn't learn it by traveling all the way to America to track down Tesla and his terrifying electrical current. So he still comes skulking about to see what he can find out."

Staring at the white form slightly slumped on the chair, Alfred could almost feel sorry for him. But he knew there was no point in allowing himself to regret their shared fate. Angier would probably never stop until he knew the truth, and tonight's incident would only exacerbate the inevitable disastrous outcome.

"Freddy, let him go. Do it now before he gains his senses. This is madness."

Freddy shook his head and grinned, showing his sharp, canine teeth. "Not on your life," he said in his most earthy accent. "I'm going to bugger this bastard either before or after he wakes. It makes no difference to me if he feels it while it's going in or if he comes around already impaled!"

Alfred didn't care to find himself complicit in the rape of Robert Angier, despite the rancor between them. He wondered if he should simply get up and get dressed and leave his brother to do his worst without an unwilling witness. But he couldn't help reflecting that much of the trouble between Borden and Angier had been caused by his own absence and subsequent ignorance of important events. How could he be so allied to this other part of himself and pretend not to be a lifelong accomplice?

"At least wake him and give him some wine," Alfred said, trying to keep a pleading tone from his voice. "You'll ruin him if you don't give him a chance to stretch the opening before inserting that beast of yours."

"You think I care if he craps in a nappy for the rest of his days? And, anyway, you drank the last of the wine."

"Then go to the pub on the corner and get another!"

"It's too fucking cold outside. You go if you want it that badly."

"Use the pomade, then," Alfred said, pointing to the hair jelly on their dressing table. "Grease the damn thing."

"I must say, Fallon my friend, you seem overly fond of the Great Danton. Have you been hiding an unnatural affection for our enemy?"

Alfred could see that Angier was beginning to stir, either in reality or affect. He lowered his voice accordingly. "I don't know if you're a drunken fool or just a fool, but I won't stand by and watch you destroy him this way. Either do this my way or not at all."

Freddy stared at his brother and then winked and nodded knowingly. Alfred ignored the inference in his expression and got up from the cot, reaching for a pair of trousers to cover his own nakedness. He walked to the stove and poked in another piece of wood, noticing Angier's sudden shivering. The captive had begun to struggle a bit, moaning ineffectively against his tight gag.

"Wake up, Angier," Alfred said, assuming the role of the Great Danton's chief competitor, using the rounded intonation of the Professor's stage voice. "I have brought you here to teach you a new illusion, one that better suits you than those you have stolen from me over the years." He reached out and grabbed the dildo from Freddy's grip, then he approached the chair that held Angier, extending the phallus forward.

"I have something here in my hands we will make disappear. You feel this instrument against your skin?" he asked, slowly rubbing the smooth head first against Angier's muscled arm, then across his equally impressive chest. "Can you guess what this thing is that seems to caress you? Does it feel cool and soothing, or do you begin to suspect its motive?" He turned to Freddy. "Fallon, remove his gag so we may communicate," he ordered.

Freddy nodded and complied, clearly curious to see what his brother would do with his waxen pet.

"Borden, what is the meaning of this outrage?"

The brothers stared at one another and shook their heads over the predictability of Angier's initial reaction.

"Give up that attitude, Angier. If you could see what I've got in my hand, you'd change your tune quick enough." Alfred said this is his natural voice, a far more sinister sound than the affected stage version. "I think you'd better tell me what the schools are like for the better-off boys in America, whether they teach you anything about diddling with the other fellows, like the ones here in England do."


"A pretty man like you must have some experience to prepare him for making the acquaintance of a bloke like this one." He pushed the phallus against Angier's cheek, pressed it tight and then slipped it toward his mouth.

"Whatever that thing is, you're not going to scare me with it."

"It's called a dildo, Robert. You know what that is, don't you?"

Angier's face was impassive, his eyes invisible behind the blindfold. He didn't answer.

"This is a particularly impressive specimen, a pretty thing made of colored wax. It's a bit more purple than a real man, and perhaps a bit bigger, too. I wish I could show it to you."

"Allow me, sir" muttered Freddy in Fallon's guttural speech. He walked behind Angier and barely lowered the dark rag that served as a blindfold, waiting for a moment out of the sightline of the chair while their captive's eyes cleared enough to make out the object in Alfred's hand. When Angier's quick intake of breath indicated he had seen and recognized his would-be rapist, Freddy replaced the blindfold.

"You can't be serious, Borden. Even you wouldn't stoop so low."

Alfred felt something stir inside, something resembling excitement but not far removed from anger. "You know I would," he said simply.

"But why?"

Watching Angier's fine mouth form these words, Alfred wondered himself. "Perhaps I want to pay you back, not for the harm you've done me, but for what I've done to you. Maybe I want to give you some pleasure for a change."

"Pleasure! With that thing?"

Alfred rested the dildo on Angier's shoulder. "Some men take great pleasure in such things, the larger, the better. They have such capacity and elasticity that the thing goes in and out easily, giving them a fuck they won't soon forget."

Ignoring the curious way Freddy was watching him, Alfred reached down with his maimed hand and ran the remaining fingers through Angier's dark hair. "Wouldn't you like to help me get our friend here ready for you? Give it a nice, wet kiss, Robert."

"No. Never."

"Then give me one." He leaned over and pressed his lips against Angier's, holding the intimate embrace for several seconds, strangely moved by the contact. Angier arched his back and strained his neck, trying to break away, but Alfred held him fast.

"If you choose to fight, I'll put you on your knees across this chair," Alfred warned. "Imagine the pain that will cause your knee," he added, referring to the leg badly broken by an unfortunate stage accident precipitated by the untimely but carefully calculated removal of the cushions that had been positioned under a trap door to catch Angier's illusory fall.

"If you decide to be cooperative, I'll lay you on my cot where you'll be considerably more comfortable."

Freddy pointed to the corner of the room and gave a Fallon grunt, squatting to loosen Angier's bonds. Alfred nodded and together they lifted the tall man out of the chair and dragged him to the cot.

"I can't believe you're actually planning to go through with-" Angier protested, his words cut off by his face's close contact with a plump pillow.

Alfred walked to the dressing table and applied a liberal amount of pomade to the end of the dildo. Then he offered it to his brother.

Freddy grinned as he accepted his creation, and together they approached the cot, arranging themselves like bookends on either side. Freddy grabbed the second pillow and positioned it beneath Angier's prone hips, while Alfred once again stroked their victim's smooth hair. Let Angier think that Borden and his ingenieur were about to bugger him! What did it matter?

They tied his ankles to the frame of the cot, splayed for easier entry. And his wrists they left bound behind him. Alfred tightly retied the blindfold to ensure Angier's contact with the pillow couldn't dislodge it.

"Imagine yourself about to learn a new trick," Freddy said from behind Angier. "You must prepare both your mind and your body." Alfred watched as his brother was unable to resist running a hand across the slope of Angier's shapely buttocks. "Relax your muscles and imagine that even your bones are softening," Freddy continued. "And for once don't hold your breath. Let your lungs set the pace." He bent low over Angier's backside, his face disappearing momentarily between the fleshy cheeks that immediately started to quiver. Then he sat up, licking his lips, and pressed the well-oiled end of the waxen phallus against Angier's anus. "Even your arse tastes fine," he said. His eyes flickered toward Alfred. "And not all that tight, either."

The only sound in the room for several minutes was the squeak of the cot and Angier's ragged breathing. Freddy's dildo moved up and down over Angier's opening, pushing forward and pulling away at the very moment it threatened penetration. After a time this dance began to tell on Angier, and the veins over the muscles of his arms swelled with the strain. "Untie my hands," he demanded. "I promise not to fight!"

Alfred sat on Angier's back long enough to hold him down while he released his wrists and retied them to the top of the bed frame. He left enough rope for Angier's long fingers to reach the mattress and dig in, which they did just as Freddy's fearsome instrument achieved possession.

"Oh, Christ!" came Angier's muffled cry.

"Relax," Freddy ordered, pulling the dildo back. "The pain will lessen quickly. Here it comes again." He pushed the phallus through the slightly widened opening, and Angier's moans began to take on a different tone.

"He's no stranger to this pleasure," Freddy whispered to his brother, which was a fact already abundantly plain to Alfred. "You like that, Angier?" he said in a louder voice. "You like feeling that thing go in?"

Angier's breathing matched the rhythm of Freddy's strokes, which started off studiously slow and then gradually grew to a more animated rate of activity. Angier pushed his torso up from the mattress with shaking arms, then dove back down toward the pillow and raised his other end, ass levitating like the weightless subject of a magical illusion. Alfred watched as his brother skillfully kept up with their enemy's excited movements, carefully continuing the undulating assault on Angier's increasingly willing anus. The dildo dove steadily forward, deeper and deeper, before retreating to the very point of pulling free its distended head; then, just as the florid glans reappeared, in it went again, burying itself several inches inside the engorged opening.

Angier moaned and muttered, his gripping fingers whiter than the rough sheet covering the horsehair mattress.

It was just as Alfred had predicted. Robert Angier was having a fantastical fuck!

Freddy began to hum, then to sing in the well-known tune of The Mistletoe Bough:

"He flew with the treasure into his room
(Its size was the handle of a broom).
Oh! what ecstatic moments he passed there,
As he threw up his legs on the back of a chair.
Through each vein in his body the fire lurked,
Surely and quickly the engine worked;
Face him, back him, stop him, no, no!
Faster and faster flew the old Dildoe."

And faster and faster Freddy's version also flew, sending Angier into a frenzy.

"Oh, the old Dildoe, oh, the Great Danton's Dildoe!" Freddy shouted as he finished Angier's rapturous ride with a final flourish of his fantasy tool.

Angier's breath sobbed in and out as he collapsed on the mattress. His dark hair was now soiled with sweat under Alfred's caressing fingers; in a sudden fit of spontaneity Alfred turned Angier's head and kissed his moist lips.

"He loved it," Freddy said, sitting and staring down at the waxen phallus still protruding from Angier's ass. "Christ, I need to fix this thing of my own!" He stood up and loosened his fly, freeing his erection from the folds of his trousers. "I should make him play this flute!"

Alfred gave him a stern look. "Finish yourself somewhere else, but remove that monstrosity from his arse first."

"Bugger off," said Freddy, walking away to obligingly work on himself in the shadows of another corner of the room.

Bending across Angier's long, lithe frame, Alfred wrapped his fingers around the dildo. "Breathe out," he whispered to Angier, and as the well-trained magician complied, he pulled the phallus free.

He studied the greasy instrument, seeing no signs of blood and small evidence of excrement. Indeed Angier was more accomplished at this activity than he let on, and evidently no harm had been done. Alfred stood up, stooped enough to swat Angier gently on his plump bottom, then walked to the stove and shoved his brother's precious toy inside. The fire began to sputter as Freddy's dildo slowly dissolved, and Alfred watched in satisfaction.

A terrible row followed, full of accusations and recriminations, and the brothers could only hope that Robert Angier had been in a happy enough stupor to misunderstand their words. Naturally the two made amends quickly enough, their bond tested but not broken. Afterward a tired Alfred pushed the large man aside and stretched out beside him, instantly falling off to a sleep unfettered by further dreams.

When he woke in the morning, Alfred was shivering beneath his sheets in the frigid workshop, his dream lurking just inches outside his conscious mind. Was he alone? Absolutely. Was he still costumed as the ingenieur Fallon? Of course. He was fully dressed, as he had been when he fell asleep.

As he forced himself out into the air to creep to the stove and start a fire, the details of his dream came flooding back. His cheeks burned as he remembered Robert Angier's passion and his own tender reaction. He gathered a handful of kindling and stirred up the ashes to start a spark. His woolen stocking stuck to a spot on the floor, and he crouched to pull it loose.

An oily red wax covered his toe.

He looked inside and saw the remains of his brother's waxen inamorata, lumpy and liquid, spilling out and trickling down the iron sides of the stove, pooling on the floor like bloody vomit.

Some time in the night he had burned Freddy's old dildo.

He was dumbfounded. He had certainly never been given to sleepwalking before.

-The End-



( 7 comments — Leave a comment )
Mar. 14th, 2009 05:26 am (UTC)
Oh, goodness... Why are there no comments on this yet? This story is so much fun! The way Freddie protected that dildo, though, you'd think it was his pet. X)
It's nice to see a story without as many angsty overtones as most stories for this pairing/trio tend to have. Not to mention it's hot; no mistaking that. ^^

Mar. 31st, 2009 04:48 am (UTC)
Thanks so much! I really appreciate you reading and commenting, and I'm so glad you enjoyed Freddy and his pet . . .
Mar. 30th, 2009 09:01 am (UTC)
Mar. 31st, 2009 04:49 am (UTC)
Thanks so much!
Mar. 30th, 2009 09:03 am (UTC)
there seems to be something wrong with the "leave a comment" link...I got several error messages.

Anyway, I wanted to add, that this calls for a sequel, with an angry Freddie, who wants to take revenge on his brother with his very own "tool" and Albert, first refusing, actually starts to love it...

Mar. 31st, 2009 04:51 am (UTC)
(there's nothing like brother on brother in this fandom . . . it definitely 'suits'!)
Mar. 31st, 2009 06:21 am (UTC)
hehe I definately like the sound of "brother on brother" in this fandom ;)
( 7 comments — Leave a comment )

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