Barbie Wilde is best known for playing the Female Cenobite in Clive Barker’s classic British cult horror movie, Hellbound: Hellraiser II. She also starred in movies such as the Indian blockbuster, Janbaaz; Michael Winner’s Death Wish 3 and Grizzly II: The Concert, which featured then unknowns George Clooney, Laura Dern and Charlie Sheen.In the early 1980s, Wilde danced professionally at the top nightclubs and rock venues of New York, London and Amsterdam with her group, Shock. Shock supported such artists as Gary Numan, Ultravox, Depeche Mode and Adam and the Ants. They released two singles on RCA Records: “Angel Face” and “Dynamo Beat.” Wilde wrote and presented eight different music and film review TV programmes in the UK in the 1980s and 1990s, interviewing such pop personalities as Iggy Pop, The Sisters of Mercy, The B-52s and John Lydon (AKA Johnny Rotten), as well as actors Nicolas Cage and Hugh Grant. In the late 1990s, Wilde was an Assistant Casting Director for the BBC’s The Buddha of Suburbia and the Casting Director for MTV’s The Real World: London. Most recently she has turned her hand to writing fiction, penning a novel – The Venus Complex – and a series of short horror stories, gathered together in Voices of the Damned. Visit her website at http://www.barbiewilde.com
The Cilicium Pandoric
(Part II of the Cilicium Trilogy)
by Barbie Wilde
“Hell Needs a Little Glamour . . .”
Female Cenobite Sister Cilice goes back to 18th Century Paris, France, to consult with the Toymaker:
…an idea popped into her rebellious mind. It had always annoyed Sister Cilice that she was a Subordinatus to the Lead Cenobite. She wanted her own order, her own “scream” of demons. In her midnight plottings, she had already given the New Order a name: “The Sisterhood of the Cilice.” The idea of adding more females under her command to populate the vast dungeons of the Underworld was a delicious one. After all, Hell needed a bit of glamour.
“Toymaker, I want you to make a special Pandoric dedicated to me and me alone. A Cilicium Pandoric that will attract needy females desiring the ultimate in sensuality—with designs incorporating things of special meaning to me: blood-red roses, a murder of my favorite, vermillion-eyed crows (and how I delight in that particular collective noun) and silver cilices.”
As instructed, the Toymaker was to test the box before delivery, so he plotted to meet with the beautiful, but notorious, Duchess de Mortamour, whose reputation for everything transgressional was chattered about under the breaths of the powerful men and women of the court, but never out in the open.
“Behold, my masterpiece, designed for your pleasure!” the Toymaker proclaimed with a wave of his hand. The Duchess d’Mortamour moved forward to examine the box and he withdrew from the room discreetly. He entered a nearby closet and removed a small portrait from the wall. Secreted behind the portrait was a peephole, where he could spy on the proceedings in the private room.
The duchess picked up the Pandoric, admiring its silver, ebony and ruby encrusted designs. Her hands flew over the surface—moving the beautifully engineered segments as if she had designed it herself, then she stopped suddenly and put down the Pandoric, as she was overcome with an almost stultifying wave of heat and nausea. Sweat broke out on her brow and her silken clothes, so comfortable before, became scratchy and burdensome—almost burning her skin. She tore at the buttons at her throat, trying to remember how the dress came off, because she was so used to maids dressing and undressing her.
In desperation, the duchess resorted to frantically rending the dress from her body, finally collapsing in a naked heap on the floor. It was then that she heard the discordant but compelling, tinkling melody of the Pandoric calling to her. She dragged herself up the altar, exhausted and burning with an internal fire. She swept the roses and decanter off the altar and lay down on her back—the Pandoric in her hands, fingers fiddling with the moving panels, feverishly desiring an answer, craving an escape from her boring life at court, yearning for a sensuality beyond anything offered here on earth. The device felt her wet, pulsating fingers and heard her panting desires and the panels began to move by their own accord, fashioning themselves into a different kind of mechanism—one designed to give pleasure to solitary women.
The duchess was thrilled at this new love toy and placed the Pandoric between her legs. She slowly inserted it inside her vagina, which was more than ready to embrace the device’s vibrating pleasures. At first, the experience was almost overwhelming—more than any man had given her over her years of debauchery. The duchess shuddered and orgasmed, screaming her release.
Then the noises from the Pandoric changed tune. Its vibrations became more urgent and the duchess became frightened. She tried to pull it out, but felt excruciating pain as tiny hooks sprang from the device and fastened themselves to her vaginal wall. She let go and the pain ceased, but the vibrations became more violent and she came again, fearfully, helplessly. For hours it seemed, she suffered the most exquisite, carnal sensations until she was nearly foaming at the mouth.
Finally, the Pandoric stopped its infernal pulsations. She cautiously pulled it out, gazing with wonder and exhaustion at the bloodstained device. That’s when she realized that she was no longer alone.
Sister Cilice stood in a dark corner of the room, smiling at her. She had witnessed the whole ritual and she was pleased beyond measure. Here was a woman whose capacity for sensational sexual suffering neared her own. A perfect addition to the Labyrinth.
“Who are you, wretched woman?” the duchess demanded. Sister Cilice smiled her wolfish smile again and said, “You called me, I came. Put the Cilicium Pandoric back where it was and I will show you such pleasures beyond anything you have experienced before.”
“I think I’ve had enough,” the duchess declared, attempting to get up, but she was frozen on her back, holding the device above her like a dagger. And then it transformed into something else. And the duchess screamed, but this time it wasn’t in pleasure.
Extract from “The Cilicium Pandoric”, which first appeared in Fangoria’s Gorezone ©2014 Barbie Wilde
With acknowledgement to Clive Barker for the characters and mythology from his novella The Hellbound Heart ©1986.
Voices of the Damned ©2015 Barbie Wilde
Published by SST Publications