Bloc Standard Routine

Sophia awoke around 5:00 AM to the sound of her door creaking open after three quick knocks. Her eyes shot open as she saw the figure at the door, a hulking man holding a steel tray with the morning rations still steaming upon it. She motioned to her desk, gave him a sleeping salute, and settled back in bed to stare at the mottled ceiling, her eyes fluttering shut slowly. Every second of rest was precious. One step was much heavier than the other, and she could smell the fumes from his rickety old prosthetic as it burned what smelled like a mixture of whale oil and kerosene.

"Good morning,Comrade Commissar." he squelched at her through his voice box. She sat up, oblivious to the fact that her wool blanket had fallen to expose her lovely breasts. He came into focus slowly as she relented to the start of the day.

"Good morning, Comrade Smirnov." she replied. She pulled the blanket back over her chest, though he wasn't looking at her. He never did. Sophia waited until he had sat her morning ration down and began his lumbering exit from her quarters. Wordlessly, he exited her room, and closed the door behind himself, clutching the knob in a metal fist. Sophia hadn't covered herself for modesty or anything of the sort, but rather for his sake. Smirnov had lost his manhood along with his legs to a Stadti artillery shell many years ago. The crude prosthetics of the time had broken down to the point where this once proud soldier's only function was to push the mess cart from room to room; his sad state a daily reminder to all of the cost of their struggle.

Sophia put it out of her mind as she stood nude beside her bed. It was time for the Bloc Standard morning routine. She retrieved her 1.5 kg Bloc Standard V (vaginal) Bar from its leather case along with its smaller 750 gram anal bar attachment, fitted them into the U-shaped coupling, and unceremoniously inserted them into herself. To her ankles, she wrapped sturdy but worn canvas straps that had a length of 20 cm rubber tubing attached with a slip latch at the ends. Next, she performed a series of leg stretches, bringing her knees up to her chest one at a time, then a leaning calf stretch, and finally a hamstring stretch.

When she felt limber enough, she bent herself at the knees and grasped the ends of the rubber tubing. Quickly locating the latches at the end, she attached them to the U-shaped coupling, and began to stand. The rubber stretched and pulled as she slowly stood up, her thighs clamped together. When she felt the inserts began to slide out, Sophia contracted her powerful vaginal and anal muscles, fighting the tension until she stood fully extended. She took a deep breath and focused before lowering herself back down. Her calisthenics had begun.

20 narrow squats, 20 situps, 20 wide squats (by far the hardest exercise. The sound of inserts pinging off of the barracks floors often sounded like a musical piece during morning PT), 20 pushups, 20 crunches with legs to chest. 1 minute rest; repeat 5 times.

When she was done, she pulled the inserts out before attempting to push her index finger in. Satisfied with the considerable resistance, she unhooked the insert, wiped it down with a greasy rag, and sat it back in its leather case. She ate her morning ration (whatever meat that was present had been boiled to a nearly tasteless mash, which in her experience was for the best), took her single, large vitamin, and washed it down with bitter instant coffee.

Next task: hygiene. She removed her Bloc Standard safety razor, dipped it a cup of cold water, and began shaving her long, lovely legs and pale, pink sex. Long experience had taught her to test the blade on her thigh for sharpness, but to shave her lips first. Satisfied it still had some life left in it, she shaved one side of her pussy and then the other, her mound, thighs, shins and calves, and finally armpits. Her routine left her sweaty, smooth, and tender. A quick wipe down with Bloc Standard soap and a cold, wet rag would send other women into shivers, but not a girl from Stalingrad. She didn't even have to break a layer off ice at the top of her water cup in the morning, which was quite a luxury as far as she was concerned.

Final task: Indoctrination. Sophia wrapped her simple wool blanket around herself, opened her door, and waited. She could see the men and women moving through the hallway busy with the morning routine of preparing Propaganda, passing coded messages, and taking old or secret documents to the incinerator. As she waited, she repeated the mantras as she'd been taught, again and again.

"War was not a curse. It was also a great school which examined and tested all the forces of the people. Here they are, your people and organizations, their life and work. Scrutinize them carefully and treat them according to their deserts..." She could feel it working on her, slowly.

"There is no doubt that without the policy of collectivization we would not have been able to put an end to the age-long backwardness of our agriculture..." Hints of fertility, and the idea that it belonged to all...

"Seize the means of production! Seize all the means of production from capitalists and work towards creating a society where the means of production are owned by everyone. ..." Sophia involuntarily bit her lip. The phrase had been repeated thousands of times as she was brought to mind-shattering orgasms during her training at the Commissariat. It blared from loud speakers as her body was passed from man to woman and back again. Her legs parted slightly as she felt her sex get wetter and wetter. She was ready.

"Onward to victory!' she said aloud, and opened her eyes to see if anyone was standing in the doorway. With almost a sigh, everyone seemed too busy to seize anything more than stacks of posters. She chuckled to herself, stood up and closed the door. As she donned her tight Commissar's uniform, the troubling and shameful images of Rasputin's cultists were already fading from her thoughts; and she was ready to serve her Comrades once more. "Onward to victory..." she said to herself again as she left her quarters.

Commissar Sophia Ivanova did not know it would be for the last time.