Perfect

She picked up the paring knife, the reflection of the light off the bright silver blade catching her eye. In front of her was a grape, a purple grape. She pushed the tip of the knife into the grape until it pierced the skin, juice trickling out through the gash. Slowly and assuredly, like a surgeon making an incision, she sliced the grape in half, the two half-spheres falling face-up onto the table, staring at her as if through lifeless eyes.

She had mastered the task of halving grapes, thanks to daily practice. Grapes were one of her favorite snacks. They came in with their own built-in ceremony, one that took enough time to make it worth eating them. Each food she ate came with its own ceremony, developed for a number of purposes. One was simply to take up time. The longer it took her to eat the longer she would stay full, and with each calorie precious to her, she did not want to waste any by devouring one or a dozen too quickly, or she would be hungry for more before the taste vanished from her mouth.

She focused her attention on the first grape-half, carefully ensuring that, like the whole from which it came, it would be divided perfectly in half. Perfectly. She aspired to perfection at all times. She knew that she was imperfect. He told her so every day. Every day he would go over just a few of her flaws and failures to remind her that she always had to work harder to please him. The only way she could hope to please him would be if every individual action she took was taken perfectly. If each movement was perfect, it would add up to a perfect whole, just as the grape in front of her had once been a perfect whole. Then she would make him happy.

The first grape-half having been dispatched, she applied the same level of focus to the second. If her cuts were too imperfect, he had given her permission to punish herself by throwing the entire grape away. One grape would be 1.75% of her daily caloric intake. Making sure that her hand did not shake, she finished dividing the grape into four perfect quarters. Carefully, calmly, she placed the first quarter in her mouth, letting the juice rush onto her tongue. She sucked until there was nothing left but the ragged skin, and then she swallowed, letting it slip down her throat, before slowly picked up the next quarter.

Today she would eat eight grapes, taking the time first to cut each grape into quarters. A few hours later she would eat a banana, which had 105 calories, by far the most of any of the foods she would end up consuming that day. She would cut the banana into sixteen thin slices, then cut each slice in half, before slowly consuming each slice, one-by-one. This took longer than the grape ritual, and the banana was more filling than the grape, so it was worth the 105 calories.

Her mind emptied of thoughts as she focused on her grape ritual. Time became a river, drifting along thoughtlessly, passing without her notice, so that before she realized it she had finished dissecting the last grape half. She had only two quarters left to eat, and before long those were gone too, the taste of the last one floating on her tongue, slowly fading. She had already eaten 231 calories today, 87 at breakfast, 92 at lunch, and 52 calories worth of grapes. For dinner she would have a cup of chicken broth and a cup of broccoli, which, along with the banana, would bring her count to an even 400. Perfect. He would be happy when she told him.

With her grape ritual finished and its product consumed, her hand slid down to her cunt. This was what he had told her to do after she ate, so this is what she did. Her clit practically leapt to her touch, desperate for the attention it was about to receive. She rubbed, slowly at first, and felt her cunt getting wetter. Her skin started to tingle, and she quickly began to feel like she was about to spontaneously combust. It had only been a few minutes but she already felt the familiar tidal wave building within her. She had studied it, with his help, and now knew exactly how far she could push herself before she had an orgasm.

To push herself further she thought about what she had been like before he saved her. She had an overflowing stomach, back then, and love handles. She had flabby arms. Her thighs had rubbed together when she walked. She had been fat. She had been disgusting. She had been imperfect. Then he had saved her. He had taught her that she had the potential to be perfect, that if she just did as he said, that if she focused all of her energy on following his instructions, she could achieve perfection.

Her cunt began to drip onto the chair. She knew she would have to wipe it up before he got home, or he would call her a worthless, wanton slut, undeserving of his love. Perfect girls did not drip on their chairs. She was not allowed to sit on any of his chairs. She had not earned that right.

She still had so far to go to be perfect. She weighed 105 pounds, but she could weigh less. Her BMI was 16.9, but it could be lower. There was a gap between her thighs, but it could be bigger. She did not know if she would ever be perfect, the way he wanted her to be. She wondered when he would give up, when he would decide that she was a lost cause. He would throw her away and find another project, another girl worthy of his efforts. Tears rolled down her eyes at the thought, yet her cunt only got wetter, and dripped more.

She stopped quickly, as all of the signs that accompanied imminent orgasm were apparent. Her breath was faster, her cheeks flushed, her legs shaking. She was close to cumming, almost too close, but she had stopped herself in time. She always did. She repeated this act five times a day, using the thought of being perfect for him to arouse herself. When he got home he would use her body, some combination of her mouth, her cunt, and her asshole, for his own release. She had to be sure not to cum without his permission, no matter how close he got her. Seventeen days ago he had allowed her to orgasm while he was cumming in her mouth. She had not been allowed to have one since then.

Some days she used her hunger to distract from her need to cum. Some days she used her need to cum to distract from her hunger. Occasionally both would overwhelm her simultaneously, and she would drink green tea and focus her thoughts on being perfect for him. She could not let her hunger or her need to cum control her. Doing so would be considered an act of defiance against him, a way of taking control from him, and would be punished accordingly. She could not allow herself the shame of letting her body control her. Not when it was not her body anymore.

He owned her body. He told her not cum, so she would not cum. He told her not to eat more than 400 calories a day, so she would not eat more than 400 calories a day. He told her to be perfect, so she would be perfect. She would be perfect if it killed her.