Your name is Philip. You only remember because she decided not to change it, and uses it every day. Otherwise, you're sure your name would've been lost to time by now. You've been with Jeanie for decades. At first you were her boyfriend, but a mutual breakup ended that. When she "didn't want anyone else to have you," you became a necklace, stuffed into her cleavage: as close to her heart as can be, but not allowed a life of your own. She then took to changing you into whatever she thought would be most fun. An earring, a strand of hair, a pair of panties, a dildo; you were always something nearby and intimate. After awhile, she allowed you back your original form, though it was shrunken down to two inches tall. But, eventually, you'd asked to be released once more than her patience allowed. Deciding you talked too much, she promptly changed you into the form you remain in to this day: a hearty, lazy goldfish whose radiance is rarely out of sight when she is home. From your little bowl you watch her life go on, occasionally having an input in the form of nodding at her questions or pointing with your fin, or talking with her telepathically when she allows. Sometimes, she even gives you back "boyfriend privileges," meaning your little fishy body joins her in bed for an evening of sucking, squirming, and flopping.
For now, though, it is morning. A beam of sunlight streaks through her bedroom from a gap in the curtains, and seems to kiss the nipple of her exposed breast. Your bowl is placed on her nightstand, making you feel as though you're sat in a tower watching the sun rise over the hills and valleys of a beautiful landscape. This is a sight you can never tire of, even after a thousand years as her pet. Eventually, though, your owner stirs. Her curves shift and jiggle as she sits up and releases a powerful yawn. Then, as with most mornings, Jeanie's eyes fall on you. She smiles, and then her face lowers until it's right outside of your container.
"Good morning, Philip," she whispers. Her face contorts as another yawn erupts from her mouth. The warm breath fogs your glass, but she giggles girlishly and wipes it clear with her blanket. She then poses a question. Regardless of what it is, you know refusal is futile. Jeanie asks...
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