I desire a harem of flesh pets who, through whatever means, have forfeit the right to their forms and are subject to reconfiguration at my force of will.
What a delight it would be to have my thralls as clay in my hands; anthropoid to many-legged to sessile lifeform to my own likeness. Neurology, hormones, and base instinct are well within my grasp. There are no limits or obstacles, just my toys and their exceptionally mutable flesh.
The bounty of my garden is the intoxicating cocktail of humiliation, pleasure, frustration, fear, and desparation, cultivated in a mental landscape where individualism and privacy is rarely afforded.
