To me, possession is an act, not an agreement.
I possess with words. I own with lips, fingers, and the occasional length of rope.
It lasts only as long as the rope burns on her wrists, the welts on her ass, the act in her memory, and my words in her mind.
Ownership is a claim made over and over again.
Asking, requiring, or stating ownership is an empty gesture if it hasn’t already been written against your skin and etched into your consciousness.
Ownership has nothing to do with words, and everything to do with the way his touch sets my skin on fire. By the time the question was asked, it was already a formality.