So I’m a Commitment-Phobe With an Ownership Kink

“Can I have a hickey?”

The man on top of me paused what he was doing inside of me. “Aren’t you going to a family barbecue after this?” he asked, a half-amused, half-concerned look on his face.

“Yeah, that’s why I want one.”

He flashed me another bemused look and carried on, ultimately sending me home sadly sans hickey and forced to antagonize my conservative relatives the old-fashioned way: by posting my sex column on LinkedIn, which is basically my uncle’s second home.

I’ve previously written about my shameless affinity for love-bites (one I share, I suspect, with Taylor Alison Swift). But it has only recently occurred to me that my desire for the hickey my (now-ex-)situationship refused to deliver that morning was rooted in more than just a love of neck bruises. Yes, reader, the rumors are true: I have an ownership kink.

For the uninitiated, an ownership kink “is when you are turned on by either ‘owning’ someone or being ‘owned’ by someone in the context of a Dom/sub relationship or scene,” says certified sex and relationship psychotherapist Gigi Engle, resident intimacy expert at dating app, 3Fun. “This can happen in an ongoing D/s dynamic or can be relegated entirely to a specific scene.”

As is true of pretty much all kinky things all the time, what an ownership kink looks like in practice can vary significantly, from Owner/pet or Master/slave role play scenarios to being “branded” (like say, with a hickey) or engaging in dirty talk that incorporates themes of possession. If a partner’s ever asked you whose pussy that is and you’ve confirmed that it’s theirs, congrats, you’ve already dabbled in some ownership-kinky territory.

Now, suffice it to say that my anxiety, skepticism, and hang-ups regarding traditional, monogamous relationships are what we might call, “well-documented.” Having written about this extensively elsewhere, I’ll spare you the soapboxy details this time and trust you to understand that while it’s a bit more nuanced than “I’m a strong, independent woman who doesn’t need a man,” the TL;DR is that I simply do not wish to be owned by one.

Sooo imagine my surprise to realize that I actually do wish to be owned by a man…in bed, that is.

Let’s get you a collar to remind you who you belong to when those clothes come off.

In all honesty, it shouldn’t have been a surprise. The signs were there all along. Since adolescence, I’ve been begging lovers for hickeys and parading the results with pride in inappropriate settings—like my Catholic high school or the workplace where I am currently writing this. Two years ago, relieved to be fresh out the slammer of my last monogamous relationship, I was shocked to find myself thrilling to the very not-casual dirty talk my casual rebound fling broke out during sex—“Kayla, you’re mine.” Even as a child, I always thought Princess Jasmine looked way prettier once Jafar made her his slave and put her in a red outfit and handcuffs. (Sorry, it’s not my fault Disney movies used to be weirdly horny.)

And yet, somehow I failed to put it all together until this past summer, when an ethically non-monogamous lover-friend of mine (who has never refused me a hickey) floated the idea of gifting me a leather rhinestone choker in what may be one of the hottest sexts I’ve ever received: Let’s get you a collar to remind you who you belong to when those clothes come off.

Duh, bitch, you have an ownership kink!

So, how is it that a woman like myself—whose skepticism toward traditional relationships is primarily rooted in the gendered power imbalance upon which heterosexual unions under patriarchy have historically been based—gets off on being marked like a man’s territory in bed? Simple: that’s literally what kink is all about, baby.

By definition, kink is inherently subversive—a deviation from the “norm.” (Although, of course, what constitutes “normal” sex is highly subjective and often determined by bullshit hetero-patriarchal mores.) If getting kinky is all about turning societal sexpectations upside down, it makes sense that what we like in bed might also flip the script on a personal level.

“In sex and kink, we often yearn for what we don't have in our daily lives—like letting go, being dominated, being a ‘good girl,’” says Engle. “If you're someone who is used to being in control or is not super into commitment, an ownership kink can allow you to play with aspects of these dynamics you might find appealing in a controlled context, without feeling like you’re giving up your independence.”

In my case, I suspect part of the safety of that controlled context is owed to the open, non-monogamous nature of my relationship with this man (although it’s worth noting that ownership kinks can be a part of any sexual relationship, including committed, monogamous ones). Within our unique dynamic, I maintain complete romantic and sexual freedom, beholden to no man, and he makes no attempt to own, control, or otherwise “lock me down” in any capacity. The care and attention he’s put in to curating this dynamic and understanding and respecting my boundaries is precisely the thing that makes me willing and eager to “give myself” to him in bed.

“In kink, the sub is not actually powerless,” notes Engle. “The Dom and sub are both in control because the scene has been negotiated and boundaries have been established. Therefore, you can let go and be a submissive, but ultimately you know you are not, in fact, powerless.”

Which is to say that wearing a collar and/or otherwise letting a man own me, control me and mark his territory during sex does not mean I have to sacrifice an ounce of my personal, sexual, or bodily autonomy. What it does mean is that when I ask him for a hickey, I get a damn hickey.

Kayla KibbeAssociate Sex & Relationships Editor

Kayla Kibbe (she/her) is the Associate Sex and Relationships Editor at Cosmopolitan US, where she covers all things sex, love, dating and relationships. She lives in Astoria, Queens and probably won’t stop talking about how great it is if you bring it up. Follow her on Twitter and Instagram.