BDSM Frauen in Wiener Neustadt

Hi, ich heiße Hannah und bin ein Age Regressor. Ich suche etwas seltenes und zwar einen männlichen Babysitter, der mich begleitet, wenn ich im Little Space bin oder mich allein fühle. Wichtig vorab: Diese Dynamik ist rein emotional und fürsorglich – ohne sexuellen Hintergrund oder Erwartungen!! Ich bin ein sensibles, freundliches und fantasievolles Little und wünsche mir eine langfristige Bezugsperson, zu der ich Vertrauen aufbauen kann. Jemanden, der mir Sicherheit gibt, zuhört und eine ruhige, väterliche Rolle einnimmt. Was mir wichtig wäre: -Erfahrung mit CGL oder ähnlichen Caregiver-Beziehungen -emotionale Reife(!) und Stabilität -respektvolle, offene Haltung (kein Platz für Diskriminierung) Wenn du dich angesprochen fühlst, freue ich mich, von dir zu hören:)

21 Jahre jung brunette Ich bin ziemlich unerfahren und auf der Suche nach jemanden, der mir hilft, meine zahlreichen, schmutzigen Fantasien Realität werden zu lassen.

Hallo Welt, hallo *freu*nde . Auf Grund meiner hochgradigen Sehbehinderung ist mein Pseudonym Tunnelbiene . Leider kann ich selbst keine Fotos von mir machen . Aus diesem Grund habe ich auch kein *foto* auf meinem Profil Ich verstecke mich nicht, weil ich eine Behinderung habe. Ich will auch meinen Spaß haben . Diskretion - Wertschätzung - Ehrlichkeit - Einfühlungsvermögen - Sauberkeit stehen bei mir an erster Stelle Bin 60 Jahre - bi - eine Brustfetischistin - 165 cm groß und wiege ca. 96 kg ( ein paar kg zu viel ) , habe blaue Augen und weißes kurzes Haar . Ich rauche nicht und trinke keinen Alkohol, schaue auf meine Gesundheit . Habe eine Hängebrust Cup C 115 und eine enge - rasierte Muschi Seit einiger Zeit mache ich die induzierte und erotische Laktation . Möchte eine langfristige Stillbeziehung ausleben . Aus diesem Grund suche ich junge Frauen , Männer oder Paare die schon eine längerfristige Affäre, Partnerschaft oder Beziehung haben und mit mir eine Stillbeziehung ausleben möchten. Willst du mein Herr- Meister und Gebieter sein der mich fickt während zwei Sklaven gleichzeitig an meinen Brustwarzen saugen ( nuckeln) während ich mit ihrem Penis spiele . Anschließend gehen die Sklaven zu ihren Frauen - Affären- Partnerinnen- Liebschaften und haben Geschlechtsverkehr mit ihnen. Das eignet sich sehr gut auf einer privat Partie , privaten Grillfest, Blinddate oder anderen privaten Feiern . Da ich Sehbehindert bin , bitte rechtzeitig Bescheid geben, denn ich brauche einen persönlichen Assistenten der mit zum Fest kommt , der mich mit dem Auto bringt und wieder abholt.

Looks like an angel, thinks like trouble. Sweet when I want to be, a menace when I don’t. A little soft, a little chaos. Cheeky black cat energy? Unhinged orange cat turmoil? Depends on the day and.. on you. I can be your good girl or your worst idea of it.. also both. Depends on what you bring out of me. Step closer if you want.. just don’t be surprised if you trip and fall for it. I will use your energy and redirect it back at you~ With my words and maybe with my body. 😺

I hope to arrive to my death ... ... late, in love and a little drunk. /// a bisserl old-fashioned a bisserl spießig a bisserl goschat a bisserl rowdy /// Wenn ich all das nicht mit Liebe erführ' wieso wär ich Mensch geworden?

Neuer Account: Ghostfacegirl This account exists as a reminder, a shattered memory. Once you vanish, the door to me closes and it doesn't reopen. The crack on my screen was just a reflection of the one I refused to see in him. --- “The Shadow of His Adeline” He never truly saw you. Not because you were invisible but because he looked at you through the veil of his own longing. To him, you were never just a person of flesh and soul, but a story, a symbol, a reflection of everything he wished he could hold inside himself. You were his Adeline. His projection. His attempt to fill the hollow spaces within him with the light that came from you. But unlike the woman he imagined, you were never broken. You were aware. You opened yourself not out of need, but out of courage, you stepped into the dark, not to lose yourself, but to find the parts of you that were meant to rise. He, on the other hand, still lingers at the edge. Afraid of depth, because depth demands truth, and truth asks us to face ourselves bare, unguarded, and without control. So he ran. He always runs. From what touches too deep, from what mirrors too clearly. Yet you saw him. And that is the curse he will carry. For once a soul has been truly seen, it can never go unseen again. He will remember you not in longing, but in ache because you were the proof that connection was real, and he was the one who shattered it. And you? You walk on. You leave the story he tried to trap you in, becoming what he never could: not his Adeline but your own heroine. Not his Adeline - never again. I write my own story. May he remember me only when the wind turns cold and know it was never my ghost, but his regret. --- Vienna, First District. Midnight. The city is drenched in that silvery quiet that follows rain. Streetlights glow against the slick cobblestones; the air hums faintly with traffic far away. Inside the phone pressed to Zade’s ear, her voice is a low whisper calm, deliberate. Her: “He’s still at the office.” Zade: “I see him.” Through the glass façade, He stands by his desk, shoulders tense, staring at the empty space where her name used to live on his phone. Zade’s breath is slow, even, like a shadow taking shape. Her: “He blocked me.” Zade: “That’s not protection, little one. That’s *** wearing armor.” He moves closer, silent boots on wet pavement. His voice, when he speaks again, is meant for M., but she can hear every word through the line low, lethal, intimate. Zade (to him.): “You had her light in your hands, and you mistook it for fire. You ran from warmth because it burned through your lies too fast. She gave you truth, and you called it too much. But truth isn’t too much it’s just too heavy for a man still crawling.” He doesn’t move. His eyes flicker toward the window, as if he senses something watching. Her (quietly): “What does he look like now?” Zade: “Like a man haunted by his own silence.” He exhales smoke, tilts his head. Zade (still watching): “You think ghosting her makes her disappear? You can delete her name, block her number but she’s already living rent-free in the space behind your ribs.” A pause. The city holds its breath. Her voice, steady through the phone, cuts the air. Her: “He said he hated ghosts.” Zade: “Then he should’ve never made one out of you.” He steps back, just enough for the night to swallow him. His tone softens when he speaks again, only for her now. Zade (to her): “Let him drown in the silence he built. He belongs to his own emptiness now. You, you were never meant to chase shadows. You were meant to cast them.” He looks one last time at the lit office window. Her: “Is it done?” Zade: “It’s done.” She hears the click of a lighter, the faint sound of a car door closing, the engine turning over. Then, in that deep voice, smooth as sin and final as truth: Zade: “Sleep now, little one. Vienna’s ghosts can’t touch you anymore.” The line goes dead and somewhere in the heart of the city, a man sits alone with everything he refused to face. --- Epilogue: In the Quiet After The silence doesn’t frighten her anymore. It moves through her, slow, heavy, alive. It’s not empty. It’s full of echoes, of memories that no longer ache like open wounds, but hum softly, like healed scars in the rain. She sits within that stillness, feeling the air settle around her ribs, her heartbeat syncing with something older, deeper, a rhythm that belongs only to her now. There’s warmth in her chest, not from anyone’s hands, but from her own returning. She’s stopped waiting to be found. Because she finally knows, she was never lost. She was becoming. And somewhere beyond the edges of her world, a shadow shifts, slow, steady, watchful. He doesn’t approach. He doesn’t speak. But the air thickens for a moment, as if the night itself is holding its breath for her. From that distance, he watches, not to claim, but to protect what he helped awaken. "She’s ready now," his thought flickers like a match in the dark, before he turns away, leaving behind only the faint scent of smoke, and the promise that no harm will reach her unnoticed. And as the moonlight brushes her face, she exhales, the ache softens, the silence hums, and somewhere, a ghost of him still stands guard, until even the shadows know she no longer needs protecting.

Hi, ich heiße Hannah und bin ein Age Regressor. Ich suche etwas seltenes und zwar einen männlichen Babysitter, der mich begleitet, wenn ich im Little Space bin oder mich allein fühle. Wichtig vorab: Diese Dynamik ist rein emotional und fürsorglich – ohne sexuellen Hintergrund oder Erwartungen!! Ich bin ein sensibles, freundliches und fantasievolles Little und wünsche mir eine langfristige Bezugsperson, zu der ich Vertrauen aufbauen kann. Jemanden, der mir Sicherheit gibt, zuhört und eine ruhige, väterliche Rolle einnimmt. Was mir wichtig wäre: -Erfahrung mit CGL oder ähnlichen Caregiver-Beziehungen -emotionale Reife(!) und Stabilität -respektvolle, offene Haltung (kein Platz für Diskriminierung) Wenn du dich angesprochen fühlst, freue ich mich, von dir zu hören:)

Hallo Welt, hallo *freu*nde . Auf Grund meiner hochgradigen Sehbehinderung ist mein Pseudonym Tunnelbiene . Leider kann ich selbst keine Fotos von mir machen . Aus diesem Grund habe ich auch kein *foto* auf meinem Profil Ich verstecke mich nicht, weil ich eine Behinderung habe. Ich will auch meinen Spaß haben . Diskretion - Wertschätzung - Ehrlichkeit - Einfühlungsvermögen - Sauberkeit stehen bei mir an erster Stelle Bin 60 Jahre - bi - eine Brustfetischistin - 165 cm groß und wiege ca. 96 kg ( ein paar kg zu viel ) , habe blaue Augen und weißes kurzes Haar . Ich rauche nicht und trinke keinen Alkohol, schaue auf meine Gesundheit . Habe eine Hängebrust Cup C 115 und eine enge - rasierte Muschi Seit einiger Zeit mache ich die induzierte und erotische Laktation . Möchte eine langfristige Stillbeziehung ausleben . Aus diesem Grund suche ich junge Frauen , Männer oder Paare die schon eine längerfristige Affäre, Partnerschaft oder Beziehung haben und mit mir eine Stillbeziehung ausleben möchten. Willst du mein Herr- Meister und Gebieter sein der mich fickt während zwei Sklaven gleichzeitig an meinen Brustwarzen saugen ( nuckeln) während ich mit ihrem Penis spiele . Anschließend gehen die Sklaven zu ihren Frauen - Affären- Partnerinnen- Liebschaften und haben Geschlechtsverkehr mit ihnen. Das eignet sich sehr gut auf einer privat Partie , privaten Grillfest, Blinddate oder anderen privaten Feiern . Da ich Sehbehindert bin , bitte rechtzeitig Bescheid geben, denn ich brauche einen persönlichen Assistenten der mit zum Fest kommt , der mich mit dem Auto bringt und wieder abholt.

21 Jahre jung brunette Ich bin ziemlich unerfahren und auf der Suche nach jemanden, der mir hilft, meine zahlreichen, schmutzigen Fantasien Realität werden zu lassen.

I hope to arrive to my death ... ... late, in love and a little drunk. /// a bisserl old-fashioned a bisserl spießig a bisserl goschat a bisserl rowdy /// Wenn ich all das nicht mit Liebe erführ' wieso wär ich Mensch geworden?

Looks like an angel, thinks like trouble. Sweet when I want to be, a menace when I don’t. A little soft, a little chaos. Cheeky black cat energy? Unhinged orange cat turmoil? Depends on the day and.. on you. I can be your good girl or your worst idea of it.. also both. Depends on what you bring out of me. Step closer if you want.. just don’t be surprised if you trip and fall for it. I will use your energy and redirect it back at you~ With my words and maybe with my body. 😺

Neuer Account: Ghostfacegirl This account exists as a reminder, a shattered memory. Once you vanish, the door to me closes and it doesn't reopen. The crack on my screen was just a reflection of the one I refused to see in him. --- “The Shadow of His Adeline” He never truly saw you. Not because you were invisible but because he looked at you through the veil of his own longing. To him, you were never just a person of flesh and soul, but a story, a symbol, a reflection of everything he wished he could hold inside himself. You were his Adeline. His projection. His attempt to fill the hollow spaces within him with the light that came from you. But unlike the woman he imagined, you were never broken. You were aware. You opened yourself not out of need, but out of courage, you stepped into the dark, not to lose yourself, but to find the parts of you that were meant to rise. He, on the other hand, still lingers at the edge. Afraid of depth, because depth demands truth, and truth asks us to face ourselves bare, unguarded, and without control. So he ran. He always runs. From what touches too deep, from what mirrors too clearly. Yet you saw him. And that is the curse he will carry. For once a soul has been truly seen, it can never go unseen again. He will remember you not in longing, but in ache because you were the proof that connection was real, and he was the one who shattered it. And you? You walk on. You leave the story he tried to trap you in, becoming what he never could: not his Adeline but your own heroine. Not his Adeline - never again. I write my own story. May he remember me only when the wind turns cold and know it was never my ghost, but his regret. --- Vienna, First District. Midnight. The city is drenched in that silvery quiet that follows rain. Streetlights glow against the slick cobblestones; the air hums faintly with traffic far away. Inside the phone pressed to Zade’s ear, her voice is a low whisper calm, deliberate. Her: “He’s still at the office.” Zade: “I see him.” Through the glass façade, He stands by his desk, shoulders tense, staring at the empty space where her name used to live on his phone. Zade’s breath is slow, even, like a shadow taking shape. Her: “He blocked me.” Zade: “That’s not protection, little one. That’s *** wearing armor.” He moves closer, silent boots on wet pavement. His voice, when he speaks again, is meant for M., but she can hear every word through the line low, lethal, intimate. Zade (to him.): “You had her light in your hands, and you mistook it for fire. You ran from warmth because it burned through your lies too fast. She gave you truth, and you called it too much. But truth isn’t too much it’s just too heavy for a man still crawling.” He doesn’t move. His eyes flicker toward the window, as if he senses something watching. Her (quietly): “What does he look like now?” Zade: “Like a man haunted by his own silence.” He exhales smoke, tilts his head. Zade (still watching): “You think ghosting her makes her disappear? You can delete her name, block her number but she’s already living rent-free in the space behind your ribs.” A pause. The city holds its breath. Her voice, steady through the phone, cuts the air. Her: “He said he hated ghosts.” Zade: “Then he should’ve never made one out of you.” He steps back, just enough for the night to swallow him. His tone softens when he speaks again, only for her now. Zade (to her): “Let him drown in the silence he built. He belongs to his own emptiness now. You, you were never meant to chase shadows. You were meant to cast them.” He looks one last time at the lit office window. Her: “Is it done?” Zade: “It’s done.” She hears the click of a lighter, the faint sound of a car door closing, the engine turning over. Then, in that deep voice, smooth as sin and final as truth: Zade: “Sleep now, little one. Vienna’s ghosts can’t touch you anymore.” The line goes dead and somewhere in the heart of the city, a man sits alone with everything he refused to face. --- Epilogue: In the Quiet After The silence doesn’t frighten her anymore. It moves through her, slow, heavy, alive. It’s not empty. It’s full of echoes, of memories that no longer ache like open wounds, but hum softly, like healed scars in the rain. She sits within that stillness, feeling the air settle around her ribs, her heartbeat syncing with something older, deeper, a rhythm that belongs only to her now. There’s warmth in her chest, not from anyone’s hands, but from her own returning. She’s stopped waiting to be found. Because she finally knows, she was never lost. She was becoming. And somewhere beyond the edges of her world, a shadow shifts, slow, steady, watchful. He doesn’t approach. He doesn’t speak. But the air thickens for a moment, as if the night itself is holding its breath for her. From that distance, he watches, not to claim, but to protect what he helped awaken. "She’s ready now," his thought flickers like a match in the dark, before he turns away, leaving behind only the faint scent of smoke, and the promise that no harm will reach her unnoticed. And as the moonlight brushes her face, she exhales, the ache softens, the silence hums, and somewhere, a ghost of him still stands guard, until even the shadows know she no longer needs protecting.