【無料エロ動画】デリヘル嬢の面接にやってきた女の子にナマハメ指導！【アダルトAV】

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デリヘル嬢の面接にやってきた女の子にナマハメ指導！の詳細情報まとめ。安全に無料動画視聴！

## 影の扉

 neon glowed, painting the grimy street in shades of electric blue and lurid pink. The sign above the unassuming door, barely visible beneath a peeling awning, simply read: "Midnight Garden." It was a name that promised allure, a sanctuary from the harsh realities outside, but for the three young women standing before it, it was a gateway to a future they’d never imagined.

Maya, the eldest at twenty, clutched her worn backpack, her knuckles white. Her eyes, usually bright and full of a youthful optimism that had long since faded, were now shadowed with a desperate pragmatism. Her mother’s medical bills, a relentless tide threatening to drown their small family, had brought her here. Beside her, Hana, a waif-like eighteen-year-old with eyes as wide and innocent as a startled deer, shivered despite the mild evening air. Her younger siblings’ rumbling stomachs were a constant, gnawing ache in her conscience. And then there was Ren, the youngest, barely seventeen, with a defiant glint in her dark eyes that masked a profound vulnerability. She was running, not from debt, but from a past she couldn’t outrun.

The door creaked open, revealing a dimly lit hallway that smelled faintly of cheap perfume and something vaguely metallic. A woman with impossibly high heels and a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes beckoned them in. “Welcome to Midnight Garden,” she purred, her voice like velvet over sandpaper. “I’m Madame Evangeline, the proprietor. Come in, come in. Don’t be shy.”

They followed her into a surprisingly plush reception area. Velvet sofas, ornate mirrors, and overflowing ashtrays created an atmosphere of decadent, slightly faded glamour. Madame Evangeline, after a brief, dismissive glance at their modest attire, ushered them towards a heavy, dark wood door. “The manager will see you now,” she announced, her voice losing its earlier warmth. “He’ll be assessing your… suitability.”

The manager, a man named Mr. Kurogane, was a stark contrast to Evangeline’s manufactured allure. He was a man of imposing stature, his face etched with a permanent, unreadable expression. He sat behind a large desk, his gaze sharp and unnervingly direct as he surveyed them. “So,” he began, his voice a low rumble, “you’re here for the training, are you? To become ‘companions’ at Midnight Garden?”

Maya nodded, her throat tight. Hana fidgeted, her gaze fixed on the intricate patterns of the rug. Ren, however, met Kurogane’s stare with a steely resolve.

“This is not a simple job,” Kurogane continued, his eyes lingering on each of them in turn. “It requires… dedication. And a certain innate talent.” He leaned back in his chair, a faint smile playing on his lips. “We need to see if you have what it takes. To ensure you can provide the… experience our clientele desires.”

He stood and gestured towards a door at the back of the room. “This way for your preliminary assessment. Madame Evangeline will be assisting me.”

The room beyond was stark and sterile, with a single, high-backed examination table dominating the center. The air here was different, devoid of the perfumed decadence of the reception area, replaced by an unsettling clinical chill.

“Now, ladies,” Kurogane said, his tone shifting to something more businesslike, more… detached. “This is where we ascertain your fundamental qualities. Your natural… receptiveness.”

Maya’s heart hammered against her ribs. She’d braced herself for this, had read the whispered online accounts, but the reality was a cold, hard knot of fear in her stomach.

Kurogane’s gaze was intense as he addressed Maya first. “You first. Remove your outer clothing. We need to assess your physique, your skin’s texture, your natural pheromones. It’s all about the first impression, you see.”

Hesitantly, Maya began to shed her thin jacket, then her blouse. Her hands trembled as she fumbled with the buttons of her jeans. She felt exposed, vulnerable, the weight of her mother’s illness a palpable presence in the sterile room.

Kurogane circled her, his eyes like a surgeon’s scalpel, dissecting her form. He ran a gloved hand lightly over her arm, then her shoulder. “Good skin. Smooth. Your measurements are… adequate.” He moved to Hana, who was practically vibrating with apprehension.

“And you, Hana,” Kurogane said, his voice a touch softer, but no less disquieting. “You seem quite… sensitive.” He gently touched her cheek. “This is important. The ability to feel, and to convey that feeling. It’s the essence of our work.”

Hana let out a small, involuntary gasp as his fingers brushed against the sensitive skin of her neck. Her eyes fluttered closed for a moment, a reflex of pure, unbidden sensation. Kurogane observed this with keen interest.

Finally, he turned his attention to Ren. Her defiance, though still present, was now tinged with a nervous energy. Ren stood tall, her chin held high, but a tremor ran through her.

“And you,” Kurogane’s gaze seemed to pierce through her carefully constructed facade. “You have a certain… fire, don’t you? A spirit that needs to be tamed, or perhaps… guided.” He reached out and lightly traced the line of her jaw.

Ren flinched, her breath catching in her throat. A wave of unexpected warmth spread through her as his touch, though impersonal, was strangely potent. She felt a blush creep up her neck, a traitorous response she immediately tried to suppress.

Madame Evangeline, who had been silently observing, stepped forward. “Mr. Kurogane,” she said, her voice a smooth, professional tone. “Perhaps a demonstration of their… attentiveness? The ability to respond to touch?”

Kurogane’s eyes gleamed. “An excellent suggestion, Evangeline. A crucial component.” He gestured for Hana to sit on the edge of the examination table. “Hana, your task is simple. I will be touching you in specific areas. Your job is to react. To let us see your capacity for sensation.”

Hana swallowed hard, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear and a strange, morbid curiosity. Kurogane, with an almost clinical detachment, began to touch her. He ran a finger lightly along her collarbone, then down the curve of her breast, his touch deliberately slow and precise.

Hana gasped, her body arching instinctively. A soft moan escaped her lips, a sound of pure, unadulterated sensation. She couldn’t help it. The touch was so unexpected, so intimate, even in this sterile environment. She felt a flush spread across her skin, a warmth that had nothing to do with the room’s temperature.

Maya watched, her own body tensing with a mixture of secondhand embarrassment and a growing dread. She could feel the heat in her own cheeks.

Kurogane moved to Ren. “And you, Ren. Your turn.” He beckoned her closer. “This is not about actual penetration,” he clarified, his voice dropping to a low, deliberate tone. “The clients will understand the rules. Our policy is clear: no actual intercourse. But your role is to *entice*. To make them *feel* as though… as though it’s possible.”

He then proceeded to touch Ren’s bare arms, her stomach, his fingers brushing against her skin with deliberate provocation. Ren, despite her initial defiance, found herself reacting. A shiver traced its way down her spine. She felt a tingling sensation, an awareness of her own body that was both frightening and strangely compelling. She tried to suppress it, to maintain her composure, but a soft whimper escaped her lips as his thumb brushed against the sensitive skin of her inner thigh.

“Yes,” Kurogane murmured, a hint of approval in his voice. “You have a… vivid response. That’s good. Very good.”

Madame Evangeline approached Maya. “And you, Maya. Your turn to show us your potential.” She gently lifted Maya’s chin. “You are older, yes? More experienced with… the world. That can be an advantage. You understand discretion. You understand… performance.”

Evangeline then began to trace the curve of Maya’s lips with her finger, her touch surprisingly soft, yet charged with an unspoken promise. Maya’s breath hitched. She felt a sudden, unexpected tremor run through her entire body. It was a purely involuntary response, a rush of sensation that caught her completely off guard. A soft, almost inaudible sigh escaped her lips, a sound that was both a protest and an involuntary acknowledgement of her body’s own language.

“See?” Evangeline whispered, her eyes glinting. “The potential is there. It’s about learning to control it, to channel it, to sell it.”

The entire process was a blur of unnerving touch and invasive observation. Kurogane and Evangeline moved with a practiced efficiency, their clinical scrutiny a stark contrast to the raw, involuntary responses they elicited from the young women. They were not being judged on their beauty, not entirely, but on their ability to *feel*, to react, and most importantly, to project that feeling to a paying client.

As the assessment drew to a close, Kurogane addressed them, his expression unreadable. “You all possess… certain qualities. The ability to respond. The… malleability. This is the foundation upon which we build. Now, the training begins. We will teach you how to refine these responses, how to channel them, how to turn them into an art.”

He paused, his gaze sweeping over their flushed faces, their wide, uncertain eyes. “Remember this: your bodies are your tools. But your minds are your weapons. You will learn to command both. And you will learn to protect yourselves. This is a business of illusion, but the reality of your safety is paramount. If a client attempts anything beyond the agreed-upon boundaries, you will resist. You will report it immediately. We have… protocols.”

He looked directly at Maya, his gaze intense. “Especially you, Maya. You understand responsibility. You will also understand the consequences of betrayal, both for yourself and for us.”

Maya nodded, her mind reeling. She had come here for her mother, for survival. But in this sterile room, under the unnerving gaze of Mr. Kurogane and Madame Evangeline, she felt a new, unsettling awareness dawning within her. It was the awareness of her own body, of its capacity for sensation, and the chilling realization that this capacity, so raw and involuntary, was now her currency.

As they were led back to the reception area, the neon glow of the street outside seemed to beckon with a different kind of promise, a promise of survival, of purpose, however dark. The door of the Midnight Garden had indeed opened, not to a sanctuary, but to a labyrinth of shadows, where the deepest secrets of the human body and the desperate needs of the human heart would be laid bare for sale. And in the hushed aftermath of the “assessment,” a single, indelible thought echoed in Maya’s mind: she had felt it. And now, they knew.