Therapist Couch Novels & Stories

“I’m Dr. Rhodes. Are you ready to get started?” I nodded nervously. Edrick had moved a small loveseat into my room that was placed across from my armchair by the window, and I gestured for the therapist to sit on the armchair while I sat down on the loveseat. It felt strange to have a therapist in my bedroom, but it was also comforting to be doing this in a comfortable space that I knew well. “So,” Dr. Rhodes said as he opened up his spiral-bound notebook, “can you start with telling me what’s been going on recently?”

3 - Use Your Tongue Ivy “Sorry, I had a call,” I said, closing the door behind me. I looked at the comfortable pale blue couch and sat in the middle. It had been two weeks since we started therapy sessions. By we, I mean, me and Aiden or as I liked to call him—Doctor Aiden, during the sessions. His clinic was not at all like I had imagined. It was minimalist and cozy, with his certificates and various awards lined on the wall behind his desk. The bookshelf comprised a few books and antiques and craft pieces his patients had gifted him. There was a coffee table between the two couches that faced each other that always had sweets, savory snacks, tissues and a candle.

It was so deep, so rich and so sexy… Salish stood across from his massive desk, trying not to openly drool while the bouncy nurse nodded once and closed the office door with a mischievous little click. “Why don’t you have a seat.” Doctor D pointed to the therapy couch beside his desk, a sleek curve of charcoal leather. It was more for resting than anything else but Salish, again being the good wife listened to the good doctor. She swallowed hard and walked over to the couch, running her fingers along its surface. It felt buttery-soft yet firm under her touch, with a small padded headrest and polished wooden legs that lifted it just above the floor.

"I'm actually surprised to see you," Justin announces, as he closes his office door and we make ourselves comfortable on the couches. His office is pretty much how I pictured it: homey couch, a couple of chairs, bookshelf full of reference material. The only thing that kind of surprises me is that the chairs are recliners, but I can see how that would put some people at ease. It is a therapist's office after all. "I know Santos said you were going to come in, but it's not that often that I see both the ex-husband and the ex-wife."

It was my own fault for not holding back, and I didn't even think to cover myself. The therapist was wearing a uniform. I noticed that he had a perfect figure—broad shoulders and a narrow waist. My heart raced as I took him in, and the sensation coursed through me again. The therapist lit a candle in the room. I immediately began to relax under the alluring scent. "Hello. Please take off your shoes and lie on the bed." I did as I was told and lay comfortably on the bed. My inner thighs grew warm, but I could only clamp my legs tightly together.

(Natasha) My therapist's name is Sandra and she doesn't decorate her office. Weirdly, that was the thing that made me decide I could keep coming after my first appointment. No inspirational prints. No Live. Love. Laugh. No fern. No colorful abstract painting. A chair, a couch, a small table with tissues that are close enough to reach if I need them, but not so close that it’s telling me I’m doing therapy wrong because I’m not crying.

Ava collapsed onto her couch after another grueling week at the marketing firm, her shoulders knotted with tension and her lower back aching from endless hours at her desk. At twenty-seven, she was successful but exhausted. On a whim, she had booked a private at-home massage through an exclusive app and recommended by a colleague for “total relief.” The confirmation came quickly: Marcus Reed, certified therapist, arriving at 8 PM.

Reluctantly, Camille nodded, but the walls around her heart remained firmly in place. At the therapist’s office, the sterile smell of antiseptic and the soft ticking of a clock filled the waiting room. The space was designed to feel welcoming—warm colors, plush cushions, and shelves lined with books and toys. Yet, Camille’s tension was palpable as they stepped inside. The therapist, a gentle woman with kind eyes and a soothing voice, greeted them with a reassuring smile. She invited Camille to sit on a soft rug, surrounded by colorful cushions, encouraging her to speak when she felt ready.

The therapist’s office was quiet, the kind of quiet that made Leon’s skin itch. Sunlight filtered through the blinds, painting stripes on the beige carpet. He sat in a stiff leather chair, his hands gripping the armrests like they might fly away if he let go. Across from him, Dr. Ellis waited, her notebook balanced on her knee. Her silence was a question he didn’t want to answer.

Then she stood back up straight. “Ha. ha.” She laughed dryly, then she took a seat on the single sofa and crossed her legs. This gave the image of the two of them in one room as it is in a therapist’s office- with Marybeth being the therapist and Christa the patient. It was quite an interesting picture Maryebeth leaned back on her couch and asked, “Now Christa, tell me. Where exactly do you get off returning to this house? Who gave you the audacity?”