Therapist Couch Novels & Stories

My therapist came over to greet me, and I followed her to my private room. The room was lit by candlelight, and I could see a steamy bathtub in the corner. I was instructed to disrobe and lie down on the table. I undressed and lay down on the table, feeling the soft linen against my skin. The therapist entered and introduced herself, explaining the different oils and scents that she would be using in the massage.

I needed that to think freely in my head. I leaned against the car window with my seatbelt for safety, as Cage said. The breeze blew my hair freely, roughing my red locks. "We're here," Cage announced after he was done settling on a spot in the parking lot. My therapist's office was on one of the top floors of a beautiful glass skyscraper that gave a beautiful view of a small lake glistening in the sun far away. Windows and coverages were available for those afraid of heights or water. "Thanks, Cage."

**Mia's POV** The therapy room was nothing like I'd imagined. No leather couch, no walls lined with dusty psychology books. Instead, soft grey walls surrounded comfortable armchairs, and large windows let in natural light filtered through gauzy curtains. Dr. Sarah Matthews sat across from me, her presence calm and grounding. "Are you comfortable, Mia?" she asked, adjusting the small device that would guide my eye movements. Her voice carried that perfect blend of professional and compassionate that probably took years to master.

I opened my laptop instead. Typed “online therapy sexual dynamics power exchange shame” into the search bar. Scrolled past ads. Past women therapists. Stopped on him: Dr. Elias Thorne. Mid-forties. Salt-and-pepper hair. Calm gray eyes behind wire frames. Bio: Specializing in adult attachment, kink-aware therapy, shame & desire integration. Virtual sessions. Discreet. No judgment. No history. No connection. Just a stranger who might listen without flinching. I booked tomorrow at 11 a.m. Paid the deposit. Confirmation pinged.

He's a forty-one-year-old man who has been sitting four feet from a woman who describes her sex dreams to him weekly and his restraint has finally met the limit of what his ethics can hold. I get up from the couch, walk to the door, and turn the lock. The click of it fills the room, and when I turn around he's standing, and he's taller than I estimated from his sitting height, and his shirt is fitted enough that I can see his chest and his stomach and the way his body tapers into his belt, as the distance between us turns to five feet and closing. "I need you to understand something," he says. He hasn't moved toward me. He's giving me the choice, the agency that his training has built every

About ten minutes later we were in bed making love. It took me about a week to find a therapist that was black and willing to have me watch the massage. He was in his 40s and not in great shape but he was male and black. I didn't want to lose the momentum or the fun we were having so I arranged for him to come to our home one evening.

They are just helping me. It's boring to be able to lie in bed all day even though the bed is like a cloud in the softness. I no longer hesitate to fix my whole body. I had a bath earlier. I only fell asleep for a while because I was drowsy waiting for the private practice therapist hired by Keeion. "Has Miss Candy already arrived?" I asked as nurse Hans pushed my wheelchair into the hallway of the second floor. Nurse Ria was next to me, carrying the towel and other items that will be needed for the therapy session.

"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."

My fingers hovered on the ad for some seconds before clicking it. Very quickly, I was asked some questions and my location. After a minute, a list was displayed in front of me. I didn’t even know what kind I needed. There were varieties to choose from. There was a trauma therapist. My eyes landed on a cognitive behavioral one, and as I scroll further down, I saw a somatic therapist. I ended up settling for one that an 100% match with me especially because he wasn’t too far from my school. Then I booked a session for this evening.

I’m sitting on my couch completely naked stroking my cock while my physical therapist kneels between my legs with his hands on my inner thigh inches from my balls. The situation is completely insane and I can’t decide if that’s making this harder or easier. I stroke faster and Theve’s hands work deeper. Every press of his thumbs sends that deep ache through my hip but it’s releasing something. I can feel the tension slowly letting go. “Don’t stop,” he says. I don’t know if he’s talking to himself or to me. I keep stroking and he keeps working and the room is silent except for our breathing which is getting heavier.