Novel & Cerita Therapist Couch

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.

"Sorry to ask, but are you, by any chance, my therapist?" He nodded, smiling. "I hope you're okay with that." My therapist is a male? How can I talk to him? I was prepared to speak about my problem with a girl, but now my therapist was a man. What should I say? I can't do this. I could just make an excuse and run out. Rose would definitely push me back inside if I did, though. It was better to stay for some time before leaving. I walked toward his desk, looking around the spacious room. It had a couch that looked comfortable. At one corner of the room, there was a coffee machine,a juicer, and a mini-fridge. The green-colored curtains and the sage walls made the room more pleasant.

“Have a seat. We’ll call you in shortly.” They sat down quietly at each sides. Azxel’s knee bounced once, then stopped. His hands stayed clenched in his sleeves. Jaelen watched him from the corner of his eye but didn’t speak. A door opened. “Azxel?” He stood immediately. The therapist’s office was warm in a deliberate way with soft lighting. Two chairs angled toward each other. A bookshelf full of titles about trauma, dissociation, identity, recovery and many others. The man smiled kindly. “I’m Dr. Ash. You can sit wherever you’re comfortable.”

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."

The two couches were separated by a round coffee table. “So, how should we do this?” I asked, just wanting to get it all over with, “should I tell you about myself so we can move on to my problems and life experiences.” The therapist looked at me, with a smirk on her face. “We could do that if you prefer.” “What is the alternative?” Doctor Hersch smiled. “Well, I’m much of a gossiper. So I want to hear about your friends.” “My friends?” “Yeah,” she answered, “I want to know about their lives. I want to know everything that you know”. I looked.

All I know is that every day she’s gone, it gets worse. And now, I’m here. Sitting on a dark leather couch in a high-rise office that smells like polished wood and fresh coffee, I stare at the man I pay too much money to tell me things I already know. Dr. West Cole. He’s expensive. The kind of therapist people like my father would call a “luxury,” as if mental stability is something only people without real problems could afford. But West is good. His office is surrounded by soft gray walls and floor-to-ceiling windows with a view of the skyline. There's a small bookshelf with books that I'm sure he never touches.

I hissed as my answer and she squealed excitedly. A day later I was at the therapy room, it was nice with a desk and chair the Therapist probably sat on to lecture her patients, I sat down on a cushion dressed in white waiting for her, Mandy was there too patiently waiting for the so called therapist. "He's late.." she mummered checking the time.

Eleanor Vance’s office was how painfully normal it looked. The office was warm. Soft lighting, beige walls, and a couch that looked comfortable but felt like a trap. No white walls, no clipboard-wielding assistants waiting to diagnose me with a dozen problems. Just bookshelves lined with novels and psychology textbooks, two armchairs facing each other, and a window overlooking the city. “Mr. Weston.” I glanced at the woman seated across from me. The therapist sat with her legs crossed, and her notepad balanced on her knee. She was younger than I expected. Calm and patient with steady focus. The kind of person who could sit in silence for hours and wait for you to crack.

I called out to him, "But Thomas…" He waved me off. "Why are you so nervous? It's alright. The therapy will still take a while." Before I could say anything else, Thomas walked out immediately. He seemed to have no qualms about me currently lying next to another man. My body was covered in sweat when Charlie stopped to take something. Flushed crimson, I lay on my back and fanned myself gently to cool down. We were alone in the room, and the air was thick with tension. My heart raced as he stood next to me and spoke in a hoarse voice. "I'll start the lactation massage next. It might hurt, so you can cry out if you need to."