Last week, my boyfriend dropped me off at the osteopath’s office. As usual, he drove me since I don’t have a driver’s license. This is the same osteopath we always see whenever something feels off. He’s in his thirties, professional, serious, and kind of attractive without being intimidating.

But this time, I had a little plan in mind, a secret game I had been thinking about for days. I even booked an appointment with the beautician beforehand to make sure I was perfectly groomed for the session. It was my little daring challenge, something just for me. Under my jeans and oversized sweater, I wore my brown string thong the most daring one I own. The fabric was ultra thin and nearly transparent, covering only the bare minimum. You could clearly see the top of my lips through it, and in the back, it was just a single thin string that sat between my cheeks. I also chose not to wear a Tshirt under my sweater, just a brown, see through bra that left my nipples clearly visible. It was all calculated to be provocative yet subtle.

When I arrived at the clinic, the osteopath greeted me with his usual polite smile. His eyes briefly lingered on my sweater as he asked, “Is that comfortable enough for the session?”

it wasn’t. “In that case, you’ll need to remove it. You can stay in your underwear,” he said.

I stepped behind the screen to take off my clothes. As I pulled off my sweater, I started to realize just how provocative my outfit was. My bra was barely functional, and my thong left me feeling nearly naked. My heart started racing. Worse still, I could feel myself getting genuinely aroused. The thought that he might notice just how provocative my outfit was made me incredibly nervous, and to my embarrassment, I was terrified I might stain my thong because of how electrified I felt.

But there was no turning back now. I emerged from behind the screen, trying to keep my composure.

“Lie on your stomach,” he instructed, his voice steady and professional.

I lay down on the table, my face against the cushion, hyper aware of my exposed body. His hands began working along my back, firm and practiced, but I couldn’t stop thinking about how sheer my thong was. With every movement, I felt more conscious of how little I was wearing.

When he asked me to flip onto my back, the situation became even more intense. My transparent bra and barely there thong left almost nothing to the imagination. Still, he maintained his professionalism, even as the atmosphere seemed slightly charged.

At one point, he had me sit at the edge of the table, one leg bent, the other extended. In this position, my thong stretched even tighter, leaving almost everything visible. Yet, he stayed calm, focused on his work as though nothing unusual was happening.

By the end of the session, he helped me down from the table. “All done. You should feel much better in a few days,” he said with a polite smile.

“Thank you,” I murmured before retreating behind the screen to get dressed.

When I left the clinic, my boyfriend was waiting in the car, completely absorbed in his phone. “How’d it go?” he asked without looking up.

“Great, everything’s fine,” I replied with a sly smile.

He had no idea what had just gone through my mind. Despite my embarrassment, I felt oddly satisfied. I had played my silent little game, heating things up without saying a word, and in my own way, I had won.