A year ago, my marriage was on the rocks. That’s not a flattering thing to admit, but it’s true.

My husband and I had been married for twelve years, and the initial sexy spark had long since died, replaced by kids, a mortgage, and bills. It was impossible for either of us to feel hot after a long day of work followed by more long hours caring for the kids. The only time we were alone together was late at night, when all we wanted to do was sleep.

John and I had always been a highly combustible sexual pairing, so the drought in our bedroom really worried me. I told my best friend about my concerns, and she had a suggestion: Pay for a sitter once a week, go to a hotel room, and live out our filthiest fantasies. Not just the humdrum fantasies like “an hour alone for missionary sex” or “a blowjob” — she suggested we take the time to explore things that would set our sexual relationship on fire again, no matter how taboo they initially seemed. It would remind us why we’d been so drawn to each other in the first place.

With a dying marriage and a boatload of stress weighing me down, I was willing to do whatever it took, even if the expense of a hotel room and a sitter made me pause. But if I wasn’t willing to invest in my relationship, what was I willing to invest in? So late one night after the kids were in bed, I took my husband aside for a talk over wine. I asked him what his dirtiest fantasies were, the things he’d never felt free to ask me for.

It was awkward at first, but as the wine flowed, so did our imaginations. He’d always imagined tying me up, gagging me, and torturing me with orgasm denial until I begged for his dick. I’d always imagined being slammed against a wall and fucked within an inch of my life, or taken on the carpet so hard my knees were abraded the next day. He imagined a leather corset, and I imagined meeting at a bar and pretending to be strangers before acting out a fake adultery plotline.

We started acting on those fantasies over the next weeks, and as our sex life ramped up, my happiness with our marriage increased. We were stealing kisses like teenagers, feeling each other up surreptitiously at dinner, and having quickies when the kids were distracted. The man I’d fallen in love with all those years ago was back and as ravenous as ever, and although we’d never seemed to have enough time for sex before, somehow talking about our naughtiest fantasies had helped us find the time to fix our relationship.

Two months in, we had another fantasy check-in. What was working, what we needed more of, and additional fantasies we’d been too scared to say out loud the first time. I took a deep breath before admitting the thing that had been bothering me for way longer than I was willing to admit: “I want another woman in our bedroom.”

I’d never had sex with a woman, but I’d always admired and been attracted to them. I’d laughed it off as a normal response to sexualized advertisements, as if the clenching of my pussy was just a reflection of the value American culture placed on female beauty. By the time I figured out I was a burgeoning bisexual, I was already in a long-term relationship with my husband. I’d never gotten to try being with a woman, and while my husband was everything I wanted, a rebellious part of me had wondered for a long time what would have happened if I’d acknowledged my own sexual preferences earlier.

When I told him this, I expected judgment, but he just hugged me tightly. “I love you no matter what your sexual orientation is,” he told me, and I cried as a wave of pure love washed over me. This was part of why I’d loved him to begin with: As freaky as we’d gotten together, and as strong and handsome as he was, his kindness was the best thing about him.

Then he pulled away and said a few words that thrilled me to my toes. “How do we arrange a threesome?”

Being utter squares, we Googled it. Craigslist seemed terrifying, and neither of us had freaky friends, so we made a FetLife profile to meet other kinky people. We decided the best thing to do was hit up a swingers’ mixer and talk to others about how they’d gotten started.

A few mixers later, we had a target for our first threesome. Her name was Jackie, and she was in a polyamorous relationship with an older couple. She was a decade younger than us, with a beautiful figure and a smiling open-mindedness that was incredibly charming. I held my breath while John propositioned her for a night together, and then, to my delight, she agreed.

We met at the hotel John and I had been using for our fantasy nights. I didn’t have any sexy lingerie anymore — another problem that needed rectifying — so I lay naked in bed while John paced in front of the door, waiting for Jackie’s arrival. She showed up on time, all smiles and bubblegum sweetness, but when she took off her coat, she was wearing wicked lingerie and a garter belt beneath.

We laid the ground rules. Both John and I would like to sleep with her and with each other. We would use condoms if he penetrated her. At any point, any of us could say we were uncomfortable, and the entire evening would stop.

I might have been nervous, but Jackie was confident. She crawled over me, and when her hips rested against mine, I shivered. She kissed me deep and hungrily, and while it was strange at first to kiss someone in front of John, I got caught up in it soon enough. Our tongues stroked each other; she tasted like peppermint.

Jackie’s hands roved over my chest, fondling my breasts and tweaking my nipples with the perfect pressure. She kissed down my neck, then sucked a nipple into her mouth. My hips jerked, and as our lower halves pressed together, my vagina throbbed with pleasure.

John moaned and started masturbating beside the bed. Knowing he was watching — and maybe a little jealous — made everything even sexier. I’d been self-conscious about my body for years, but seeing John’s arousal and feeling Jackie’s enthusiasm, those insecurities melted away.

Jackie shifted to straddle my thigh. Her pussy rubbed over me, leaving a streak of wetness against the skin. My body responded, and as moisture gathered between my thighs, Jackie placed a hand down there and started rubbing.

It was like being struck by lightning. Her dextrous fingers worked me over, sending pleasure shooting through me. When she sank a finger into my pussy, I moaned.

Jackie grinned at John. “Join us,” she said.

They conferred briefly over me, but because Jackie was still fingering me, I couldn’t concentrate on what she was saying. The next I knew, John was on top of me with his penis hovering over my mouth. I lunged up and sucked it eagerly, waiting for him to lean over and lick my pussy in return. Instead, I felt Jackie’s agile tongue against my clit. The angle John sat at meant his cock went deep into my throat, and I gratefully sucked him, hardly able to believe this was happening.

Jackie pulled back eventually, then sat upright. As her fingers pressed inside me, she shared a kiss with John. Knowing he was probably tasting my pussy on her lips, I whimpered.

John maneuvered us until Jackie was lying face-up on the bed with me over her in the 69 position. My first taste of pussy. I licked straight through those wet folds, reveling in the salty, musky taste. I’d never dared to dream about doing this before, but now that it was happening, I couldn’t get enough. I buried my face in her slick pussy, moving my tongue and face in ways I knew a woman liked, and then Jackie’s tongue traced my own clitoris, and I shivered.

John positioned himself behind me, kneeling at Jackie’s head. His penis pressed against my entrance, and then he was pushing in, fucking me from behind while I was still 69ing with Jackie. As Jackie’s tongue danced over my clit, John gripped my hips and pumped in and out, taking it deep and slow. I moaned into Jackie’s vagina, then sank my fingers into her, wishing she could feel what I was feeling.

She could, I realized. I could be the one underneath while John fucked her.

It was a strange, taboo thought, but we were already in a threesome. What did it matter if John’s dick penetrated someone else? Even the thought of it riled me up, making me wetter. Soon, I was on the brink of coming. “Harder,” I begged both of them.

They obliged, and I orgasmed all over John’s dick and Jackie’s face. Jackie licked eagerly, taking every drop of moisture my body offered.

When it was done, I asked them to stop. Then, feeling bold, I sat aside and told them what I wanted. “John, I want you to fuck Jackie the same way.”

He grabbed a condom without any argument, and then it was my turn to lie back while Jackie crawled over me. With her luscious ass and pussy over me, I buried my face between her legs, licking and nibbling until she moaned loudly.

I knew the moment John penetrated her, because she gasped and surged forward. I gripped her ass, holding her in place while John pumped in and out. His cock was so close to my face, glistening with another woman’s juices, but I couldn’t see the details of the penetration, although my tongue brushed against the base of his dick. Still, being this close to their fucking affected me. As Jackie licked and fingered me, I squeezed her butt cheeks and licked her clit as if it were my only purpose in life. John and I were a team — we would make her come together.

Jackie screamed and shook. Her clitoris throbbed beneath my tongue, and there was something nearly holy about being this close to her orgasm. I’d had countless orgasms in the past, but now I felt her trust for the gift it was.

With Jackie sated, John stripped off the condom, settled between my legs, and fucked hard. When he came, Jackie was kneeling behind him, whispering filthy words in his ear. His hot semen poured into me, and I arched and took it all, then took my own pleasure as Jackie’s clever fingers rubbed my aching clit.

We lay together afterwards, totally content, and while it might have sounded strange with three people in the bed, I’d never felt closer to my husband. Getting a little kinky truly saved our marriage.