A marriage doesn’t have to be in trouble to benefit from a new sexual experience. Sometimes people push their erotic boundaries because it’s just plain fun.

The girl who opened the whorehouse door looked my husband and me up and down and told us to come back to see her in about an hour.

“It’s very busy now,” she said.

Behind her, packs of men sat on sofas in a darkened room. Asmara Sex Club looked like any other house on this quiet residential street in Amsterdam. We’d found it via a website that promised “multi-lingual, intellectual and beautiful” girls who were “so very qualified for a nice relaxing time.”

Nate and I walked off to get some beer and Gouda. The delay was not a problem; anticipation only increases pleasure. We’ve been married for eight years and discussing hiring a hooker for at least five. It was Nate’s fantasy, not mine, but I’m sexually submissive and get off on pleasing men.

I’m petite and athletic, 40 years old, with long dark hair and an ass that gets attention. My husband is 41, bald, with glasses and a soft body. If you didn’t know what a great musician and pussy-eating champ he is, you might think I’m too hot for him. We always agreed monogamy was impractical given his touring schedule and my native sluttiness. Sometimes I think I’m wired differently than other women; I have no jealousy about my husband fucking other girls.

An hour later, we returned to Asmara, where Marion welcomed us with a laminated menu that offered “body-to-body massage, blowjob, and sexual intercourse” for 80 Euros for half an hour or 110 Euros for an hour. You could pay 50 Euros extra to get a 69.

“It’s really a good deal!” said Nate, who was in a great mood. He must have been afraid I’d back out.

Marion said it would cost double if we wanted to go in together. We expected that, having learned as much in the red-light district; we’d already spent a few nights ogling girls in neon windows — a surreal supermarket of whores in all sizes and flavors — but we decided that the brothel route felt more comfortable.

Marion disappeared upstairs and reappeared with the news that two girls were interested. We could pick which one we liked.

“Only two?” whispered my husband. “That makes it like we’re personally rejecting one of them.”

“That’s life,” I whispered back.

They fluttered downstairs: a lithe brunette and a black beauty.

The brunette looked like a younger and hotter Sandra Bullock and wore navy blue pinstripe lingerie trimmed with red ribbon. Her name was Casey, and my stomach fluttered when she put her tiny hand in mine. I forget the other girl’s name. She had mocha skin and wavy hair and was very pretty, too, but she didn’t give me eye contact.

I was happy to hear Nate say, after both girls had left, “Oh, I think Casey, don’t you?”

“Whatever you want,” I said.

Marion smiled.

Sin is so smooth in Amsterdam. It was the same thing with the live sex show we’d seen at Casa Rosso, the side-by-side lapdances we’d gotten from busty, milk-fed blondes, and the “pure space joints” that I smoked at Voyagers Coffeeshop. The Dutch made everything easy.

Marion led us upstairs to the largest room they had. The king-sized bed had red sheets and was high as an elevated boxing ring. Then Casey came in, smiling. She was even more beautiful now that she was ours.

She gave us red towels and told us we should wash in the adjoining room while she had a cigarette. The shower was spotless. We toweled off and boosted ourselves onto the bed.

“Look,” Nate said, showing me his hard cock. “Casey at the bat!”

We giggled like little kids. One neat thing about marriage is that it makes otherwise sleazy behavior seem wholesome. I rolled onto my side and sucked him off until Casey came back in, carrying massage oil.

She slipped off her lingerie to reveal a body that took my breath away with its flawlessness and youth. Bee-sting breasts with apricot nipples. A tattooed flower vine wound its way from the small of her back to just below her right shoulder blade. More flowers were inked across her flat belly, which was pierced with an emerald charm. A crisp strip of black hair framed the darling pussy that was all ours for the next hour. She weighed 100 pounds, tops.

She was half Dutch and half Aruban, which explained the unseasonably golden skin that made me think of Camus: “In the midst of winter, I found within myself an invincible summer.”

As she rubbed massage oil onto my husband’s back, Casey made charming small talk. She was 23 and had been hooking for five years. She had a boyfriend; he knew what she did for a living and it didn’t bother him.

“Some of the other girls will say, ‘We see cocks all day, we don’t want to go home and see another one,’” Casey laughed. “But I still like having sex with my boyfriend. Love and sex are two different things.”

Nate rolled onto his back so his hard-on jutted up. Casey and I knelt on either side of him, rubbing oil up his thighs and all over his chest and prick. Later on he would tell me that was his favorite part of the whole experience: just lying there and being massaged by two naked women who were digging each other’s company.

“Can we touch your breasts?” Nate asked Casey.

She said, “Yes.”

I looked into Nate’s eyes as I reached out and felt one of Casey’s tits. I bent to stroke my lips over the nipple. Like every stripper or porn star I’ve ever met, Casey smelled fabulous. The smell of them is the last thing to leave.

Nate would need to wear a condom if he wanted a blowjob, so Casey suggested that I might like to provide that service. She read my mind. I take pride in my oral skills, and it was nice to suck cock for such a sweet audience. We rubbed the oil off Nate’s shaft and I bent down to suck it. My husband is small when soft but gets quite thick when he’s hard, big enough to make me gag when I take it all in my mouth.

Casey couldn’t find any condoms in the room and went to get some.

“I can’t believe I get to have sex with her,” said Nate excitedly.

This was the first time that I realized just how happy this whole thing was making him. That, in turn, filled me with happiness. I want my husband to have the best of everything, including the best pussy. I also dig the brownie points I accrue from stunts like this, redeemable for sushi, shoes and the title “Best Wife Ever.”

When Casey returned, Nate told her he’d like to fuck her, then fuck me for a while, then finish up in her.

“You’re the boss,” she said, handing him a condom.

Nate mounted Casey, who spread her legs wide to take him in. The room had mirrors everywhere, so I had many views of the novel sight of my husband entering another woman. For his fortieth birthday, I’d gotten us a half hour with a stunning Blasian stripper in the “Champagne room” of a New York City gentlemen’s club. That was hot, but there was no penetration.

“I want my husband to have the best of everything, including the best pussy”

It was oddly touching, seeing the pale, furry body I knew so well working over another woman. Casey looked so small underneath him. I couldn’t see his cock going in and out of her pussy, just his ass thrusting as he fucked her.

Nate turned his head for a second and met my gaze.

“You’re incredible, honey,” he said.

“She is,” agreed Casey.

I reached out to stroke the smooth skin of her tatted waistline.

“I feel like I’m a king and you’re my queen,” Nate said to me. “And she’s our surrogate who we need to impregnate to save the kingdom.”

That was weird and made me think of The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood, a dystopian feminist novel that really wasn’t much of a turn-on. I focused instead on how pretty Casey’s feet were, with their delicate arches and red lacquered toenails.

“Would you mind if I did you from behind now?” my husband asked.

Casey smiled. “Of course.”

I loved how polite Nate was being. One benefit of an open marriage is the perspective it gives you on your partner. The dozen or so men I’ve had extramarital affairs with all had such glaring defects they make me appreciate my husband even more.

The Korean Dom I met online had a microscopic cock and drank too much. The Puerto Rican personal trainer owed $10,000 in child support and lived with a drug lord in New Jersey. The Communist rope master dressed like he was homeless, and he had smelly balls. The emergency room doctor fucked me like he was sandblasting my cervix. The law professor never called me back after I blew him five times in one afternoon. The Brazilian yogi was okay, but he had to go back to Sao Paulo.

After all the spanking and sucking, after the condoms are tied with knots and buried in the trash, my husband is the one I want to cuddle. It’s his face I want to see in the morning, his hand I want to hold on the street.

Nate asked Casey if he could touch her clit, but she said that would be an additional 50 Euros for “extra services.” Same for kissing her on the mouth or eating her pussy. After it was all over, we both regretted not shelling it out. We also found it sad that things that might have actually pleased Casey cost more. But you pay for access, and when a woman lets herself become authentically aroused, she’s granting a client deeper access than when she merely spreads her legs.

I do wish I could have kissed Casey. Kissing women is much nicer than kissing men: their softness, their scent, the feel of their breasts pressing against my own. I also would have liked to kiss her pussy to see if I could get a rise out of her. I’ve only done that once, but I was good at it.

Casey looked fabulous on all fours. She had such a small waist that a bigger man than my husband could have put two hands around it, but her ass was full and round. I liked the view of her cunt from behind: the smooth, pink lips peeking out from between her inner thighs.

It was hot in the room, and I was slick with a mix of sweat and massage oil. I drifted into a kind of trance as my husband thrust his cock, again and again, into the beautiful young whore.

Soon he was pulling out and peeling off the condom. Casey scooted to one side so I could lie back in the center of the bed and get fucked. My pussy was already wet. I’d been wet all day.

Even in this strange situation, my husband’s cock was so familiar. I lay back and enjoyed the sensation of his shaft stretching the opening of my pussy. He bent my legs back so my thighs were pressed flat to my chest and my knees were over his shoulders. Casey reached out to stroke one of my feet, which were literally dripping with sweat, but she didn’t seem to mind. She ran her soft hands down my ankles and up my calves as my husband thrust his hard cock into me.

Nate flipped me onto my side so he could see Casey while he fucked me. He reached across the bed and I felt his cock get thicker and harder inside me when he cupped her breast. He was almost ready to shoot.

He pulled out of me and put on a second condom, then mounted Casey and started pumping harder.

Her pussy was so sweet and discrete. Even if you preferred it bare, you couldn’t argue with the perfect thatch she had down there. I bent in close so I could see his shaft disappear into her, again and again. Her pert breasts jiggled. My husband’s breathing accelerated and became one ecstatic groan as he shot off in orgasm.

He may not have the biggest cock in the world, but my man shoots like a porn star. Some day I’ll pull out a measuring cup and document the glory. His body convulsed as he spewed load after load into Casey’s pretty little cunt.

I slid off the condom and tied the knot. We kissed. Casey stepped outside for cans of Fanta.

“I don’t think I’ve been so clean in my life,” I said as we showered again.

We shared a feeling of accomplishment, as though we’d done something brave and difficult, when in reality it had been easy and sweet. Casey came walking back into the room, still naked, and changed the sheets.

I pulled out my notebook. I had told Casey and Marion that I might write up my experience for Penthouse Forum. The idea seemed to make them happy.

“How often do couples come and see you?” I asked.

“It’s rare. The last time was perhaps two weeks ago. I wish I got more.”

She said she enjoyed watching couples together, seeing how they interacted and what turned them on. She told me Asmara Sex Club had been in business for 25 years and employed nine or 10 girls. It was safer to work there than the red-light district, where the only thing between you and the street was a thin glass window.

I also asked her the question everyone asks sex workers.

“Yeah, sometimes I come,” she said. “It makes me feel kind of bad, because I usually try to save that for my boyfriend. It can be a guy I don’t even find attractive, but sometimes my body just responds.”

“Is there anything you want to tell my readers?” I asked. “Something you wish they knew about girls like you?”

She looked at me thoughtfully and then said, “Just because somebody does this job doesn’t mean that they’re obsessed with sex or that they’re a bad person. People think prostitutes spend all their money on Gucci handbags or drugs, but I spend mine on my college tuition. I can earn up to 5,000 Euros a month. For young people nowadays, it’s a good career.”

Especially young people with catlike eyes and golden skin and flawless bodies. I took a photograph of the big red bed, and then I asked Casey if I could take one of her. To my astonishment, she said yes.

“Just for your Facebook page,” she said, wrapping herself in a towel.

In the photograph, I look like I’ve just come out of a sauna. My husband looks like the cat who ate the canary. We both have our arms around Casey, who stands between the two of us, looking like all our dreams. I wish I had the balls to put it on Facebook.