The Husband's Wet Dream
"Hah...!"
Shaken loose from a shocking dream, Minjun woke with a violent, ragged intake of breath. The white ceiling — somehow already familiar — filled his vision once more. The studio lights were gone, Jia's moans were gone, the pussy that semen had been dripping from was gone. All that remained was the hum of the machines in the hospital room and the faint smell of disinfectant.
It had been a dream.
For a while, Minjun lay staring at the ceiling, slowly catching his breath. The shock was still there, but the knowledge that it had only been a dream brought a measure of relief.
And yet his heart was still pounding hard. The strange sensation lingering through his whole body was not just the pain of his injuries.
Something was wrong with his lower half. His cock above all — a tingling, prickling feeling was still radiating from it, as though the aftershocks of coming again and again inside the dream had been carried over into his flesh untouched. The slightest shift of his hips sent that numbness spreading deep into his pelvis. Worse, his groin felt sodden and sticky in the worst possible way.
(Jia... with other men... a dream like that...)
The moment he grasped his own situation, self-loathing washed over him. He had dreamed of his wife surrounded by other men, stolen from him — and his body had answered with a wet dream.
Not just once, either. The sensation of spilling himself over and over within the dream had transferred to his waking body intact.
The inside of his hospital gown was soaked to a disgusting degree. His inner thighs and lower abdomen were damp, his cooling semen clinging to the fabric — and there was plenty of it. Apparently, everything he had poured out in the dream, he had unloaded in reality as well. The touch of the cold, congealed fluid soaking his skin was sickening, and humiliating in equal measure.
Minjun wanted to wipe it away. But his arms would not take the strain, and even rolling onto his side hurt.
He managed to work his fingers and grope for the hem of his gown, but even peeling away the wet cloth proved too much for him.
In the end, he gave up and let his hand fall back down.
He had no choice but to lie there enduring the clammy discomfort, staring at the ceiling once more. Beneath the blanket, the cooling semen trickled bit by bit along his thigh, and with every movement the wet fabric stuck to his skin.
An ejaculation so heavy it looked as though he had wet the bed was, in a way, only to be expected. Even before his injury, he and Jia had gone a long stretch without making love. Her meticulous birth-control schedule and his relentless hunts never lined up; whenever the work kept coming, there was little room left for life as husband and wife. Everything that had built up inside him had come pouring out over a single dream.
Minjun bit his lip.
In the dream, Jia had smiled as another man's semen was taken all the way into her womb, while the real him lay alone under a hospital blanket, having soiled himself in his sleep. Not one drop of it had ever touched his wife's body — and now it was going cold inside his gown.
Beneath the white ceiling, Minjun said nothing, silently enduring the disgust crawling over him.
A short while later, the door to the room opened.
The one who came in was a nurse; it seemed to be time for the scheduled rounds. For Minjun, who could not get up and go to the toilet on his own, a nurse came by at regular intervals with a urinal to help him.
"Mr. Park Minjun? You're awake."
The nurse drew back the curtain as she approached, chart in one hand and a plastic urinal in the other. Seeing that his eyes were open, she stepped to the bedside with practiced ease.
"Did you go at all? Let me check."
She pulled back the bottom of the blanket — and paused.
The hem of his patient gown was soaked, damp enough to show on the outside. The fabric over his thighs had darkened where it clung to his skin.
"Your urine's leaked, I see."
Her tone was purely professional. She did not sound entirely sure yet.
"If you need to go, say so and I'll bring the urinal. When you hold it in on your own, this is what happens."
It happened now and then with patients like Minjun, so the nurse was not particularly fazed. Still saying it, she leaned in close to inspect the wet patch, lifting the edge of the cloth with two fingers.
In that instant, her expression changed.
"Oh......"
Minjun had no chance to stop her — no chance to say anything at all.
The viscosity was unmistakably different. This was no puddle of urine spreading thin like water. There was a cloudy, frothy quality to it as well. It was plainly not urine. Sticky, congealed stains marked his inner thighs and lower belly, and as the fluid cooled, its distinctive smell was rising into the air.
The nurse's brows knit almost imperceptibly. Disgust surfaced clearly on her face. But she was a professional, and she said nothing.
She took out sanitizing wipes and began cleaning in silence, her motions quick and clipped as she wiped the stains from the inside of the gown and off his skin — wiping only what needed wiping, as if unwilling to let her gaze rest a second longer.
Her face, though, she could not hide. Her lips were pressed faintly together, and her eyes held a clear, unmistakable revulsion. If this was one of the nurses who had heard about what had been on Minjun's tablet screen, there was no way she could misread the situation now.
Minjun kept his eyes fixed on the ceiling, unable to open his mouth. He had no words for an excuse, and no strength to force any out. Every time a cold wipe touched his thigh, the contact made his body flinch a little.
The nurse tidied the wet hem roughly, disposed of the used wipes, and picked the urinal back up — unused.
"Next time... I'd rather this didn't happen again."
With that short remark, she left the room. The door did not close all the way.
Low voices leaked in from the corridor — at a distance and volume an ordinary human would never have been able to make out.
But Minjun, feeble as his ability was, was still a C-Rank hunter. Physical Enhancement had sharpened his hearing far beyond an ordinary person's. Without even trying to listen, their words came through with perfect clarity.
"This time it's for real."
"I went in thinking he'd just peed himself — turns out it wasn't pee."
"His gown was soaked all over, they say. The amount was anything but normal."
"So yesterday he's ogling dirty pictures, and today he's lying there after shooting his load to them?"
"His wife is honestly gorgeous and so classy — so what's wrong with the husband...?"
"Ugh. I didn't even want to touch it. Judging by the look on his face, he knows it himself."
Short bursts of laughter threaded between the nurses' voices. The footsteps receded and the words grew fainter — but every one of them stayed ringing in Minjun's ears to the very end.
Minjun closed his eyes. His wiped-down thighs were still cold, and the inside of his gown still damp. That stale, rancid smell kept drifting up into his nose.
Another man's semen, in the dream, sunk deep into Jia's womb — and his own semen, in reality, wiped away by a nurse's wet wipe — the two of them hung layered in the same morning air.
Some time passed.
With a small creak, the door opened once more, and he heard the click of heels tapping briefly against the floor.
It was Jia who came in.
She wore a crisp white blouse under a gray cardigan, and a black skirt. The outfit was demure, chosen to suit a hospital — but her voluptuous figure was impossible to hide. Her enormous breasts, well beyond an H-cup, pushed the blouse taut, and her cinched waist and flared hips stood out sharply above the hem of the skirt.
The moment he saw her face, his breath caught. The Jia of the dream — smeared with semen, smiling that obscene little smile — overlapped with the Jia standing in the room now. But the real Jia was as aloof and cold as ever.
Jia sat down in the chair beside his bed and looked down at him.
"Your color looks okay. Did you sleep?"
"...A little."
The voice that came out of him was cracked. The dampness beneath the blanket was still there. Minjun could only pray she would not pull it back.
Jia gave a short nod, then got to the point without ceremony.
"The van's been written off as a total loss. I filed the insurance, so it's being handled through that."
Minjun's eyes wavered. It was the van they had bought with nearly everything they owned, back when the two of them had started working as a hunter couple.
"So don't worry yourself over any other money problems. I've sorted it all out."
Having said that, she added:
"The mana stones we brought in are settled too. Don't let that weigh on you either."
Her voice was low and firm. Just as on her last visit, she did not linger on the details — she simply dropped the fact that everything was done, with an air of don't ask.
Minjun moved his lips. The van, the mana stones — all of it mattered. But there was something else, something that had climbed to his throat first.
"...The photos."
Jia stopped moving.
It was brief, but unmistakable — her face went rigid.
"You saw them?"
Her voice dropped lower than usual. Minjun nodded, barely. He did not have the strength to explain — the titles and the comments he had seen on the tablet, the pictures that were all but nude. If he opened his mouth any further, he was afraid the dream would come spilling out with them.
The tips of Jia's ears and her cheeks reddened faintly. Beneath that pale, translucent skin, shame was burning her complexion a soft pink. She turned her gaze aside as if to smother it, but Minjun did not miss the change.
(Ah. She didn't want me knowing.)
He understood it then: Jia had never wanted her own husband to find out she had been put in something so humiliating. He was not trying to press her. Worry had risen first — and with it an apology he could not quite name.
Seeing that, Jia's brows eased, just a touch. Her cold expression returned soon enough, but her voice was a little different.
"Don't worry. I'll take care of it."
With those clipped words, Jia rose from her seat. She drew the blanket back up over him — but her hand never strayed down toward his lower half. She pulled it up only as far as his chest, then let go.
"You just focus on getting better."
With that, Jia left the room. Click, click. The sound of her heels faded away down the corridor.
Even after the door closed, the sound lingered at his ears for a while.
Minjun stared at the ceiling. Beneath the blanket it was still damp, and a faint staleness still hung at the tip of his nose. The fresh scent Jia had left behind — she had been sitting there only moments ago — seemed to be mixing with the smell of semen from the dream, there in the same air.
Her words — I'll take care of it — brought him no relief at all. Only the image of Jia's flushed face remained, refusing to fade even when he closed his eyes.