The Wet Dream of Betrayal
Anger had twisted into excitement. At the far edge of the campsite, an old public restroom flickered under a single yellow bulb. Sujung staggered into the women’s stall while Seunghun stood at the urinal beside the sink, roughly yanking his pants down. The moment the sound of her peeing drifted over the partition, he let out a drunken, lewd chuckle thick with soju.
A flush followed, and Sujung emerged. Her face was flushed from the alcohol, eyes glassy. She giggled at the sight of Seunghun’s back as he stood there relieving himself.
“Seunghuuun… are you still peeiiing? You’ve been at it forever since earlier…”
“Whoa… shhh! Just wait a little… See, with a dick this big… it takes a while to finish… hehe.”
“Aww… haha. From the sound of it, it doesn’t seem like much? Just trickle, trickle… hehe.”
At Sujung’s provocative tease, Seunghun barked, “What?!” He hastily pulled up his pants and strode toward her. The sharp stench of soju rolled off him, but she didn’t flinch. Instead she looked up at him with a bright, playful smile.
“Not much? Hey, Im Sujung. You’re done pissing, so get over here and take a look! Prepare to wet yourself!”
“Hehe, if you tell me to look, you think I won’t? (She staggered closer.) Let me see… our Seunghuuun’s… little baby dick~♡”
Sujung playfully poked the front of his pants. In that instant, Seunghun’s eyes flashed like a beast’s. He snatched her slender wrist and slammed her against the restroom wall.
“Baby dick? You… you heard everything I did to unnie in the tent earlier, didn’t you? After listening to that… you’re already soaked, aren’t you?”
His thick, calloused fingers lifted her chin. Sujung mumbled, “Aww… what are you talking about…” and shook her head, but her body stayed pressed against his, breathing hot and ragged.
“Things that Junseok bastard doesn’t know about… I can do all of them for you. Yeah?”
Seunghun devoured her lips. The same neat mouth that had smiled at me that morning was now making wet, obscene sounds as it welcomed a stranger’s tongue. Sujung’s arms wrapped around his neck while his large, rough hands mercilessly grabbed the waistband of her sweatpants. The stretched fabric dug into the soft flesh of her inner thighs. She arched like a bow, letting out a feverish breath heavy with alcohol. Was this really the modest wife who used to shiver and push me away at the slightest touch?
But now, as Seunghun’s thick fingers shoved aside the sweatpants and ruthlessly crushed the line of her panties, her whole body trembled violently.
“Aww… Seunghuuun… not there… ahh… mmm… what if oppa wakes up…”
“It’s fine… that Junseok bastard… drank himself stupid… and he’s passed out in the tent without a clue… Hey? Sujung… doesn’t my finger feel way better than your husband’s? Huh?”
When Seunghun drove his fingers deep through the thick material, the quiet dawn air was pierced by the wet, sticky sounds—squelch, squish. The obscene noise of her juices soaking the fabric stabbed into my ears like a dagger. Sujung bit her lip in shame, but when he roughly sucked on her wet earlobe and poured out filthy taunts, she finally unleashed the moans she had been holding back.
In the moonlight, Sujung’s face was ruined beyond recognition. It was an expression I, her husband, had never seen—an animalistic lust completely surrendered to the rough violation of a stranger. Watching her mindlessly roll her hips in time with Seunghun’s merciless rhythm, greedily devouring every dirty, explicit stroke, I felt my heart being torn to shreds.
“Seunghuuun… haa… what Seunghun’s doing… feels so… weird… ahh…”
“Weird? You’re soaking your sweatpants because it feels so good… huh? Junseok has no idea… that you’re such a lewd woman… Only I know that side of you…”
Seunghun lifted one of her legs and hooked it around his waist. With her weight bearing down, the stimulation drove even deeper and tighter. Sujung threw her head back as if screaming, her full breasts quivering wildly.
She had completely forgotten I existed. My wife was being brutally violated by the man she called Seunghun, driven to the edge of ecstasy. The moment her hot, slick response burst free and gushed messily between the crotch of her sweatpants—
“Haa…!”
I opened my eyes to the ceiling of our bedroom. My breathing was ragged, my heart pounding as if it would explode. Cold sweat soaked my entire body, and beneath the blanket, a heavy, warm fluid was spreading obscenely.
It had been a wet dream.
The cruelest, most painful word—betrayal. The fact that the betrayers were my wife and Seunghun, the man I had trusted, brought me unbearable agony even inside the dream. The humiliation I felt watching her crumble under another man’s touch was like a knife carving out my chest.
But what made me even more pathetic was the undeniable truth. The sticky remains of the wet dream I could still feel in my groin was giving me an immense, forbidden pleasure in perfect proportion to that pain.
I felt disgusted with myself for having an orgasm while imagining my wife being defiled by someone else, even as rage at the betrayal made me tremble. Yet the deeper the disgust, the stronger and thicker the pleasure that stimulated my brain became.
In the darkness, I clutched my soaked underwear and turned to look at Sujung sleeping beside me. Seeing her resting peacefully with the same face from the dream, I couldn’t tell if this was simply a nightmare or a preview of the ugly desires hidden deep inside me. My mind grew hazy.
The first thing I felt upon waking was the clammy, cold sensation of my ruined panties—the filthy remnants of last night’s vivid, sticky dream. I covered my face and groaned. The spot beside me was already neatly made; Sujung must have gotten up.
“Oppa, are you awake? You slept in today.”
The clatter of dishes came from the kitchen. The usual peaceful morning sounds felt like sharp needles stabbing my eardrums. Like a thief caught in the act, I hurried to the bathroom and stripped off my underwear. Standing under the cold shower spray, I wanted to slam my head against the wall again and again.
You crazy bastard… how could you have a dream like that?
The scene of Seunghun and my wife intertwining behind the restroom. The fact that I had secretly watched and even ejaculated made me feel like the most disgusting piece of trash in the world. The unbearable guilt crushed me—the realization that I had turned the wife I was supposed to protect most dearly into nothing but a victim in a vile, low-class fantasy inside my head.
But something more terrifying than the guilt was reflected in my eyes in the mirror. Even while feeling sorry for my wife, my mind was already replaying the distorted expression on Sujung’s face as she had writhed, calling him Seunghun in the dream.
“Oppa, come eat. You’ll be late.”
Sujung sitting at the dining table looked exactly as she always had—prim and proper, the same woman I had known my entire life. She had buttoned her shirt all the way to the collar, hair neatly tied back, ladling doenjang jjigae for me. Every time I saw those clean hands, the guilt inside me screamed.
“Did you… sleep well last night?”
I asked carefully, spoon in hand. Sujung nodded without the slightest disturbance.
“Yeah, thanks to you. Maybe because you put me to bed yesterday, I feel like I slept deeply for the first time in a while. Haha.”
I couldn’t meet her clear eyes. The filthy suspicion—Did you really sleep well? After you went to the bathroom with Seunghun at dawn and let him do those dirty things to you?—slid down my throat along with the rice.
Even as I watched her from behind while she put on her shoes to leave for work, my gaze obsessively traced the line of her hips. The neatly pressed slacks. Yet in my eyes, the image of last night’s sweatpants being grabbed and crumpled by Seunghun’s hands overlapped on top of them.
I’m insane. I must really be crazy.
The seven years I had believed I loved my wife were crumbling like a sandcastle from a single night of suspicion and a dream. When Sujung lightly patted my shoulder as I stepped out the front door, I flinched, goosebumps rising across my skin.
“What’s wrong, oppa? Are you feeling sick?”
“No… I’m just a little tired. Go on ahead.”
The face staring back at me from the elevator mirror looked haggard. I was being ripped apart between the rational desire to trust my modest wife and the shameless instinct that grew aroused imagining her defilement. The deeper the guilt, the more paradoxically the desire to confirm her secrets grew inside me like poisonous vines.
Today, too, I would receive a call from my wife at work, exchange ordinary conversation, and secretly imagine her skirt growing wet underneath. I was terrified of how far this terrible hypocrisy and guilt would drag me into corruption, yet I couldn’t stop.