**Carrying a Torch for a Mighty Woman**
It was unusually clement that mid-April morning in London, & Jen Robinson – a human rights lawyer & long-standing member of the legal team defending Julian Assange & WikiLeaks – was readying herself for the day. She dressed as one would knowing that their every move made; their every word uttered, was being surveilled by a team of men, who were the equivalent of well-trained dogs, but she also did so as one that has grown accustomed to the thought of being the subject of said vigil, for as long as she had been, would do. Surveillance of anyone associated with WikiLeaks was well-known & in her case its likelihood was confirmed by an ex-NSA member, years ago.
Drinking her coffee downstairs in her flat’s lounge, Jen basked in the morning light slanting in through her terrace doors. It was a glorious day, which she laid the blame on as the cause to the bombardment of mental images she was getting of her birthplace in Australia. She was playing back memories of her father training their horses on Seven Mile Beach with the sunrise on the horizon – one of the most spellbinding places she knew. The nostalgia associated with these reminiscences was an incontrovertible, early symptom of homesickness.
Then she thought of Julian Assange & how long it had been since he had been with loved ones in the country they both called home. He had been incarcerated at Belmarsh Prison for almost 2 weeks now without being allowed to receive visitors in all that time. She had successfully, after much difficulty arranged for 1 video conference with him so far. They likely only agreed to a video conference because the connection could always conveniently cut-out whenever they wanted it to.
Today she was planning something more ambitious: a meeting between Assange & someone very special to him, not for business, but pleasure.
Soon she was out of the evocative, golden light of the early morning & pushing her way through the extinction rebellion crowds, thronging the streets of London.
It was visiting hours at Belmarsh. Julian Assange was sitting in his visitation booth, waiting. He wasn’t waiting for any visitors, as it was merely a charade they put him through, daily. For the entire 2 weeks he had spent there he had never been allowed a single visitor. And yet, every day since his arrest they marched him out to the booths, waited the hour allotted, in silence, only to collect him again & march him back to his cell. They had to keep up appearances, you know.
Today was no different. At least the booth was a change in scenery compared to his quarters. And it sure beat being interrogated by MI5, or MI6, 7 or 8, or however many other identical 3-letter agencies the United Corporations of America’s little bitch known as the UK could throw at him.
Jen Robinson extricated herself from one media-neglected crowd of protestors only to be greeted by another: the Free-Assange protestors. The new crowd, on seeing her, cheered her on like she was a celebrity, or royalty, except one who actually made a positive impact on the world. She would have liked to have said a few words in the presence of the crowd, but she had an image of professionalism to maintain, as well as that, the dearth of appropriate channels that the media would have afforded were conspicuous by their absence. She merely turned to the crowd & waved & smiled shortly before entering Belmarsh.
Once inside Jen tirelessly negotiated with the commissioner of the London Metropolitan police & the prison governor trying to get them to grant access to a very special visitor. All over the phone, of course, neither of them made an in-person appearance, naming the protests & an uncompromising work schedule as their alibis.
The potential visitor in question was Sarah Harrison: WikiLeaks’ editor, & Julian’s closest advisor. Julian hadn’t seen Sarah in years. After Sarah & Julian’s relationship ended shortly after his detention in the Ecuadorian embassy, their physical encounters had grown more & more sporadic. Jen knew that Julian’s mental & physical health had been much compromised by his mistreatment in the embassy, that the mainstream media had framed as the reverse. She wanted so badly to do this one thing for him. She wasn’t just his lawyer, because it was the case of the century, but also because she genuinely cared about his cause – their cause. Julian’s apposite aphorism: ‘courage is contagious’ resonated with her, as said contagion had been contracted by her long ago when she was still a student, researching Indonesia’s politics & reading broadly on the subject of human rights in general. She knew it as a sting by an exotic insect called: the ‘Free West Papua’ campaign, spurring her on, in later years, to represent the leader of the campaign, the Papuan Nelson Mandela: Benny Wenda. When the Collateral Murder video was first obtained & decrypted by WikiLeaks, depicting United Corporation servicemen firing & then laughing at unarmed civilians & journalists, it had a profound effect of tsunami-like proportions on how the world viewed the massacre that the invasion of Iraq really was. It was no exaggeration to say that Jen was honoured to have Julian as her client.
She wanted to do her utmost, to not only save Julian’s life, but to also soothe him on the painful journey to safety; his journey back home. That’s why she had been so vigorously trying to coordinate this meeting between him & Sarah. Seeing a familiar face from times long passed – better times – would do him a world of good, she felt. Even at this late stage, she would not give up. She wanted this meeting to take place today.
She quoted his doctor (one of the only people he had been allowed to see) who also served as a PHR Torture Documentation Advisor, who had told her that the cumulative severity of the pain and suffering inflicted on Mr Assange (both physical and psychological) during his detention in the embassy without medical treatment for 7 years, was in violation of the 1984 Convention Against Torture.
Alas, her efforts were again, just as each time before, in vain. The authorities did not regard the meeting as strictly pleasure-based because of Sarah’s close connection to WikiLeaks as a whole, or at least that was the cover story they opted for, for its feasibility.
It was so frustrating for Jen because she had been so close this time, but no one would listen. Anyone who was anyone was against her cause. No one around her could see reason. Cowardess had become an epidemic. If only they would understand that if we all stood up, united, against this obvious miscarriage of justice, it, & similar cases, could never take place. It was times like these where her admiration for Julian was fully realised. He had been engaged in this battle for almost a decade now, but he still persevered, standing strong against the most powerful opposition the world had ever seen. She had failed him, once more. However, she never accepted total failure, only compromise. She had succeeded in negotiating that **she**at least could meet her client, with a message from the barred guest. The meeting would be healing for her as well, as all she wanted right now was a nice, quiet moment with someone she cared about, who understood the situation she had to deal with.
The deliberate incompetence of the authorities had filibustered her out of most of the visiting time remaining to Julian, which she had learned from past experiences, could not be extended under any circumstances. The inflexibility of the system could only have been by design.
She hurried through the halls, a high-security guard accompanying her all the way, to the visiting booths.
Julian sat, slumped in his seat playing the waiting game. A game he had become quite the expert in, at this point, a fact which did nothing to minimise the dreariness that characterised said game.
The door that never opened, opened & Julian nearly jumped out of his skin on hearing the unfamiliar sound. In stepped Jen, as if from a dream. Julian’s face lit up seeing his unexpected guest. On approach, she returned the glow, wearing her warm smile; the exchange like that of a beacon & the vessels that are guided by it.
“Jen!” a series of competing emotions flashed across Julian’s face, comprising a mix of ambivalences, such as surprise & relief, yet wariness & foreboding, as well as perplexity, matching the competing potential reasons he could be receiving an impromptu visit by the best lawyer in the business – his lawyer: Jen Robinson.
Jen seated herself in the space reserved for those with the permission to be free, opposite him. She picked up the receiver on her side of the glass. Following her lead Julian picked up his. He waited with bated breath for what he presumed to be the inevitable.
“No news today, Julian, just a visit by a friend.”
After allowing this information to set in, he let the tension he had knitted together in his upper body to gradually subside. He breathed again, relaxed, checked the clock hanging on the wall, then, just to confirm asked: “An informal visit?”
She nodded.
“That’s very pleasant surprise, Jen. A nice change.”
“Sorry I couldn’t get here any earlier.”
“Totally understandable. They take security very seriously here, Jen. The person who created a platform that allowed whistleblowers to remain anonymous while forcing an otherwise clandestine state to be transparent, unfortunately just so happens to be an egotistical, Russian rapist, who kicks puppies for fun.”
“Julian, remember, powers to detect sarcasm are greatly compromised by officials. Self-inflicted of course.”
“Of course.”
She waited, only a moment for Julian’s frustration to subside before continuing. “…Julian…” Her voice had softened in that knowing way usually reserved for intimate partners. “We haven’t got much time.”
They were alone, save a guard in the corner of Julian’s side, who was out of Jen’s view. Maintaining her professional aura, she discreetly pushed the two halves of her unbuttoned jacket aside, handsfree, using only her torso, with assistance by her elbows. To Julian’s astonishment she was not wearing a bra. Her breasts hung free, her hard nipples visibly poking through the thin fabric of her white shirt.
“Tell me Julian…” a naughty smirk began to creep across her lips and with it a new intensity in her gaze “…when was the last time you saw… a woman?”
Before he had been put in prison he had been in a makeshift one for 7 years. During the majority of the later years he was stuck in the embassy he had not enjoyed any internet privileges & even when it was not cut-off he was monitored nonstop. He had had no privacy whatsoever. Jen was not only the centre of attention, she was the centre of his universe at this point. He drank her in.
Shedding what remained of her inhibitions, Jen leaned back in her chair, away from the table, so that more of her torso could be visible to her voyeur. She shut her eyes, not to close herself off from the world, but open herself up to the secret part of the world that was always watching her, who would play its part in her exhibition. She wasn’t worried about any potential blackmail, since she would have to be in the public eye first for the release of her privacy to appeal en masse. She wasn’t in the public eye, because the public eye was deliberately looking in the other direction.
Her tentative fingers slowly traced the space between her breasts, up & down. “Follow my hand, Julian. My hand is your hand.” She rested her other hand on her belly, using it to pull the fabric of her shirt over her delicate bosom. Her other hand continued tracing, maintaining its speed. The hand resting on her belly slowly scrunched the material until she had a fist full of it. The sight of her navel being exposed took Julian’s breath away. His heart was pounding in synch with hers. Her breathing was heavier now. Her body craved cathartic release from the growing frustration from the tease… She grabbed both of her breasts, kneading them, letting out a soft moan, her eyes closed, her head tilted back & the traces of a smile of satisfaction crept in, as a look of ecstasy took over her face. The temporary relief this action afforded did nothing to abate her growing need – quite the reverse, the urge to release returned with a vengeance. Her whole body began to writhe & squirm under her touch. She was running her hands up and down her torso – accelerating, escalating. Her desire mounting, she plunged her right hand between her legs, her thighs wrapping around it. A deep, muffled moan sang out from her sealed lips. Her left hand travelled down the same path her right had, stopping at the edge of her trousers, quickly unfastening them. Julian’s nostrils filled with her humid scent, the vapour hanging heavy in the air.
Her hand slipped into her panties with ease. Her curious fingers explored her mound, then her lips, before one of them dipped into her creamy crevice. After retrieving it again, she doused her clit with her juices. She began gently circling her clit. Her finger continued its unrelenting rotation. Her movements were slow & steady, like a beat, her vocalisations responding to its regularity accordingly. The sweet music she was making was transforming into a crescendo, as her orgasm was fast approaching. Well into her plateau, her brow relaxed, the look of concentration dissipating, as she allowed her body to takeover. It continued like a well-oiled machine. The pressure was building, the edge was getting nearer. She was working it out slowly, but not holding back. Then she felt it – the point of no return. The few moments before release were painfully drawn out by her chosen pace. Feasting eyes held their breath.
“Yes! Julian!” Jen drawled, gasping at the final syllable, as the waves of her climax crashed down & washed over her. Her leaking pussy pulsated in orgasmic bliss. She rode the waves, panting along the way, as she came down from an amazing orgasm. She spread her hand over her pussy, as she sat there, catching her breath.
She returned to the waiting area, where Sarah Harrison had been stationed. Sarah stood up in preparation of Jen’s reception, trying to read her expression to the query resting on her lips, which she spoke, once Jen closed enough of the space between them, arriving within hearing distance.
“How is he?”
All she got as a response was an embrace, which she welcomed heartily. It was all that needed to be communicated at that moment. Jen gave no thought to her bosoms, which where still unrestrained beneath her blouse. Feeling Sarah’s closeness like never before was just what she needed at this time. It was the unique kind of physical intimacy one craves post-climax. She pressed into her as the pangs of post-climactic bliss electrified every fibre within her. This was a side of Jen that Sarah was unfamiliar with.
Deep down, on some level, we’re all prisoners yearning to breathe free. We are all Julian Assange.
Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/bt00ym/whistleblowers_chapter_3_f_masturbation_public