The Mantis-Head V1.0

The Mantis-head, by Mayntis Randy.
>I was in college, the architecture dept., when I first met her; that intense mantis-girl, only known as H.R amongst the student body. The jokes were obvious and not required to be repeated here.
>I couldn't tell much from her outer expressions, probably because she was a mantis-girl, funnily enough, but the passion and drive she had for architecture, art itself, far eclipsed my own ability and focus, far surpassed everyone.
>Yet I finished the course and she didn't; she picked too many fights, was too stubborn, refused to yield to outside interference and compromise, I respected her for it, if only because I too afraid to follow in her foot steps.
>When she left, her final day, she packed up her workstation, the one beside me, the Mantis-Girl alienating herself led her to being shoved in the furthest corner, along with myself.
>She paused at the door, her expression the same deadpan as before, yet she looked in my direction for a brief second, and in that moment, I saw her illuminated from behind. Her slender form emphasised in the light, her monstrous appendages smudged with pencil, to match the smudge along the bridge of her nose, accidental transfer probably. As soon as she had looked, she had left, and the seat beside me almost echoed in it's emptiness.
>Then years later her deadpan face reappeared in my life, she had been hired as a lead designer on a new project at the firm I did grunt draftsman work at, immediately I was elected to be her gofer, and I did the work gladly, her presence gave me a sense of purpose again.
>Yet as I worked harder she worked me harder, until one day she silently shoved me to one side and started scribbling on the floor plan I was completing. I refused to accept that; it may be her tower but it was my damn floor plan, even if her corrections were better.
>So I grabbed the pen out of her hand. Apparently that was a mistake.
>50 odd kilograms of mantis-girl slammed into my diaphragm, grabbing for the pen,  her face was just below mine, and being this close I could swear I saw the slightest twitch in her eyebrow, the barest flush on her cheeks. She was serious.
>I've seen her scythes at work before, when we had to build paper models in class. She cut up the designs expertly in seconds and dumped the entire intricate mess in my lap to assemble; she delegated work when she was busy with her own assignments. At least I got the barest twitch of a smile when she saw I had managed not to fuck up making the damn thing.
>Now these very same scythes were going snicker-snack near my sack. My testicles ascended to somewhere near my kidneys.
>At this point, still struggling, she tried to slash the pen from my grip; only succeeding in shredding my one good suit however, yet in the pants shitting terror of a mantis-girl mid-attack I had thrown the pen on to my drafting desk.
>As the sleeves and back of my suit and shirt fell away, leaving me in embarrassing collar and cuffs like a low rate chippendale, we both locked eyes on the pen. Then each other. There was a definite downward angle to her brows now. Fuck.
>We jumped in unison, the old drafting table creaked in protest, the light spinning wildly, a drafting brush tickling my nape, I had a hand on the pen, the advantage of height. Turning on to my back I gave the Mantis a prideful look. Then I noticed I had lost this little battle, and probably the war too when I saw her preparing to jump, scythe held high.
>I couldn't see the slash, but I could feel it, cold air met my legs and crotch, inwardly I bade farewell to my good pants and possibly my life.
>Yes! Here it is, the flashback of my life...
>Mostly drafting things for uni, then this company.
>My deep sigh apparently confused the mantis for a second, but it was enough time to notice my utter lack of clothes and the mantis girl's warmth straddling my hips.
>Of course I got hard. I stayed hard too when the scythe slammed down beside my head when I tried to move. I think my dick even bounced on her pantie clad mons as she slapped away the sacrificial drafting pen I was attempting to placate her with, her free hand then held me down, her palm on my manubrium. Not like the pen could do anything for the hours of shredded paper I was currently lying on, naked. Life's ridiculous.
>I ignored my dick for a second to focus on the girl above me, who seemed to be in a rather complex internal monologue, but the rapidly deepening flush about her cheeks gave me a clue as to my future ability to walk.
>She rocked back, and thinly gilded satin labia brushed down my length, I found no cause for complaint; and neither did she, repeating the motion in slow strokes.
>All too soon I felt a dampening along the length of those satin underthings, whether it was cause by her, I, or a mixture of our juices was redundant to us both, for together, we were ready.
>I attempted to move her skirt up, instead I found myself dazed, with a sythe to my throat. She had slammed me down, maliciously trying to deny me te sight of her hiking her pencil skirt up her hips, and shifting her panties beneath her garterbelt for ease of access.
>She fixated on my crotch, like she wanted to melt my cock like a cheap kaiju villainess, instead she simply shifted, flicked and swayed her hips till My glans slid down her entirety, from clit to entrance, and there she rocked teasing us both.
>I looked up at the Mantis-Girl straddling me, with her clothes in general disarray, nipples nigh poking through her shirt, ladders forming on her stockings, yet she didn't care for any of that, simply wanting to catch my eye.
>So I looked her in the eye, looked as she slowly sunk herself down my entire length, her face going from deadpan to lascivious with every centimetre, millimetre.
>Thus she rode me, without care or mercy, but with a strange kind of gentleness to it; a scythe cupped my cheek, but the same hands pinned me down when I tried to escape after the third round, the same scythes that sunk into the desk within a hairs breadth of my ears when I tried to grab her hips.
>Looking back, I guess I have no better name for what happened that night, than "rape", for I surely didn't consent to be used as a sex doll. Yet, could I say I hated the Mantis girl quietly smiling to herself and clinging to my arm?
>Things didn't change much after that long night, she still corrected my work, yet she gave me instructions as she did so, she explained her reasons in her quiet, monotone voice, and so I learnt, with a silently blushing Mantis-Girl trying to keep up appearances by my side.
>Of course I could never do more than look on as a spectator, a common plebeian gawping at a master artisan, as the Mantis continued her school-shattering work. I did as much as I could for her, and whenever I was there to help she seemed more sure, more steady. At least, that's what I'm told. We often parted when she had to take care of competitions in different countries and she came back as much of a nervous wreck as a mantis girl could be.
>Even if she softened in my presence I still had a short leash, for others her indomitable spirit never wavered, her complete inability to compromise her visions brought her into conflict often.
>So it happened that she was fired from my firm, her visionary apartment complex half complete. She set up her own firm, she needed only to give me a single look to tell me that I was expected to follow. So with a sigh I walked out too. She didn't even make me a partner, I was too precious as her first employee apparently.
>Her tower was gutted, every day she'd go and stare at the construction's progress, sneak looks at the plans, steal in to the building itself. Everyday she grew more and more concerned, her perfect apartment complex was being adulterated, made inefficient, ugly, purposeless. It still carried her name too. I could see it gnawing away at her, even her nature expression failed to hide her irritation and agitation, and I knew then that something was going to give.
>Turns out what was going to give was 2/3rds of the support beams of the complex. The Mantis had been stealing dynamite and blasting caps on each of her visits, and she had finally put her plan in action. A note was left for me. "Sorry".
>The media vultures were everywhere, I was constantly hounded by their baiting and their fear-mongering. My boss was in jail, awaiting trial, and I had to keep the firm running in her absence. Which was slightly tricky since she /was/ the firm, and she apparently had no idea how to operate a phone. If you were wondering, yes, I am a glorified receptionist, but I bet I get better deadpan, embarrassed, super quick hugs than you,
>Long story very short, she some how managed to get a lawyer good enough to get most of the charges dropped on technicalities or at the very least downgraded to something less serious. She was now a convicted felon, but a felon on probation, and a heavy fine; once again we were faced with building our firm from scratch, and we did.
>We rebuilt, and we rebuilt stronger, better and bigger. Our clients streamed in on her notoriety, and she built gorgeous building for them, of a style and class all of her own. She seemed to be utterly fearless, definitely she never asked for my help, but somehow I always knew when to give it.
>Thus her vision lead us here, standing atop her new testament to what a skyscraper ought to be, standing upon her declaration to the world, that compromise is a failure in and of itself, that personal confidence and vision is tantamount to success, not just financial, but of the entirety of one's life.
>It also stood as a testament to our partnership, I feel she could've reached this spot without me, but I'm beyond thankful she gave me the chance to stand beside her and do all that I could too. So upon this spire, at the end of this story, amongst the naked steel and debris, I fell to one knee and proposed to my Mantis-Girl; I even almost got a smile out of her.