The Size of Her Obsession: A Giantess Dark Romance

Part 1

Chapter 1: Reentry

In the dimly lit, cavernous tech archives of Ravenwood University, Lyda Volc’d—a fourth-year engineering undergrad with a reputation for disruption—was in her element. Her long, raven hair cascaded down her back like a waterfall of ink, contrasting with the borrowed white lab coat she wore provocatively over a partially unbuttoned shirt. She thrived in structured environments just enough to twist the rules to her advantage.

Today’s target: Professor Miles Hawthorne, newly appointed to the Department of Science and Technology. A rising star in applied robotics and satellite systems, he was known not only for his cutting-edge research but also for the tattoos that curled like circuits along his arms—enigmatic, intricate, and deeply personal. Private. Guarded. Naturally, Lyda was drawn in like a moth to the high-voltage glow.

Under the pretense of needing clarification on the neural integration protocols used in adaptive satellite telemetry, Lyda had coaxed Miles into a quiet corner of the restricted archives. Her fingers drifted along the metal edge of the server terminal beside them, a silent promise laced in every idle movement. Miles watched her, eyes flicking from her hands to her face, tension coiling under his skin.

“Tell me, Professor Hawthorne,” she said, voice laced with mischief, “don’t you find this kind of technological intimacy… thrilling?”

Miles cleared his throat, the sharp intellect behind his gaze momentarily dimmed by something more primal. “It’s… complex, yes. Intriguing.”

Lyda smiled, slow and feline. “Intriguing. Such a restrained word for something so deeply charged.” She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a sultry hum. “Doesn’t the idea of surrendering to something unknown fascinate you? Letting it override all your systems?”

The casual use of his first name jolted through him. Miles stood abruptly, the chair groaning against the floor. “This is highly inappropriate, Lyda. You’re my student.”

She moved like a predator in silk, closing the distance. “And you’re a professor. But here, surrounded by old data drives and backup servers… we’re just two curious minds. Running a risky experiment.”

She placed her palms against his chest, fingers splayed over his shirt, feeling the surge of his heartbeat like a seismic sensor gone wild. “You always follow the protocol, don’t you? What if you bypassed it just once?”

His hands caught her wrists—reflexively, automatically—but instead of pushing her away, his thumbs circled her pulse points. Her proximity, her scent—cool metal and heat—short-circuited his thoughts.

“This is a mistake,” he murmured, though his voice lacked conviction.

Lyda didn’t wait. She surged upward, capturing his mouth in a kiss that crackled like static. For one beat, he was still. Then instinct overrode logic. His hands slid from her wrists to her waist, dragging her closer. She nipped his lower lip and he groaned, opening to her, their mouths sparking, merging.

His hands roamed to her ass, gripping firmly, drawing her tighter against the hard press of his erection. Lyda gasped and rocked into him, her body alight with feverish intent. She clawed her hands into his hair, pulling, dragging his lips to her throat, her collarbone, her jaw.

He backed her against the metal racks, caging her between shelves and sensors, his hips anchoring her there. His fingers found the hem of her shirt, slipping beneath, lifting it up over her smooth stomach, her ribs, her lacy bra. He cupped her breasts, thumbs brushing over her stiffened nipples, sending electricity straight through her spine.

She moaned softly, arching into him, her breath hitching at the contact. Her fingers fumbled with the buttons of his lab coat, then his pants. She needed to feel him—needed the solid, undeniable proof of the tension coiled between them.

“Miles,” she whispered against his ear, “you feel like fire.”

His response was a growl, low and guttural, as she slid her hand inside his pants, finding him hot and pulsing. His hips jerked in response.

“God, Lyda,” he groaned, kissing her again, deep and desperate. His fingers slipped beneath the band of her panties, finding her slick and aching. She shuddered, her head falling back, and her hand squeezed him in return.

They were lost—grinding against each other, chasing that edge. The cool, metallic scent of the archive was drowned in heat and sweat and the haze of arousal. She was close, his fingers stroking with maddening precision, and he—

A sound split the air.

A footstep. The clearing of a throat.

They froze.

In the doorway stood Dr. Ith Lazyweed, the university’s fiercely traditional Chief Archivist. Her eyes were wide, scandal writ large across her face.

“Professor Hawthorne,” she said icily. “My office. Now.”

Chapter 2: Heat Signature

Miles left Lyda without a word, his face pale and lips pressed into a grim line. Dr. Lazyweed’s summons hung heavily in the air, a stark reminder of the consequences etched into every taboo line they’d crossed. Lyda watched him go, her breath coming in ragged gasps, her body still humming with unspent desire and the stinging promise of unfinished business. She quickly righted her clothes, fingers trembling with a mix of fury and frustration.

She paced the room like a caged animal, her mind racing. Her hunger for Miles hadn’t diminished; if anything, it had sharpened, honed by the interruption. She wanted him, and she always got what she wanted. But there was more to it now. A darkness stirred within her, a possessiveness that made her want to sink her teeth into him, mark him, claim him as her own.

Meanwhile, Miles sat across from Dr. Lazyweed, her lecturing gaze boring into him.

“This is a slap in the face of everything this university stands for, Miles. Such improper conduct with a student…” She tsked, shaking her head. “I thought you were better than this.”

Guilt and shame warred within him, but so did a growing sense of defiance. He couldn’t deny his attraction to Lyda, nor the exhilarating intensity of their encounter. Yet, he was torn. He was her teacher, her mentor. The power dynamics were wrong, and the risks were immense. Still, he couldn’t just switch off his feelings, pretend they’d never happened.

Back in his office, Miles tried to lose himself in work, but Lyda’s touch was imprinted on him, her scent lingering in his nostrils. His phone chimed with a message. It was her:

“We’re not done, Miles. Not by a long shot.”

The veiled threat sent a shiver down his spine, but it wasn’t fear that quickened his pulse. It was anticipation.

Later that night, a soft tapping echoed at his window. Lyda stood outside, her eyes glowing in the dim moonlight, her jaw set in a determined line. Without a word, he let her in. She launched herself at him, her mouth eager and demanding. He stumbled back, caught off guard, but his body responded instantly, his hands gripping her tight.

This time, there was no pretense, no slow buildup. Lyda stripped off his shirt, nails scoring his skin, her teeth sinking into his shoulder. He growled, his savage side awakened, and pushed her against the wall. Their lovemaking was raw, brutal, a struggle for dominance. She bit him; he squeezed her flesh until she gasped, marking her as he was marked. Each thrust, each touch, each moan was a battle cry, a declaration of war.

In the throes of passion, Lyda whispered dark promises, “You’re mine, Miles. Mine to ruin, mine to protect.” Her voice held a chilling edge, a hint of the violence lurking beneath her skin. He should’ve been afraid, but he wasn’t. He was exhilarated, dangerously entangled in her web.

As dawn broke, they lay entwined, their bodies slick with sweat and centimeters apart. Miles looked at Lyda, her eyes closed, her red lips slightly parted, and knew he was in deep. He was falling for her, dangerous as it was. And he couldn’t bring himself to pull back. Not yet. Not ever.

Chapter 3: Singularity

In the days following their explosive reunion, Lyda’s obsession evolved from thrilling defiance into something more insidious. What had once been intoxicating became invasive. She no longer tried to seduce Miles with words or glances—she devoured him with attention, with relentless presence, with the single-minded certainty of someone who believed they were owed his everything.

It began with odd encounters. She was always there—on the quad as he exited a lecture, in the library aisle he was certain he’d ducked into unnoticed, on the edge of the parking lot late at night as he locked his car. She smiled when she saw him. Not the playful grin she used to wear when they flirted in secret, but a knowing, hungry smile that made his stomach turn.

She started sending him messages—dozens a day. Some poetic. Some technical. Some nearly incoherent with emotion. She spoke of quantum entanglement as metaphor for soulmates. Of timelines collapsing into singularity. Of how he had opened something in her, and how she would never let it close again.

Miles tried to disengage. He ignored her. Blocked numbers. Locked down lab access. He filed for temporary research leave, claiming personal stress and burnout. He even contemplated transferring to a different facility entirely.

But it was too late.

He had shown her too much. Access codes. Prototype schematics. The quantum stabilization system, which he had always sworn was years from safe deployment. But she had always been watching—brilliant, calculating, unstable. And now she knew enough to act without him.

One night, long after most of the campus had emptied for the evening, Miles returned to his lab. He moved quickly, intending to retrieve a few sensitive components before disappearing for good. But as he approached, a strange chill prickled his neck. The door was ajar, the security panel dark.

Inside, something was humming—a low, rhythmic thrum like a generator warming up. He stepped into the glow of the main console and froze.

The system was online.

Before he could shout, something struck his neck. A sharp, metallic sting. He staggered, vision swimming, knees giving out.

From the shadows emerged Lyda.

She was wearing a modified version of his prototype suit, fitted to her body with eerie precision. Her hair was wild, eyes glassy with manic intensity, and her lips were parted in something between a grin and a snarl.

“You should’ve known,” she whispered. “You showed me everything. And I made it perfect.”

He tried to crawl backward, to scream, but the paralysis took him. The last thing he saw was her hand reaching for the console. The miniaturization array—the theoretical heart of his life’s work—was no longer theoretical.

A flash of white.

Then silence.

He awoke on a metallic expanse, cold and slick beneath him. It stretched on like a football field, with strange ridges and grooves—too uniform to be natural, too vast to be familiar.

He tried to stand but stumbled. His limbs felt foreign. Everything around him loomed with impossible scale.

Then came the shadow.

Massive, deliberate.

He looked up.

Lyda.

She was enormous, bending down to peer at him with a single eye that filled half the sky. Her breath fogged the surface as she exhaled, lips curling into a look of rapture and control.

“You’re mine now, Miles,” she said, her voice booming like thunder. “Forever.”

He couldn’t move as she reached for him, scooping him up with surreal gentleness between fingers now the size of tree trunks. She deposited him into a glass containment chamber—a jar, retrofitted with bedding, scraps of familiar fabric, and something deeply personal: his old university ID badge, bent and stained with a kiss of crimson lipstick.

“I made it just for you,” she whispered, crouching beside the chamber, hands cupped around it. “You’re safe here. I’ll take care of you. Love you. Own you.”

Miles screamed. Pounded at the walls. But it was like shouting at the bottom of a well. His body—so small now, so fragile—had no power. No leverage.

She tapped the glass with a single manicured nail and smiled, eyes alight with unbearable satisfaction.

“You were always afraid to be truly close,” she murmured. “But now, there’s no distance left.”

No escape. No lab security. No rational explanation.

Only Lyda.

Brilliant. Broken. Boundless in her obsession.

And Miles—shrunken, imprisoned, and utterly hers.

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