Leave and start anew.

Far away, nestled beautifully among the Rocky Mountains, was a town called Snow Creek, Colorado. The city was located reasonably high in the mountains and had all the trappings one might expect of such a location--most notably vibrant skiing and snowboarding culture. This place was a vacation spot for well-to-do professionals and their families, and the elevation made for good skiing year-round. Some people came and stayed in cabins, while others had second homes there. Owing to the economically affluent population, the town had a blessed bounty of upper-crust department stores, bars, restaurants, any any other facility a wealthy shopper with money to burn might want. Its education system was second-to-none because of the high property taxes. Mountain View and Snow Peak educated the community's children during their elementary years, which the local law defined as up through and including the 5th grade. Grant Middle school absorbed the students after their elementary years, and Glacier Pass High School took them after that. At least those were the public schools, which were impressive. Private schools also took on a fair number of students if the parents could afford the fees.

Snow Creek also had a top-tier university called Mason College--a small but extraordinarily well-funded college, not unlike Bowdoin College or Kenyon College. The place was well-kept and excelled academically in both undergraduate and graduate studies. Specifically, its Departments of Political Science, Economics, and Foreign Languages drew undergrad and grad students from across the world, as well as renowned faculty from other places to lecture there. Students and speakers interested in the Middle East and Eastern Europe in particular flocked to the place.

One of the town's many fine restaurants/bars was called The Haven--called so because it was a final respite for many people either before or directly after they set out to climb the treacherous mountain that served as the backdrop for the restaurant. Perhaps more accurately, that's how the restaurant had started--it had begun as a watering hole/restaurant/triage center for weary climbers back in the 1800s when the town was founded. The storied nature of the town and the location had turned it into quite a spot, and its owners had capitalized on that such that The Haven was now a rather high-class restaurant complete with fireplaces, a scenic view, and plenty of well-to-do patrons who used the restaurant and bar as a place to let off steam built up during a week's work.

"Dammit! Not another one . . . " lamented Ernie Lane, a heavy set, well-dressed bar tender inside The Haven as his eyes focused on the television. Ernie was nearing sixty years old with gray hair and a big belly that shook as he walked and that his stretchy paints and white shirt struggled to contain. His black suit jacket--standard for employees of the expensive and exclusive Haven restaurant--was buttoned in front of him, with the button waging a never-ending struggle against his advancing gut. Ernie's parents had, when he was a younger man, told him he should be a psychologist, but he had gotten full-time work at the restaurant because an absolutely beautiful woman he was immensely fond of worked there. She soon left, but Ernie stayed. Still, he figured that his position as a bar tender made him essentially the cheap man's psychologist. Ernie's free-flowing spirits and affable nature made him the perfect man to listen to a rich guy who had lost a bit business deal or whose preferred hooker had mustered the will to demand a raise.

What Ernie saw on the TV that elicited his lamentations was a giant swirling mass of white and purple approaching Snow Creek--the whether channel's way to indicate an approaching storm. The mountains made storms frequent because whatever weather was in the valley was trapped there. Clouds ascended to cross the mountains, but thin air made it impossible to hold the precipitation, hence the frequent rain and snow. This snow would be accompanied by bitter cold and blowing wind in the next couple hours.

Toward the back of the restaurant, a woman struggled and huffed and puffed as she lugged a big black garbage bag toward the door. "Want some help boss?" asked a young woman with a name tag that read "Kate." The woman with the garbage bag smiled pleasantly. "No thanks . . . go help Yana with the dishes, will you?" she asked. The young Kate obeyed and headed back into the kitchen. The first woman lugged the trash bag out into the cold night air, sweat beginning to form on her brow. She grunted and huffed her way to the dumpster and **** the big black garbage bag into the big metallic monster which read "Waste Management" across the side.

This woman was really something to behold. Her name was Laura Stanton. She was 42 years old and stood at about five feet seven inches tall. Curly black hair cascaded down from the top of her head and descended well down her back. She had a pleasant face and skin that was just a little bit naturally tanned. At 42 years old, Laura was not quite the spring chicken she had once been. Her eyes had just a couple tiny lines around them, and her body in general was very curvy and voluptuous. Men tended to love this woman's buxom frame, but part of the reason for it was that Laura had picked up a couple extra pounds in her belly and her ass. Her thighs were meaty, and she bounced about with a set of wide, child-bearing hips despite the fact she'd never had kids. Laura made a serious effort to stay in shape, but time had slowed its inevitable advance only so much.

Laura's top was a shiny red blouse that was cut low in the front to show off her impressive cleavage and reveal a tiny bit of the lacy red bra she tasked with holding her considerable bust at bay. Still, her boobs were so big it appeared they might fall out of her shirt. They bounced and jiggled as she walked. The shirt was tucked in tightly, which meant the material hugged Laura's magnificent bust and also that a tiny bulge in her stomach could be noted if one looked closely enough.

Her pants tonight were black like the color of her curly hair, holding tightly to the sizable round ass that stuck out beautifully behind the curvy Laura. Her hips, thighs and legs were shapely and full. She stopped at the dumpster, standing there in her shining black high-heeled shoes.

Laura was a woman always on the move. She had moved to Snow Creek from LA fifteen years prior just a few years after college with the dream of starting a restaurant. She enjoyed LA but needed a change of scenery. Upon arriving, she had purchased The Haven with only $5,000 down because that was all she had. She spent six months living in an old van a college roommate had given her because she could not afford an apartment, showering at the local YMCA while she networked and scrimped to get the restaurant off the ground. Extensive remodels ate up every dime the place generated and more for months, but eventually the tide began to turn in her favor through a combination of hard work and a determination to do whatever she had to do to make her dream work.

Fast forward fifteen years, and that determination had not left the ever-so-beautiful woman. She lugged the trash bag out to the dumpster because it needed done, never mind the fact that she now had 4 restaurants across town and a palatial house on a mountaintop with an indoor pool and all the material comfort she could ever need. She was not at all adverse to breaking a sweat, and she showed as much.

Tonight, Laura stood outside, her boobs rising and falling slowly under her tight-fitting blouse as the winter wind blew about her. She looked intently into the vast forest that began where the blacktop ended as the branches swayed in the wind. "What the hel--" she asked herself, presuming some predator lurked about in the vast expanse of forest. Such animals were around these parts. Laura gazed intensely into the forest for another minute or two--something had to be there. All that answered was the cold wind and rustling of leaves as the impending snowstorm moved in.

Laura began to turn to head back into her restaurant when suddenly a swirling, writhing mass of black smoke and burning embers and dust lunged out of the darkness of the forest at her. She opened her mouth to scream, but that was precisely what the mass of dust and magic and **** had hoped for. The swirling mass of dust hurled itself at the terrified woman and began to **** itself down her open throat. Her eyes grew wide with terror as it entered her, and she began to jerk and gargle and spasm, but the black, smokey dust just went into her faster and harder. Her body shook and jiggled as she began to lose control of it, producing a delightful set of gyrations of her ample boobs and luscious ass. She tried to scream for help, but only fell upon her knees and over to her side as the last of the blackness entered her.

Suddenly, all of the movement stopped as the defeated Laura lay upon the cold, dark ground, her chest protruding out from her curvy body. Suddenly, her eyes shot open, and a deep and unsettling blood redness filled them. Laura's body was levitated off the ground as if by some unseen and unknowable **** as she body was brought to a standing position. A smile came across her face as the thing inside her turned to the side, where an old bathroom mirror stood propped up by a brick wall. Laura's hands--no longer hers--reached up and caressed her belly and her ass, followed by delightfully cupping her boobs and moaning pleasurably. "If you'd let the other bitch handle the trash, these would still belong to you," Jonny said to his absent host with a naughty smile as he beheld the jello-like mounds on his chest. With that, he turned around and headed, hips swaying, back into The Haven.