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stormy wind drove it almost horizontally.
"There'll be some serious snowdrifts," Keith remarked calmly. "Good thing we're sitting here in the warm, with a well-stocked pantry and more than enough drinks."
"No one needs to go anywhere for the next few days," I grinned at my son. "I wouldn't mind a proper winter. The last one was many years ago."
On this penultimate day of the year, ScotRail, the private railway company operating all Scottish lines, had decided to run the scheduled midday train from Wick via Thurso to Inverness despite the yellow warning. The twenty-year-old diesel multiple units had left Wick in Caithness at 12:34 p.m. The driver was fifty-year-old Andrew Douglas, who had been running this line for more than twenty years. The only conductor was twenty-nine-year-old Morgan Mackay, a divorced single mother of two schoolchildren; the trolley that normally supplied passengers with tea, coffee, and snacks was not on board due to staffing shortages. Although Andrew had encountered only light snowfall in the northern port towns of Wick and Thurso, the weather and driving conditions worsened drastically with every mile. The long, steadily rising stretch of track beyond Georgemas Junction was increasingly covered with snow, and despite full engine power the train crawled slowly toward the summit at Forsinard, its wheels occasionally spinning.
"I hope we don't get stuck," Andrew commented on the worsening conditions to Morgan when she came into the driver's cab after checking the tickets of the ten passengers.
"Has that ever happened to you?"
Andrew laughed briefly. "Sure — about fifteen years ago. Between Ardgay and Lairg. The train was stuck in a snowdrift for three days. Quite an experience." The driver grinned at the conductor, who was attractive even in uniform. "We set up a sort of bivouac in the train, and the Army helicopter brought us food and drink."
"How full was the train then?"
"A few more passengers than today — we were coming from the south. But they took it in good humour. On the first night we still had our fully stocked tea trolley: hot and cold drinks, toilets, and enough space for passengers to lie down across several rows. Most of them said goodbye in high spirits after those three days."
Silence returned to the cab as Andrew focused on the swirling snow on the track ahead and listened to the whining diesel engine struggling to compensate for the slipping wheels.
With every mile gained, the delay grew. "The southbound train will have to wait ages in Helmsdale before it can enter this single-track section," Andrew murmured and decided to call the control centre in Inverness. "Very difficult driving conditions on the climb to Forsinard," he reported. "We're going at half the scheduled speed. Southbound train must wait in Helmsdale."
The Inverness controller was surprised. "There's been no snow here at all," came the reply. "Everything is running on schedule."
At the request stop in now snow-white Altnabrec, Andrew had to stop and reverse for the first time to break through a rapidly building snowdrift on the second attempt. "I've got a bad feeling," he muttered to Morgan. "If the drifts increase at this rate, we've got serious problems."
The conductor stared over his shoulder at the thick snow in the beam of the wipers. "I've never seen a storm like this on duty," she finally said. "This looks like a real blizzard."
"It was only a yellow warning." Andrew pointed ahead angrily. "This is at least orange, if not red—and then we wouldn't have left at all." He sounded both worried and furious. "A train driver is responsible for his passengers just like a pilot. Only difference is — we can't fall out of the sky." Then he muttered something unintelligible but clearly irritated and anxious.
The heated switches before the tiny double-track section at Forsinard station were now buried under heavy snow but still working. The train rolled very slowly onto the correct track. No new passengers were visible. The little waiting shelter for trains to Inverness was already completely snowed in, and the old station cottage on the opposite track toward Thurso lay dark and deserted.
Andrew pointed through the windscreen at the white wall looming in the headlights just beyond the level crossing. The half-barriers were down, the warning lights flashing eerily, accompanied by the wailing siren. "I'm not driving into that drift," Andrew declared, slapping his hand flat on the control panel. "At worst it'll throw us off the rails." He contacted the control centre again and discussed the situation.
"We cannot go any further," he concluded. "And I doubt I can safely take the train back to Thurso. The drifts at Altnabrec were barely passable earlier."
The controller finally agreed to wait out the weather at Forsinard. The train was safely on a passing loop, so a snowplough could get through—if they had one available.
Andrew informed the ten passengers over the PA, and Morgan walked through both carriages to speak to each personally. The passengers took the news calmly. "Nothing we can do," most shrugged. They would miss their connections at Inverness anyway. Only Dr. Katarina Bryzch was distraught. "I have early shift at Raigmore Hospital tomorrow," she said anxiously. "I was just helping out at Wick Hospital over Christmas. All departments are understaffed over the holidays. If even one doctor doesn't show, it's a crisis." She tried to call the hospital — but her provider had no signal out here. And the twenty-year-old train had no WiFi.
"Use my phone," Morgan offered. "It works here."
The doctor gratefully accepted and informed her hospital.
Two hours later, the windward side of the train was buried in snow. "There's a hotel right near the station," Morgan told Andrew after they discussed their situation again. "If we're stuck for days... maybe they're open?"
Andrew shrugged. "I don't know. Most hotels here close in winter. Owners go to the Canary Islands or Thailand to recharge."
"Should I check? It'd be much better for everyone to sit out the storm in a hotel than in a railcar. And we have almost nothing to eat or drink."
"Good idea. You'll have to go — I must stay with the train."
"Then give me the big torch, for good light. Even if it's only two or three hundred metres."
A few minutes later, Morgan left the train and fought her way through the storm toward the hotel. Snow crystals quickly collected in the fur trim of her hood.
The bright white hotel lay in complete darkness except for emergency lighting near the entrance and glass-fronted lounge. Morgan was relieved that the sheltered entrance door was unlocked.
"Hello?" she called after closing the door behind her. No answer. She rang the bell twice.
A moment later a light came on in the back rooms, and Maggie Macintosh appeared. "Oh my God," she cried when she recognised Morgan in her ScotRail jacket. "Has something happened?"
"Yes and no." Morgan pushed back her hood. "I'm the conductor of the midday train from Wick. We're stuck here at the station in a massive drift. Can't go forward or back."
"Does ScotRail management know?"
"Yes, the driver called them. They say we're to stay put, otherwise we might get stuck on the single track to Helmsdale."
"How many people?"
"Ten passengers, plus the driver and me. And we have nothing on board except whatever snacks the passengers brought. No trolley today."
"Wait a moment," Maggie said. "I'll get my husband." She returned shortly with the whole hotel family and helpers.
"You're stranded with ten passengers and two railway staff?" I asked.
"Yes. And we practically have nothing to eat or drink."
"All right. Or — not all right," Maggie said. "Our hotel has thirteen double rooms. The heating is set to twelve degrees, but we can turn it on again. It'll take two or three hours to warm up. Then there'll be hot water."
"And we have enough food and drink for a small group," I added. "We'll improvise. This is a real emergency."
"We suggest," Maggie continued, "that you evacuate the train with your luggage and come here. I'm afraid you'll be stuck more than one night. The storm will continue all night. It's very light, dry snow—it can pile up to ten feed here. ScotRail will need a snowblower."
"I don't even know if we have a snowblower in the northern Highlands," Morgan said.
Maggie turned to our son. "You'd better go with her to help bring everyone over." Then to Morgan: "And then your driver and I will talk to Inverness and make emergency arrangements."
Soon after, Morgan and Keith trudged back through the snow to the train while Maggie and Martina prepared the hotel rooms. Meanwhile, I fetched my Polish kitchen assistant, Krystina Kaczmarek, to organise a quick dinner.
Half an hour later, the ten passengers stood with most of their luggage in the hotel entrance waiting for Maggie's instructions.
"How many single travellers and how many couples?" she asked. After sorting this out, she summarised: "Three couples, each needing a double room. Four singles. And the two ScotRail staff." She counted: "That makes nine rooms. Please come to the desk individually or in pairs for your keys and fill out the registration form. Payment — we'll arrange something with ScotRail. It's an emergency."
The passengers lined up orderly and were clearly relieved not to spend the night cold and hungry in the train.
Before the first couple went upstairs, I returned from the kitchen with an offer. "We're not prepared to serve twelve unexpected guests tonight," I said. "But we've checked our supplies and can offer you Spaghetti Bolognese with an excellent wild game sauce in about ninety minutes. If anyone is vegetarian, we can make a meat-free sauce." To our relief, all accepted the full version. I hurried back to help Krystina.
The restaurant and bar were warm enough by the time our emergency guests arrived.
"The driver and I have spoken with ScotRail management," Maggie announced. "ScotRail will cover your accommodation and meals. Only your drinks at the bar must be paid by yourselves." Applause erupted from the relieved passengers.
"It's so kind of you to take us in," an elderly lady told Maggie. "I think the train will be stuck longer than one night. It would have been awful for us otherwise."
"Thank you," Maggie replied warmly. "It's a truly exceptional situation."
Keith and Martina brought out large bowls of steaming spaghetti and fragrant game sauce. We had a large supply of our own game meat, plus plenty of peppers, garlic, and Italian hard cheese left over from the Christmas booking. Only fresh salad was lacking.
Our surprise guests tucked in eagerly. Conversation grew livelier by the minute. Strangers until this evening, they had become a small community likely to spend New Year's Eve unexpectedly at the Forsinard Hotel. No one could guess how long they'd be stranded.
After dinner, Maggie and I invited everyone to the bar for a drink. When all had glasses in hand, my wife spoke again:
"Tonight, we've come together under rather unique circumstances. To know who is sharing this emergency refuge with us for the next hours — or days — perhaps we should all briefly introduce ourselves."
Maggie's proposal was immediately met with general approval.
"Good," Maggie resumed. "For simplicity's sake, I'll start. I'm Maggie Macintosh, this is my husband Fred, and over there is my son Keith with his girlfriend, our hotel assistant Martina Kulikova. Our kitchen fairy Krystina is still cleaning up the kitchen and already preparing your breakfast."
"Thank you," the conductor was the first to speak. "Thank you for welcoming us into your hotel with such kindness and helpfulness. Also, on behalf of ScotRail: we are doing everything we can to make this unfortunate situation as bearable as possible for our passengers." He took a short sip from his beer glass. "I'm Andrew Douglas from Wick in Caithness, fifty years old, a conductor for more than twenty-five years, and now for the second time in my career stuck behind a snowdrift. The first time, many years ago, we needed helicopters to supply our passengers. This time we are in far better circumstances, thanks to our emergency stop in Forsinard and the great help here in the Forsinard Hotel." He looked at his train attendant to continue the introductions.
"Morgan Mackay. Also from Wick, twenty-nine years old. Single mother of two girls, who thankfully are staying with their grandmother tonight, so I don't need to worry."
With simple nods, the introductions continued informally:
"Dr. Katarina Bryzch, hospital doctor with the NHS," began the approximately mid-thirties woman next to Morgan, "actually on my way from my Christmas shift at Wick General Hospital to my New Year's shift at Raigmore Hospital in Inverness." She lifted her shoulders a little helplessly, almost apologetically. "Looks like one of my colleagues will have to take over my shift." She looked at the young man beside her to pass on the introductions.
"Peter Mackenzie, 23 years old, student in St Andrews, on my way to the New Year's Eve party at our college." He also shrugged and grinned. "Let's see whether we can organize a fantastic New Year's Eve party here instead. Doesn't look like we'll be traveling on tomorrow." Peter's last words were met by a slight groan; he had expressed directly what other passengers feared.
"Jack Bond," introduced the tall African American man next to him. "From New Orleans, currently working on my PhD at Heriot-Watt University in Edinburgh. Passionate jazz musician." Jack put his arm around the much smaller young woman beside him with long fiery red hair. "Your turn."
"Caren O'Leary. Dad from Cork in Ireland, mum from here in Sutherland. Jack's girlfriend and also at Heriot-Watt University. Doing my PhD in mathematics." She laughed at the older woman next to her with an infectious smile, so she'd continue the introductions.
"Cathrine Johnson, 53 years old, Gaelic teacher at Farr High School in Bettyhill, widowed. I was actually on my way to my sister in Fort William to celebrate Hogmanay." For her age, Cathrine looked unusually good—athletic and completely fit. Cathrine was the first traveller to use the Scottish word for the two-day New Year celebration.
Cathrine, Maggie, and I exchanged friendly nods. She had taught our children Gaelic during their high school years and was therefore well known to us.
"Henry Howard, engineer at the Dounreay nuclear plant," introduced the next passenger. "With my wife Louise," he looked left at the blonde woman next to him with an impressive DD bust, "on our way to the airport in Edinburgh to fly somewhere sunny."
"Which probably won't happen," added the woman with a sad undertone. "I think our chance of catching our flight to Gran Canaria tomorrow morning is close to zero."
"Dr. Donaidh Macdonald," continued the man next to her, also in his early forties. "Henry's colleague in Dounreay, but I actually live in the Lake District because my main workplace is the reprocessing centre in Sellafield." He looked at Jack Bond. "As I've just learned, I'm the second hobby pianist in this group. Is the piano in your bar playable?" Donaidh glanced back and forth between the piano at the head of the bar, Jack, and me.
"Indeed," I confirmed. "Even very well-tuned. It's cleared for expert use immediately."
"This is going to be fun," Jack and Donaidh said to each other. "Entertainment is at least taken care of."
Finally, a very young couple introduced themselves. "Rosie Jordan," and "Georges Bonnier," they said. "We're both first-year students in Oxford and have been visiting my parents in Caithness," continued the young woman, who still looked like a schoolgirl.
"I'm originally from Guadeloupe," explained the dark-skinned Frenchman in flawless upper-class English. "My father worked as an investment banker in London for many years, where I also grew up."
"Very nice," Maggie clapped her hands in her typical manner. "The rooms are assigned and occupied, and should be warm enough by now. And the bathrooms certainly have hot water again. We've all strengthened ourselves Italian-style, and everyone who wants to is warmly invited to spend a few more hours at the bar."
"Thank you," Andrew, the conductor, spoke again. "I need to speak with operations once more to discuss tomorrow's situation. As soon as I have new information, I'll inform everyone." With this, he left the bar as the only one; the others ordered drinks from me and began chatting freely and with astonishing ease in small groups. They had already formed a kind of emergency community.
Jack and Donaidh had indeed taken to the bar piano and began entertaining us alternately with lively but not intrusive playing. They were really good — Jack with stirring boogie-woogie, Donaidh responding with Beethoven's Für Elise, which he artfully transformed into a jazz piece.
"Excellent," I thought to myself while managing the bar. "If we're truly snowed in here tomorrow, this is going to be a fantastic New Year's Eve party." I started making a small plan in my head just in case. After all, we had to improvise a New Year's Eve party for seventeen people.
From my observation point behind the bar counter, it was fascinating to see how our unexpected guests mixed.
Around the piano, the two competing pianists chatted with Jack's girlfriend Caren and the Howard couple, who apparently were close friends of Donaidh; at least during the playing breaks Louise Howard stood in a close embrace with both her husband and Donaidh.
"That seems to be an established threesome," Maggie whispered to me during a quiet moment. "The busty blonde handles both men with almost provocative naturalness."
"And has already fully integrated that wonderful redhead into the group," I grinned at my wife. "Really exciting to observe. Music connects."
Maggie grinned knowingly back and whispered in my ear, "If this bunch celebrates New Year's Eve — Hogmanay — with us tomorrow night, we'll have a first-class swinger club in here."
We looked at each other from close range and exchanged a quick kiss. We had met twenty years ago in an upscale private club near Glasgow where I prepared the warm and cold evening buffets from Thursday to Saturday and she worked at the bar.
"Why not?" I replied appropriately. "We've never had anything like that in our hotel."
"Phew," Krystina came behind the bar a little later. "The kitchen is sorted now and prepared for breakfast as far as possible." She looked into the bar with interest and examined the groups forming. "There's definitely tension in the air."
"You can say that again," I confirmed. "Maggie just whispered to me that the Oxford couple invited our Gaelic teacher to their room 'so she wouldn't be alone in this snowstorm.'" I grinned at Krystina this time. "Isn't that sweet?"
Krystina now looked closely at the mentioned teacher, who, together with Rosie, was in close body contact with the dark-skinned and incredibly handsome Frenchman between them.
"Maggie told me earlier that all three of them are very body-conscious athletes," I added. "We know Cathrine Johnson has been a long-distance and marathon runner since her youth. But it seems the Oxford couple enthusiastically runs cross-country races and does the same on their bikes."
Krystina nodded. "They all look incredibly fit. If the three of them had a threesome, it would probably be physically very demanding."
At that moment Andrew Douglas returned to the bar and drew everyone's attention loudly. "I've been conferring with the operations centre in Inverness again," he began awkwardly. "The snowstorm has now covered Inverness, the southern Highlands all the way to Perth, and all of Moray and Aberdeenshire with heavy snow and drifts. The weather is expected to remain the same until tomorrow morning, worsening significantly overnight. In addition, the Met Office has announced another snow front for the evening of the 31st and upgraded the warning level in parts of Scotland from yellow to orange." A collective murmur and groan went through the passengers. Andrew continued. "All train traffic north of Edinburgh and Glasgow is suspended. Since the main roads in the Highlands are also affected by heavy drifting, there is no replacement bus service either." He lifted his shoulders helplessly. "According to operations, the tracks north won't be cleared until at least January 2nd, possibly even a day later." Andrew's face was now bright red and he was sweating heavily. "I'm very sorry."
"No need to be sorry," replied Dr. Donaidh Macdonald, who was sitting at the piano and emphasized his comforting words with a flourish. "Thanks to our dear hotel owners, we're obscenely well off. I can just imagine us still sitting hungry and thirsty in the stalled train and having to sleep on the seats tonight." He played another flourish to loud, agreeing laughter.
"And since we've descended upon the Forsinard Hotel like shipwreck survivors," added the voluptuous Louise Howard just as loudly, "we'll now make the best of it together, help our lovely hotel family with all our might, and create an unforgettable Hogmanay."
Louise's words were met with spontaneous cheers and applause. She left her group at the piano and came to the bar. "First: do you have enough supplies for us surprise guests? Second: how many helpers do you need tomorrow in the kitchen if we want to prepare an improvised evening buffet together?"
I thought briefly. "We're not short on supplies. Since we hunt and fish ourselves, we have a large stock of meat and salmon. Potatoes, onions, things like that—plenty. And various long-lasting dairy products. Eggs too, since we have our own chicken coop." I laughed briefly. "We just need to shovel the path there." I looked directly at Louise. "Three kitchen-experienced passengers would be very helpful." Louise turned to the others. "We need two more volunteers to help me support our chef in the kitchen tomorrow and prepare a New Year's Eve buffet."
Cathrine, Caren, Morgan, and Georges immediately volunteered.
"If Maggie and I, together with Krystina and Martina, are fully tied up with hotel work tomorrow, we'll also need two helpers to assist my son outside with feeding the wildlife and clearing snow," I added. Keith immediately had his team of volunteers.
Then Henry Howard came to the bar with another idea. "I was stationed in Paderborn with the army for a long time. The Germans have a wonderful winter drink called Glühwein. I have a really tasty recipe in my head. Do you have simple red wine, rum or simple whisky, sugar, a few oranges, spices, and so on?"
"I know it," I replied enthusiastically. I slid a blank order pad and pen over to Henry. "Write down what you'd need for seventeen people."
Henry nodded. "You'll have it in fifteen minutes."
When I later looked at his list, I was pleased to tell him that only the fresh oranges were in limited supply. Everything else we had. "Good," Henry said, knocking his fist on the bar. "Then I'll make Glühwein for everyone tomorrow. Will be fun." He would be proven right.
The evening ended relatively early because everyone was looking forward to the long night ahead. Our surprise guests went to their rooms in small groups, and both Maggie and I noticed that our doctor left arm in arm with the twelve-years-younger Peter Mackenzie, and our Gaelic teacher left snuggled up with the Oxford couple.
"I guarantee you," Maggie joked in our bedroom, "tomorrow is going to be one very hot party." She cuddled up to me. "Just like the old days at the club."
The next day, New Year's Eve, we were initially far from a hot party. The five of us hotel owners and staff and our twelve surprise guests had become a Hogmanay cooperative to turn this unplanned year-end into a unique event. Only Andrew spent the entire morning in conference with Inverness operations, informing everyone that we'd likely be waiting until at least January 2nd. "The entire Highlands down to Perth and Stirling are practically snowed in and blocked by massive drifts," he repeated over and over as he went from group to group. "Reopening the routes from Inverness to Perth and Aberdeen has priority."
Andrew seemed stressed on the one hand that his train was stuck with passengers, but on the other hand greatly relieved that our hotel was available as an emergency shelter.
"Relax, Andrew," his train attendant encouraged him. "Imagine if we'd been stranded in Kildonan or in the middle of open track."
He shook his head. "No, Morgan. I'd rather not imagine that. It would be a 24-hour nightmare." Then he shook himself like a large dog, slapped his hands on his thighs, and transformed into a normal person again. "I've done everything I can. We're safe and well cared for. And we're celebrating Hogmanay together. That's how it should be!"
In the kitchen, Krystina and our five helpers began prepping the evening buffet under my guidance in the late morning. Georges Bonnier demonstrated remarkable talent as a sauce chef, thanks to his Caribbean-French-English upbringing. "I often helped my mother with her catering business," he explained. "And I liked the sauces most, because you can refine," he grinned broadly, "or ruin many dishes with them." He tapped his head. "I hope I'm on the 'refine' side today."
In the middle of the preparations, Maggie came into the kitchen, pulled me aside, and whispered in my ear. "I'm certain my prediction of a wild party will come true," she said with a sly smile. "Martina just told me that the beds in Peter Mackenzie's and Cathrine Johnson's rooms are completely untouched, but the Howard couple's room looks like a battlefield of love."
I couldn't suppress a knowing grin as my eyes wandered to the busty Louise Howard, who was forming small meatballs from minced game and spices. "If you're right, tonight will be interesting," I said, giving Maggie a quick kiss before returning to work. "Cathrine Johnson is a swinger," crossed my mind as I looked her up and down on the other side of the kitchen. "Who would have thought?" Though I had to admit to myself that the Gaelic teacher we'd known for over fifteen years looked excellent — thanks in part to her passion for running.
Our improvised Hogmanay party began at 8 p.m. in equally improvised party clothing. Louise Howard and Cathrine Johnson had been on their way to private New Year's celebrations and had dressed up a little, like my wife. The others were more or less still in their travel clothes, the two ScotRail employees still in uniform. Keith had rearranged the restaurant seating into two long eight-person tables, which was perfect, since Krystina, Martina, Keith, and I had agreed to take shifts at the bar.
Henry Howard's Glühwein filled two large pots placed on warmers both at the buffet and at the bar, giving off such a wonderful aroma that most guests helped themselves immediately.
During the first two hours, the mood was relaxed, and the restaurant buzzed with lively conversation. Although the buffet remained set up for later snacks, everyone gradually moved into the bar. Jack and Donaidh alternated at the piano almost competitively, creating a terrific party atmosphere. From my "safe" spot behind the bar where I was stationed for the two hours before midnight, I observed how Maggie's prediction became more and more true: it was becoming a hot party with increasing body contact, progressively bolder caresses and kisses, fuelled perfectly by Henry's Glühwein, which was so popular that he had already prepared a second pot.
Maggie was right: our guests were getting so heated in every sense that they had completely forgotten the cold white world outside.
The first pair to disappear for almost an hour, almost unnoticed, surprised me. I knew from my son that our Polish kitchen fairy Krystina had strong lesbian inclinations; but that she would find a partner in Morgan, the train attendant and single mother, I would not have guessed. When the two women reappeared after 11 p.m. and continued to seek close physical contact, I was probably the only one who noticed.
"Morgan is helping me," Krystina said as she came to the bar. "When should I clear the buffet and store the leftovers?"
I raised my voice loudly. "Anyone who still wants something from the buffet, now's your chance. Otherwise, we'll clear it away and let the leftovers enjoy a cool night."
At this 'last order call' — which on normal days signalled the final call for drinks — a few guests actually went back to the restaurant for another bite. Half an hour later, Krystina and Morgan cleared everything, so they'd be done before midnight.
Then I noticed Georges and Rosie together with Cathrine Johnson moving with their glasses from the bar into the dimly lit loggia near reception, where the three of them made themselves comfortable on one of the green Chesterfield sofas. "Comfortable" was indeed the right word — Maggie soon reported that the apparently already-tested threesome had moved into a rather uninhibited infight. "If they keep going like this, they'll be having a public threesome in the loggia," Maggie murmured. "I find that a) very bold and b) very arousing."
"The Glühwein loosened everyone up tremendously," I remarked.
"And heated them up," Maggie replied. "I'm curious how this will end."
This certainly applied to Louise Howard, who was shamelessly pressing herself in permanent, provocative body contact with all four members of the 'piano group,' pushing her magnificent DD bust so high that her two large nipples were half exposed. "When midnight strikes, I want to greet the New Year with a proper gangbang," she declared loudly enough for the entire bar to hear. "Men and women are equally welcome," she added. She was clearly tipsy from her husband's Glühwein but not uncontrollably drunk.
Louise suddenly came up to me at the bar and leaned so far forward on the bar counter that her magnificent bosom actually popped right out. "Oops," was her cool reaction, but she made no move to put her two splendid assets back into their packaging. Maggie, who was sitting with our doctor and her new young lover, had caught sight of Louise's visit to the bar from the corner of her eye and joined us.
I grinned broadly at my wife. "Louise is asking permission to have her early-January gangbang in our loggia," I said, getting straight to the point of Louise's request.
"Why not?" Maggie shrugged. "I haven't watched, let alone experienced, a New Year's orgy in ages." She put an arm around Louise's shoulder, pulled the gloriously bare-breasted woman close, and looked her in the eyes. "You know what you're starting here?"
"Very much so. And I'm infinitely horny for it. Especially if we're not talking about a little secret group sex in our room, but a proper New Year's orgy. I wouldn't be surprised if more or less everyone joins in somehow." Louise seemed absolutely clear-headed, not the least bit drunk.
"And now?" I looked at my wife, who was far more experienced in such matters.
"We do what you do in such a case: we make it public." Maggie took two empty wineglasses and clinked them together like a bell. "It's almost midnight, and as we welcome the New Year in the middle of this snow chaos that has so surprisingly brought us together, champagne glasses will be placed on the counter. Please help yourselves." Keith had meanwhile opened several bottles of champagne and began filling the seventeen glasses.
"I have one more announcement to make." She smiled very diabolically now, and I suspected what was coming. "At the special request of several guests, we are declaring our loggia an erotic party zone from midnight onward. A few unconditional ground rules: First: anything goes, nothing and no one must. Second: a 'no' is a 'no.' And third, adapting the old Las Vegas saying: what happens in Forsinard stays in Forsinard."
Louise was just stuffing her magnificent femininity back into its packaging, beamed at Maggie, hugged her, and gave her a slightly misplaced kiss. "Thanks. This will be fun."
The chimes of Big Ben, which I broadcast to our bar speakers via radio, welcomed the New Year. Our little spontaneous group had armed themselves with champagne glasses, sang the famous "Auld Lang Syne" at full volume accompanied by four-hand piano, and congratulated each other with many hugs and kisses all around.
"And now we welcome the New Year with full force," I heard Louise's voice ring through the bar. She had meanwhile gotten another open bottle of champagne from Keith and headed off with her 'piano' group toward the loggia. She was truly carrying out her announcement in all her lust.
For a moment there was hesitant silence in the bar as we all looked at each other somewhat uncertainly. Then suddenly our doctor stood up, grabbed the hands of Peter and Morgan, and announced loudly: "I've never done such nonsense in my life. And if I don't do it now, I'll probably never try it!" She looked from one to the other. "Are you coming with me?"
Both nodded and were gone within seconds, hand in hand with Katerina, heading toward the loggia. Katerina's determination set the rest of the bar patrons — including my son and our two hotel helpers — into motion, following the direction from which we could already hear loud giggling and a few calls.
"And us?" Maggie and I looked at each other, the two of us now alone in the bar.
Maggie clapped her hands in her typical gesture. "We're going to do what we never did together in Glasgow. We're going to watch. And if we like it, we'll join in!" She practically dragged me out from behind the counter, and we followed — with some delay — the growing noise toward our hotel loggia, which was well furnished with two large leather sofas, two small leather sofas, and several leather armchairs.
"A sight for the gods," Maggie murmured quietly as we entered through the wide door to the loggia.
"Indeed," was my dry comment as I stood behind my wife and began to cup her not-so-small breasts in both hands. She leaned her head back on my shoulder, and we first took in the scene around us.
In the leather armchair in front of us, we saw a truly acrobatic position involving our two hotel employees and our son. While Martina stimulated and worked on his already magnificently erect manhood with all the rules of oral art, Krystina had pushed Keith's head back over the backrest, knelt on both armrests, and pressed her pussy onto his mouth. She was already rocking her hips back and forth, apparently well-heated.
On the central free-standing sofa, Louise had gathered around her one woman — Caren — and three men: Jack, Donaidh, and her husband Henry. The group was now completely naked and already fully in action. Louise must have been highly experienced in this discipline — not only because of her open-hearted instigation of this Hogmanay orgy, but in how she directed her four lovers to her liking. She had apparently warmed up with her experienced threesome partners, riding her husband in reverse cowgirl, while servicing Jack and Donaidh—kneeling or standing next to her — with her mouth and hands. Twenty-five-year-old Caren had knelt in the perfect position between Louise's and Henry's spread legs and worked both the thrusting penis and Louise's clit with mouth and fingers. We would learn the next day that despite her youth, Caren was incredibly experienced and worked as a high-class call girl in Glasgow to supplement her student budget. The group filled the loggia with loud moaning and other sounds of love. Louise had even found another penis: Andrew had stood behind the sofa, watched for a bit, then surrendered himself to Louise's searching hand and soon ejaculated over her forehead and face.
The second sofa was also heavily occupied. A sort of reverse gangbang had formed, with the dark-skinned Georges dealing with Rosie, Catherine, and Morgan — three women. "Seeing this French masterpiece of masculinity," Maggie murmured appreciatively, "I can well imagine why both our teacher and our railway fairy ended up with him." She took a deep breath. "Such a magnificent man would appeal to me too."
I laughed softly. "Then don't hold back. But I think you've got competition."
"Unfortunately." Maggie briefly touched my trousers. "Let's get you ready for action. Maybe we can join those two over there." By "those two," she meant Dr. Bryzch and Peter Mackenzie, who had been a passionate couple since the previous evening and occupied the two-seater sofa alone. Fortunately, they welcomed us warmly — Katarina, riding on Peter, hugged my Maggie breast-to-breast and slapped the free side of the sofa invitingly so we could join them. "What's happening here is so hot," she whispered to us. "I never imagined I'd ever experience such a party." Maggie slipped down, had my best piece hard and ready within seconds, and mounted me in the same position. The two women, now riding side by side, enjoyed an additional lovemaking session together, kissing and playing with their medium-sized but still firm breasts.
Peter and I had adjusted well to our partners' cowgirl rhythm when suddenly I heard my wife suggest between two kisses: "Shall we switch?"
After perhaps two seconds of silent pause, the doctor replied in an audibly horny voice: "More than gladly!"
Almost synchronously, both women lifted their hips, leaving our well-lubricated shafts exposed to the air. The exchange between Katarina and Maggie was completed within seconds, and the Polish-born doctor positioned my tip exactly at her soaking entrance and sank down all the way. She paused briefly, played with my manhood using her vaginal muscles, then continued her interrupted ride. Maggie did the same and commented immediately on her new experience. "Oh! That feels good!" It had indeed been many years since she'd felt a foreign penis inside her. The same was true for me — I hadn't visited a foreign pussy in more than fifteen years. There was no holding back for the four of us now; both women rode us hard to climax.
While our swapped pairs reached their first explosive finish, things were getting really loud on the other sofa. Our two riders had dismounted, knelt in front of us optimistically, and were trying — with encouraging mouths and tongues — to coax our reduced manhoods back to life. This gave me my first unobstructed view of the room. Louise now had the man half-lying, half-sitting beneath her in her rear entrance and was giving devoted oral attention to the two cocks to her right and left until they too sprayed their first loads over her face. Even in the dim lighting, it was clear that the main reason for her loud cries was Caren, still kneeling before her. The young woman had her entire right hand buried past the wrist in Louise's pussy and was fisting her in perfect rhythm with Henry's thrusts in her rear.
"Wow," Katarina commented in admiration. "I've never seen a woman explode in orgasm like that."
"It's been a long time for me too. But such a sandwich double-penetration plus a fist must be the outer edge of pleasurable endurance." Maggie laughed softly. "It's like childbirth. Probably a similar kind of tension." Maggie had experience with three "normal" births.
With Louise's public mega-orgasm, things grew quieter in the loggia. The first guests said their goodbyes — some with company — to their rooms. I gathered my clothes and slipped off to the bar to see how much needed tidying. Maggie stayed with the last guests in the loggia. "Let's see if I can still get a piece of that delicious Georges," she whispered in my ear. "Probably a once-in-a-lifetime chance."
I nearly had a shock when I entered the bar. Everything was already cleaned up. Keith stood behind the counter grinning at me, with no sign of our two hotel employees. "We three play together so often," he explained, laughing with his eyes, "that we only had a quickie. Then we figured we'd make ourselves useful. Kitchen and bar are all ship-shape; the girls have already gone to bed." He saluted like a sailor. "I hope you enjoyed yourselves."
I nodded thoughtfully. "Honestly, we really did. It was like a time-travel back to Maggie's and my younger years."
"Excellent." Keith came out from behind the bar. "If you don't mind, I'll head to bed too." At the door he turned around. "I assume Martina and Krystina won't be needed before nine?"
I shook my head. "Definitely not."
"Good!" He tapped the doorframe. "Then I'll still have some time with my girls in the morning." Then he disappeared.
I stood a bit lost behind the bar, unsure whether to close or stay open. Then I reached for the well-stocked whisky shelf behind me and treated myself to a good glass of Clynelish from the nearby distillery in Brora.
"To a good New Year," I toasted my reflection and had just taken my first sip when Maggie entered with Georges and Rosie, the young Oxford students.
"We're the last warriors," Maggie announced with a special smile. "And it was good!" She looked at the glass in my hand, then turned to the young couple. "I think my Fred has exactly the right thing in his glass. Would you like a dram too?"
"More than gladly," they agreed.
I obliged, poured three more generous servings, added two ice cubes each, and handed out the glasses. Then I lifted my own and toasted the three of them. "Cheers! To a good New Year."
"And to just as explosive experiences," Maggie added with a throaty laugh. "This new year has certainly started brilliantly."
"He's truly a magnificent lover," my wife confessed later in bed. "You and Peter, and then him — a truly wonderful night." Then she fell asleep on my shoulder like a little girl.
The hangover from the Hogmanay night — with plenty of mulled wine and additional drinks — made for a very slow start to New Year's morning. Breakfast for the few guests who appeared before noon consisted mainly of one or two cups of coffee and a fresh croissant that Krystina had conjured from our stash of ready-made croissant dough. The afternoon passed quietly and gently. Our guests spread out between the now civilized loggia and the bar, chatting in changing constellations. Then Andrew, our train conductor, appeared and announced that the A897 road would be cleared on January 2nd with snowploughs and that ScotRail had arranged two winter-equipped minibuses to take the stranded passengers to Tain, where they could continue their journey.
"So, we still have one more evening," Catherine Johnson said calmly, looking at Georges and Rosie sitting with her on the sofa — the same one that had been their "sports field" the night before. "We should make the most of it together. We'll never be this young again."
The young Oxford couple nodded. "We learn more by the hour," Georges grinned. "You're a wonderful teacher in every situation."
"Thank you," Catherine smiled back. "You two have made me feel twenty-five years younger for a few days. Practically priceless."
The evening of January 1st didn't turn into a second hotel orgy. Rather, groups of two to five enjoyed themselves quietly, withdrew to rooms, and returned again. It was a constant coming and going. Everyone knew they'd return to their normal lives the next day — only Andrew and Morgan had orders to stay with the train in Forsinard until the line to Thurso and Wick was clear again, which the operations staff expected by the afternoon of January 2nd.
In the evening, Krystina and I made the remains of the big New Year's Eve buffet available again. To our delight, there was very little left by the end, which the extended hotel family consumed the next day as they slipped back into winter hibernation.
The promised minibuses arrived an hour after the snowplough and spreaders passed Forsinard heading north. Our ten surprise guests said heartfelt, grateful goodbyes and set off south. We had all experienced a memorable Hogmanay.
We heard only once more from most of the guests. Georges and Rosie as well as Jack and Caren sent 'Thank You' cards from their university towns. Louise Howard, her husband, and Donaidh — both her colleague and apparently her permanent lover — visited us once the following summer for dinner and an overnight stay, booking a double room for three.
We next read about Catherine Johnson in the newspaper when she finished sixth in her age group at the London Marathon.
For one couple, however, this deeply erotic Hogmanay in the snow was life changing. Despite a 12-year age difference, Peter Mackenzie and Dr. Katarina Bryzch became a permanent couple. The Polish-born doctor transferred from Inverness to St. Andrews in the autumn; during Advent we received their engagement announcement.
Not only in erotic terms were December 30th, 2010, and the following New Year's/Hogmanay celebration unique. From that day on, no ScotRail train ever got stuck in a snowdrift in Forsinard again.
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