Kneeling awkwardly with the flat of his left hand against the plaster, John Forrester turned his face sideways and positioned an eye to the wall, next to an upright timber, which had a slight gap down it's edge. After a moment or two, his eye adjusted to the light in the room beyond, and he could then make out a view of a low fire place, and an old oak dresser standing against the wall to its left.
The firelight beyond flickered, as something passed between it and his straining eye. It was the white swish of cloth, a long shift with a slightly ragged hem. Almost instantly the shape re-appeared and them paused in front of him, revealing as it did so, a pair slim, shapely, female legs, silhouetted through the fabric by the fiery glow. He snorted quietly through his nostrils as he pressed his face close to the peephole. Already he could feel himself beginning to stiffen inside his britches, the familiar pangs of arousal still strong in him despite his advanced middle age. The subject of his observation then suddenly bent, and crouched in front of the fire, leaning forward on her haunches to attend to something on the hearth. She was heating water he realised with excitement. She must intend to wash, and where could she sit for her ablutions other than on the stool by the dresser – by the warming fire. No other furniture had he provided the room with save a large cupboard, and the bed at the opposite end of the chamber – away from the fire.
Her crouched position drew the cloth tautly over her buttocks, or her " magnificent arse," as the old merchant breathed to himself whilst he fumbled at the fastenings at his waist. She stood up, and was lost to him temporarily, as she carefully poured hot water into a china basin. He eventually triumphed over the last button, and just as her shift dropped to the floor, he released his engorged prick into the darkness, peeling back his foreskin and savouring the kiss of the cool night air on its smooth, hot glans.
