Older Hairy Men Novels & Stories

A small cough brought me out of my thoughts, searching around for the source of the sound. Sitting on the bar stools were two men, one was an older man with salt and pepper hair, deep brown eyes and olive skin. He stood and I could tell he was tall maybe 6’4 and muscular, his tattoos ran up his left arm leading all the way up his neck. He was a werewolf, I had been around enough to know how to spot one, I moved back instinctively and he froze with his hands up in surrender.

“They've found us because of me." The first thing I smelled was body odor, masculine and thick with sweat. It was overbearing, and I understood why when a towering figure emerged from the forest. He was easily six foot tall, though completely bare in the muscle department. Shaggy bark colored hair hung down to his shoulders, greasy and poorly brushed. Patchy stubble coated his chin, and sweat stained clothes hung from his body. He was one of the least intimidating men I had ever met, but the Hound wasn't meant to look threatening.

Each of those two men had their entire bodies drenched in sweat while they had a specific smile on their faces. "That prey was easy to hunt down. Find something tougher next time." One of them spoke who had dazzling golden orbs and jet black hair. He was walking in his almost naked glory with an attitude of pride. "Done. But in the end, you would say it is easy. I know you." The other man spoke who looked a little younger than the previous one and had dark brown orbs and brown hair. Both were in their mid-twenties with sculptured masculine figures and an aura of dominance. Their eyes held a smoldering gaze and their features had anything but harshness.

Overhead, dim red emergency strips glowed just enough to outline shapes. Ten men sat on metal chairs arranged in a loose semi-circle, all facing away from the entrance. Their backs were broad, shoulders filling the space like walls. One had dreadlocks tied back, another a shaved head with tattoos crawling up his neck. Skin tones ranged from deep black to pale white to warm brown. Every single one was built like he lifted cars for fun—thick arms, wide backs, thighs that strained their jeans. They didn't turn. They didn't speak. But the air felt heavier, thicker with anticipation.

Seven figures were standing afar, all dressed in long white hooded cloaks. "Is that them?" I whispered to Aurelian. "Yes." Aurelian straightened up and walked forward, stopping some steps from them. Then slowly, together, the Lycans raised their hands and pulled their hoods down. My eyes widened in shock. They looked nothing like what I expected. They all looked young. None of them appeared older than thirty. But their hair… Every single one of them had long gray-white hair like men who had lived for centuries. Their faces were sharp and beautiful in a terrifying way.

He has a smattering of dark hair across his expansive chest and some tribal ink curling around his shoulder. His six pack clenches as he takes off his socks and trousers. I lick my lips as he reveals his thick, hairy thighs—what is it about thick thighs that makes me wet? His cock is at half-mast already, thick and long like I remember. Knowing he’s good-looking, he turns and winks when he catches me staring, his peachy ass flexing. Now I know why girls like older men. Who needs growing boys when you can get a fucking perfect older man with a big cock who knows how to use it?

a middle-aged man from the tribe said to a bald, burly man furiously. The bald man was over two meters in height and held a steel rod in his hand, as thick as a grown man’s thigh. The sight of him was extremely shocking. Moreover, every part of his body was encased in bulky muscles.

Just as I built up the courage to turn away, my floating dream of freedom, danced away with the wind before my eyes. They sauntered in effortlessly, like spiders seeping through the cracks of the earth. Five men. Dressed in all black. Armed to the teeth. Lethal. Predatory. Their presence alone swallowed the hallway whole. But one stood out. He was tall, broader than the rest, his face hidden behind a mask so grotesque and terrifying that a shiver ran through my skin. He was casually dressed, a hood over his face, his burning eyes visible behind the mask.

he gestured to two tall men who were flanked by wolves from their own pack. It wasn't how tattoos licked every inch of visible skin on one of the massive men that dried my mouth. It wasn't how both were the definition of handsome either. My tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth wasn't a result of having nothing to say neither was it a result of fear. No. I was left utterly dumbfounded because these men were... they were... This was too insane to even think about, too absurd to be reality. This had to be one big joke. Denver would leap forward at any second to tell me about how this was all just some elaborate prank.

The light from the lanterns further confirmed my suspicions about how bright his red hair really was. To the right of them was a group of five men. They were, of course, all tall, but the similarities stopped there. The first one, standing closes to Dustin, had short curly caramel brown hair and nicely tanned skin, the second man had paler skin with a shaved head, but a thick brown beard, then there was another light skinned man with a blonde buzz cut, a man with olive skin and straight black hair that stopped at his jawline. The last man in the row had shaggy dark brown hair and his skin was the darkest tan out of all of them. He looked like he just spent a week straight on the beach in