Not My Brother's Keeper
Copyright© 2026 by Daemon D. Hart
Chapter 6
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 6 - At nineteen, I never expected to get a new brother, but that’s exactly what happens when my father remarries. His new wife brings a son along, and chaos enters my life. I’m a choir boy; he’s a troublemaker. We dislike each other from the start, and things only get worse when we’re forced to share a college dorm room. I’m convinced he’s my doom. My sensual, sexual, the darkest of dark doom. So, no one - my father, his mother, or him - should expect me to be his salvation.
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Ma Reluctant Gay Fiction Anal Sex Analingus First Oral Sex
The last thing I expected later that evening was a severe dressing-down from my father. At first, I couldn’t even guess what tipped him off, but it all became obvious the more he managed to annoy himself, while shouting at me.
Apparently, I hadn’t been as keen on my church-going and other related activities as he wanted me to be. If you ask me, I don’t know, to this day, why my dad cared so much about religion. You’d expect him to be a religious man himself, and he was, to some degree. Only that he wasn’t what you’d normally find in a God-fearing person. He liked his bourbon a bit too much – the money going in had to go somewhere and it wasn’t spent on me. He enjoyed eating, too, and now that he had Adrian’s mom as his partner, by the way they stared at each other, you could tell that they were going at it on the regular.
So, what gives? I have no idea.
“You saddled me with a new family, all of a sudden,” I interjected once he stopped for a breather. He was getting red in the face, and I was starting to feel resigned about my fate. I might get a physical correction tonight. And you’re wondering why I have a thing for pain? It comes in the same package. Funny how religious people don’t behave at all like the saints they cherish and adore. Or maybe they’re never as religious as they say; they like to cosplay as good Christians because that gives them the reason to get on a high horse and stare down at sinners with moral superiority.
I didn’t have a good opinion of them after getting to know them from too up-close. I didn’t have a good opinion about my father, either.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” He made a move and I tensed automatically. One day, I fantasized, I’m going to strike him down. Yeah, smite him like the hand of God for being such an asshole.
“It means that I need to find it in my heart to love my brother,” I said, looking him square in the eye.
I often challenged my father’s authority with words. It wasn’t much, and otherwise, I did whatever he wanted and expected me to do, but I kept to it like a miser to his only treasure, no matter how meager it might be.
That made him mad, but it worked for him, too. It gave him a justification, a righteous one, for putting me in my place. He hated me – it occurred to me at one point – and I hated him back with the same fierceness. That didn’t mean that we didn’t tolerate each other on most days, which meant ignoring as much of the other as we could possibly manage.
“Are you still complaining? You should be happy. Grateful,” he said, closing his fists.
The large dining room table was between us, which meant that I’d get a proper heads-up if he decided to take a swing at me.
“Kindness doesn’t come easy to me,” I reminded him. If he wanted to make me out as the villain under his roof, the least I could do was to offer him a good reason to think so. “Gratefulness even less so. I need more time with my own thoughts.”
He snorted. “Your own thoughts. If I hadn’t put your life in order and forced you to behave, you would’ve turned bad, Jordan. Really bad.”
Are you sure you succeeded?
I kept such a remark to myself, as well as the smile that threatened to curl my lips.
“He is different from me,” I continued. “He likes to drink and hang out with the cool kids. I, on the other hand, am not supposed to do anything like that. How do you expect us to become friends?”
I crossed my arms and stood my ground.
Dad rubbed the back of his neck and winced. “Madeline raised him by herself. He’s not a bad kid.”
Whatever.
“What do you want me to do? Hang out with him and get drunk?” I liked pressing an advantage, seeing how so rarely I got one.
“No. You must take him with you to bible study.”
No. Fucking. Way.
“Wipe that grin off your face,” he snapped at me.
Fuck, the shock of hearing that crap had been too much for me to control my facial muscles as I usually did when in the presence of my father.
“Surely. Is he coming, though? He’s stronger than me, and it’s not like I can force him to do what I tell him to.”
“I will tell him. And he will listen.”
Wow. A miracle in the making. Right before my eyes.
“Let me know when he’s ready to go,” I say. “May I be excused, sir? I have a lot to read for college.”
Reading for college was as vague an expression as it could possibly be. My father hadn’t furthered his studies beyond graduating from high school and ran a local pub. Surprised? Maybe he prayed before each shot of the cheap tequila he kept behind the counter and served to his regulars. Just saying.
Would Adrian get to know my father a bit too well? Would Dad hit my stepbrother? I somehow doubted that Madeline would like that. After all, Adrian was her son, and she’d raised him on her own, according to my dad.
We were alike in that regard. Since my mother’s leaving when I was around four or five, I’d lived in that house only with my father as a guardian. Should I say ‘jailer’ instead? It’d fit him to a tee.
Now the jailer had another prisoner to torment. I wanted that little thought to make me happy, but instead, I found myself worrying. Adrian did look like a bad boy, and he must’ve gotten into fights in his life, but it was one thing to throw with guys his age, and another to go against an older man, sixty pounds heavier and with a mean streak in him. Routinely, I challenged my father enough to make him use his fists and calculated my chances to go against him. I wasn’t an idiot. I didn’t want to end up hurt or worse.
Adrian wouldn’t stand my father’s righteousness. Maybe he’d throw a punch himself. Then Madeline would discover that my father was an asshole, grab her son and leave.
It was a good outcome, I told myself. I wasn’t doing a good job convincing myself of it, though. So, as I left the dining room to head to my room, I worried Adrian might get hurt.
How on Earth had this happened?
You see, we were right in the middle of passing the holy book around and reading our verses, when he walked into the fellowship room like he fucking owned the place. He still wore his ripped jeans, but at least he had a baggy black t-shirt on, so he didn’t look like he’d just stepped out of a sinful dream.
To my utter surprise, our pastor welcomed him and even brought a chair for him. Adrian took it, smiling apologetically. It looked like the sinner knew how to behave like a good choir boy, after all. For a full minute, he managed to make everyone move around so he could place his chair directly across from mine.