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Aspen loved the opera house.It was old and grand, with gorgeous artwork, red velvet seats, elaborate wood carvings, and a painted ceiling that was so incredible Aspen wept every time he looked at it for too long.But his favorite part was the stage. It was huge, with heavy red curtains and enough room for even the largest set.Aspen felt so at home on it. He knew some of his fellow slaves and even the honored free actors felt stage fright, but he never did. He loved the attention from the crowd, and no matter how many times they applauded him, he always cried.He loved singing, too. When he had been in the bedslave academy, singing lessons had always been his favorite. He had often been punished for bursting into song when it wasn’t appropriate. He had been thrilled when the opera house had bought him when he was only 15, and his days became full of music.But no matter how wonderful his life was, he knew his time at the opera house was coming to an end.He was old, and he was ugly. He had been slender in his youth, but now he was fat and his flesh was sagging. Worst of all, he was now totally bald on the top of his head, leaving nothing on his head but a ridiculous ring of hair around his shiny bald spot as if to emphasize his humiliation.The costume designers had tried to fix him. They gave him wigs and did elaborate makeup, and when that didn’t work they tried putting him in masks. But it was no use. He wasn’t drawing in the crowds anymore.As a last ditch effort, they made him into a joke. His singing was no longer the focal point of his characters. Instead, he sang as he was punished and fucked, and the other characters mocked him.He didn’t mind. It was good to hear the audience laugh, and wasn’t it fun to be a comedic character for once? What mattered was that he still got to sing.Despite this, he was over the moon when he found out he was going to be allowed to sing a real solo again.He was dressed in a beautiful gown, just like he had been when he was younger. He was adorned with makeup and jewelry. He didn’t even have to wear a wig- they were allowing him to be his whole, authentic self.He was so happy.Aspen stepped onto the stage and saw that the crowd was small and intimate. He loved when that happened. He loved how personal it felt, how he could truly bare his soul.He sang his heart out.When it ended, he fell into prostration, just like always, and waited for the applause.The audience laughed at him.The song was not meant to be comedic. It was a slow, mournful ballad, and Aspen had thought… he thought he had done well.Aspen had never felt like this before.Was this what the other actors experienced? Was this feeling of wanting to run away and hide and escape the judgmental, mocking gazes stage fright?The director of the opera house stepped out.“I hope you enjoyed Aspen’s touching final performance!” he laughed.Final?Aspen’s stomach dropped. His body felt numb.“Thank you all so much for coming!” the director continued. Aspen felt hands- two stagehands- pull him up. His pretty dress and jewelry were taken off roughly. He was bent over a fucking bench and tied down, hole to the audience. “I invite all of you to come up on stage and send him off!”Aspen looked around frantically, but he had no time to process anything before a cock was shoved down his throat and began battering it.This, more than anything, made him break.He wasn’t supposed to be throat-fucked. They wanted to preserve his voice.Someone else pushed into his ass, and then a cunt replaced the cock in his mouth, and then someone else was in his ass, and then he lost track. He lay limply, tongue licking and ass clenching automatically.They weren’t gentle. His ass and throat hurt terribly. He couldn’t stop sobbing, but the vibrations seemed to please the people he was serving, so it was alright.It ended, eventually. Aspen’s sobs were quiet now. There was a puddle of tears on the bench below his face.“A parting gift, slave,” the director said mockingly. “Something to keep you warm on the streets!”A ginger plug was shoved into his already swollen hole.“T-thank you, honored sir,” Aspen rasped, and then burst into loud sobs again.His voice had never sounded so bad, not in all his life.He shrieked in devastation when his collar was removed. The pain of the ginger was nothing compared to this. The audience laughed. He had never disliked having an audience more.Then Aspen was led out of his beloved opera house. Out of the place he had called home for over thirty years.They put him out with the trash, and left him, and he was finally alone.What a sight he must make. An old, fat, naked slave with a face of ruined makeup and his hole figged.Aspen lay there listlessly, twitching occasionally when the ginger gave an especially bad twinge. He supposed if he got up, he might be able to find a shelter, but he knew what the director had clearly known, too- nobody would want such an old, ugly slave. He didn’t want to take up resources that were meant for slaves with their whole lives ahead of them. Not now that his was over.“Oh! Oh, sweetie!”Aspen whined miserably. He recognized that voice. It was Ms. Artemisia Russ. She was a set designer, and an extremely well-known one at that, despite her young age. She had been hired to do all of the sets for that year’s season of shows at the opera house.She was always so kind to Aspen. Nobody ever cooed at him or gave him treats or used him anymore, but she did, as if he was still pretty and young. She let him lick her pussy sometimes on her breaks, and had orgasmed as if she found him attractive, and she had given him a chocolate, once. The wrapper was in his little futon in the slave rooms. He found himself missing it desperately.He didn’t want her to see him like this. He sobbed miserably, covering his face.“Oh, darling, what happened?” Ms. Russ knelt down and touched his shoulder as if he wasn’t disgusting and filthy. “Did you get lost and couldn’t figure out how to get back inside?”“No, honored madame,” Aspen whispered.“Where is your collar, honey? Can you sit up for me?”Aspen made a low, miserable sound. “The honored director took its collar, honored madame. This trash doesn’t belong to the opera house anymore.”“Doesn’t- what do you mean?”Ms. Russ’ hands stroked over Aspen’s dirty, ugly skin gently, and she sounded so concerned, he couldn’t hold it together. He wasn’t able to answer her, just make ugly, horrible noises and rock back and forth.“I’m sure you’re just confused, sweetheart. Come on, I’ll take care of you and sort this all out.”Aspen didn’t resist being gently led to the opera house. He padded after Ms. Russ submissively, even though his bare feet were making muddy footprints on the polished floor.“Afternoon, Artemisia! I- what is he doing in here?”“Poor thing must’ve wandered outside,” Ms. Russ said, patting Aspen’s bald spot. “We should get him a bath, and his collar back. Do you have any idea where you lost it, sweetheart?”“I…” The director laughed awkwardly. “He didn’t wander outside. I don’t know what he told you- bad boy, slave!- but we got rid of him. He doesn’t belong to us anymore.”“What.”Ms. Russ’ voice was flat and furious. Aspen trembled. He had never meant to upset her!“He’s too old and ugly-““Ugly?!”“-to earn his keep. He’s just not drawing in crowds anymore. We plan to get a new slave to replace him this week.”Ms. Russ made a few highly offended noises before she finally spoke. “And why on earth wouldn’t you bring him to a shelter?”“No one would want him,” the director said patiently. “It’s kinder not to give him any false hope.”“You’re wrong. I want him. How much?”The director and Aspen both stared at Ms. Russ in shock.“Artemisia, you’re seriously telling me you want-““How. Much.”The director was silent for a moment. “Uh, if you really want him, he’s free.”“Wonderful!” Ms. Russ’ voice was clipped. “I would like his papers, and then I will be taking the rest of the day off.”“But-““If that’s not amenable to you, there are plenty of other theaters that would appreciate my talents more.”The director sighed. “Fine. I’ll just be a second.”Aspen couldn’t quite understand what he was hearing. He wondered if he was hallucinating on the pile of trash outside.“My poor darling!” Ms. Russ cried, as soon as they were alone. “Oh, sweetheart. My poor little Aspen. Poor slave boy, poor, weak, fragile thing. That must’ve been so scary!”Aspen nodded, crying out when she took him into her arms.“Mistress will take care of you,” Ms. Russ- Mistress?- promised. “When we get home, Mistress will give you a nice long bath, and then we’ll do maintenance, and then you can worship as long as you like, isn’t that special? My poor slave boy deserves it after the day he’s had. Poor precious, helpless beauty.”“Mistress!” Aspen gasped.“That’s right! What a good, smart boy! I’m Mistress!” Mistress chirped. “Before we go home, we have an errand to run. Mistress is going to have to get you a lovely new collar to put on your soft, delectable throat. She’s not going to let her precious songbird go a minute more than necessary without her claim.”She lifted Aspen’s chin to kiss him softly, and he felt like singing.