“Bleed me ‘til I’m broke.” — Prince 🎤
Dearly Beloved… We are gathered here today, to hear the Master’s words on this thing called life. A Life filled with Debauchery… and you can always get the crop, day or night😘
Prince always wanted to be the Maestro. 👑 Baton in hand, orchestra at his whim, women falling into line as muses, lovers, and disciples. He didn’t just want a stage — he wanted a kingdom where every note bent to his will.
And then came Vanity. 👠
She wasn’t just a muse. She was the one person who could impress him and refuse to be impressed at the same time. She played his game when it suited her, flipped the script when it didn’t, and turned his grand design into a battlefield of lust, ego, and dependence. He thought she was an actress in his movie. She became the director. 🎬
Irresistible Bitch was born from that fracture — the sound of a man realizing that the leash he thought he held was looped around his own neck. 🖤
Because Vanity didn’t just control his desire. She controlled his wallet. 💸 His movie, his projects, his vision of himself as Maestro — all of it hinged on her willingness to play along. He strutted in purple lace, but she held the receipts. That’s not romance. That’s FinDom in high heels and eyeliner.
The Scene
🎭
The studio lights are off, the stage is empty, and the Maestro is no longer conducting. 👑 He’s on the floor, crawling. The ruffled shirt is dirty with dust and sweat. His eyeliner has smeared into black streaks down his cheeks. His voice isn’t velvet anymore — it’s cracked, rasped, begging.
He’s not holding a guitar. 🎸 He’s clutching cash. 💵 Fistfuls of it, shoving it forward like offerings at an altar.
“Please. Take it. Take me. Just don’t walk away.” 💋
Every note he wrote, every stage he built, every paycheck he pulled in — all of it poured into her hands. Not because she asked politely. But because she made him ache to give it. That’s the paradox of the irresistible bitch: she doesn’t have to demand. Her indifference is the whip. 🖤
The Paypig
🐷
And in that moment, Prince wasn’t the Maestro. He was the paypig. 🐽
Not the man in charge. Not the genius directing traffic. Just a slut in lace, begging at her heels. 👠 A man so undone he turned his genius into tribute. His rebellion into ransom. His funk into filthy confession. 🎶
Vanity flipped the mold, shattered it, and then charged him for every broken piece. He thought he was the one writing her role. Instead, she was writing his downfall. And the soundtrack? Irresistible Bitch.
Lyrics as Confession
📜
“Every Friday night, I call your butt up on the phone.
A deeper voice answers, and says you’re not at home.”
📞 Humiliation baked in. He knows she’s with someone else, and the sting becomes part of the kink.
“Put down all your money, you’ll win every time.”
💸 That’s not flirtation. That’s a contract. His wallet is the leash.
“Irresistible bitch, I love the way you walk / I love the way you talk.”
🔗 Chanting his slavery. Every line a collar click, every word a debit.
“All my partners ask me why I take so much abuse… why am I so faithful, honey? Why are you so loose?”
👥 Public humiliation. Everyone sees him drained. He stays because the abuse is sweeter than respect.
“Hurt me, hurt me.”
💋 Not protest. Begging.
“Stole all my honey, played it off like it was a joke / Bleed me ’til I’m broke.”
🩸 The findom confession in his own words.
“Hell if I know why I let you drive my car / Don’t I know that walking won’t get me very far?”
🚗 Keys surrendered. Crawling left.
“All the things I lose don’t add up to all the things I gain.”
🖤 The submissive math: ruin as reward.
“Ho, ho, ho, ho… everybody dance.”
🎭 Not joy. Delirium. A Dom flipped to clown, groveling while the crowd claps.
Raw Take
⚡
Irresistible Bitch isn’t a breakup song. It’s a D/s confession. A genius unmasked. A Dom undone. A man who built empires and then crawled across the floor to give them away, one dirty dollar at a time. 💸
Prince on his knees, wallet open, eyeliner smeared, ruffled shirt ruined — confessing his servitude in real time while the funk plays. 🎶 And I’ll be damned if it doesn’t sound like he enjoyed every moment of it.
“Hurt Me, Hurt Me…” 🖤
I feel it crawl down my spine like a command. Hurt me, hurt me.
I can’t sit still through it. I can’t play it soft in the background. The words drag the crop into my hand. They make me want to see skin redden, to hear someone’s gasp cut the air just like his ad-lib cuts the funk.
I don’t just listen — I ache to deliver. To flog, to strike, to leave someone trembling under the same spell he was under when he whispered those words into the mic.
For me, “Hurt Me” isn’t just a lyric. It’s an ignition switch. 🔥
I truly cannot listen to this song without wanting to flog someone…..
-K
The Song
The Muse