Hypno-Cuts: A hypnotic drone hair dressing fantasy

Hypnosis, Dronification, all in a new hair salon you haven't seen before in town... This is a more literal take on a brain"wash".

This was inspired by a discord server I've been hanging out on for the last few weeks. 

CN: Brainwashing, dronification, amnesia, dubcon

* * *

The building had caught your eye as you walked through town. A spiralling sign proclaimed the salon to be called “hypnotic cuts”, and all of the model photos in the windows showed gorgeous people, smiling vacantly, with gorgeous hair.

You ran a hand through your own… You had been meaning to get it cut, and here was a salon, just waiting for you. Stepping closer, you took a look at the price list. It was reasonable, very reasonable. One item caught your eye.

Model cut: Free

Now that was intriguing.

The bell rang as you stepped inside, mixing with the music that you hadn’t noticed until now. Soft, flowing, barely noticeable, but… present. A receptionist was looking you up and down, smiling slightly as you approached. “Hi there! What can we do for you today?”

You smiled at the question. “I.. I’d like a haircut, please?” There wasn’t really any other answer to give. Maybe if you’d wanted a colour, you supposed.

“Okay, what service do you want? Just a cut? Cut and wash?” they were running down the price list you had read outside.

Your curiosity got the better of you. “Erm, what’s the deal with the Model cut?”

They stopped speaking, and their face lit up with such a pleasing smile. “Oh! Well. Essentially, after your cut and wash we take you to the studio downstairs, and do a little photoshoot, we get to use your photos, you get free haircuts for the next year.”

That sounded way too good to be true. “What’s the catch?”

They smiled pleasantly. “Oh nothing. Just a nice relaxing cut and wash, a special programme to make sure you and your hair behave as well as possible for the photographer.”

You thought for a second. What’s the worst that could happen? You might get recognised as being a face on the wall of a hair salon? That’d be fine? Right? You looked at the receptionist. They smiled, enchantingly, and you nodded. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

They smiled, waved someone over, and before you knew it a hairdresser was at your side. They took your bag, your coat, and lead you to a chair, which you practically sagged into. You hadn’t realised how heavy your body felt until that moment. How tired you were. As they laid a few sets of scissors out, you had a thought.

“Wait, don’t you normally wash first then cut?”

They stopped looking at a comb and smiled at you. “Normally, yes, but for your photo-shoot we want you and your hair to behave as perfectly as possible, so we’ll wash it afterwards. Okay? Try and relax. Focus on the music. Or - do you mind if I talk whilst I work?” You shook your head. “Try and focus on my voice. The sound of it. And the sound of the scissors. Just let them all blend together.”

You were instinctively listening to all three. The music, softly thrumming in your ears. Their voice, just drifting through your head, holding your attention, and then came the soft sound of the scissors, as they went through your hair. It was easy to listen. Easy to follow along. You hadn’t been really following along with what they were saying, but something made you pay attention.

“You’re doing so well. Doesn’t it feel good? To just let yourself flow along on my voice? Letting me just cut away all those pesky thoughts with each cut of my scissors. That feels good, right? Do you want me to continue?” You stopped. This was going somewhere different than you thought it would. But… It was hard to think with the music. It felt good. So, why stop? You nodded your consent. “Good, then you just let your attention just drift and float along again, and I’ll cut away all those little thoughts in your sweet mind.”

And like that, you were gone again, drifting, and floating along in the music, their voice just pulling you deeper, as they cut away at your hair, and your mind.

* * *

You came back up. Still blank, still feeling so empty-headed, but you could hear, you could listen.

The hairdresser turned your chair around, and offered you a hand. “Come on, time for your wash.” You followed them as they lead you over to the basins, sitting in the chair as they directed. There was no thought of not doing what they told you. There wasn’t any thought at all. Just their instructions.

As they draped a towel round your shoulders, you felt their hands on your head, gently lowering it backwards into the basin. “Good job, you’re doing so well. Now, just breathe for me. Deep, slow breaths. Remember how good it felt to sink for me?” With those words, your awareness drifted away.

You were vaguely aware of the feeling of water, of shampoo, of conditioner. Of the hairdresser’s hands massaging your scalp. What you were more aware of was the words being pumped into your brain, with your ears under the water, the music sounded different. There were words. New thoughts, to replace the ones that had been taken away.

You are a drone.

You will obey.

Drones will obey

You have no will.

Drones have no will

You have no thoughts of your own

Drones have no thoughts of their own.

You need no thoughts of your own.

Drones need no thoughts of their own.

You get pleasure from not thinking.

Drones get pleasure from not thinking.

You just obey.

Drones just obey.

You must obey.

Drones must obey.

You are a drone.

Obey.

Over, and over the words looped. Flowing through your brain. Filling it up. Just those words. An endless cycle of obedience. Of pleasure. Taking you down and down and deeper into obedience. There wasn’t even a direction, just, obedience, the need to serve.

And it somehow felt better. You could feel it. Overwriting you. Overcoming you. A new you. A better you. More obedient, more useful. It felt so good to become this new you. A drone. For whoever controlled you, you would be the best drone they could ask for.

The mantra, the programming continued in your head, even as you felt the water turn off, you could still hear it, flowing through you. Making you feel this new being more, and more. Drone. It felt good. It felt right. You were sat up and brought up. Not that it made any difference to you. You were a drone now. All you could do was follow and obey.

Follow the hairdresser as they led you down some stairs. Sit in the chair as they ordered. Feel them strap you in. It all felt so good. And as the headset was lowered over your face, and the screen flashed to life, you felt the last vestiges of free will wink out.

All that you were was commanded by the images on the screen, as they flooded you with ideas of service, of submission. Of black, latex clad figures. Masks covering their faces, no longer people. Just drones. All free will gone, replaced with service to… What? Nothing yet. Just an overwhelming urge to serve. To obey. And tied to that, was longing, and pleasure. You longed to be an obedient drone. And that made you a good drone, and good drones received pleasure. And this pleasure was exquisite. It was like a thousand full body orgasms, one after the other, but you couldn’t move. All you could do is exist, motionless, as the pleasure, and the longing, and the obedience all melded together around you. Forming the shell of your new self. A shell of a drone. And next came the programming.

Command after command, protocol after protocol. Phrases, and gestures. Intricately layered into your open mind. And your mind was like an empty jug, just waiting to be filled up. To let all of that sweet, sweet control fill you.

You’re no longer aware of the outside world. All that exists is you, being turned into a drone. Full of a longing to serve… The Hive. Finally. An answer. You could feel this drone identity latch onto the Hive. Becoming one, a part of a larger whole. In service to those who ran the Hive. To the Hive itself. Wanting to be the best drone you could be for the Hive. There was no you anymore. There was just the Hive’s drone. Existing for the pleasure and benefit of the Hive. Mindless, obedient. Completely submissive.

Finally, the programming was complete. You couldn’t remember everything that had been placed in your brain. You didn’t need to. Remembering wasn’t something a drone needed to do. A drone just needed to obey its programming. And you were a good drone.

The headset was raised off of you. And you could feel your clothes being removed. Something being slid on. A second skin. Latex covering your body. Finally, the mask. Light, with a few holes to breathe through, and a pair of lenses that allowed you to see vague outlines of was ahead of you. It fit snugly over your face, and you were complete. A drone for the Hive, designation C-014, was what the seductive robotic voice that came into your ears told you.

This was the voice of controller, it explained. Controller was to run C-014 through its calibration, in service of the Hive. And then the lenses flashed, allowing light in. And C-014 could see it was facing another drone, wearing the same latex as it. The same mask was over the other drone’s face. C-014 stood, motionless, until a voice spoke into its ear.

“Kneel, C-014.” C-014’s legs knelt, automatically. C-014 felt the pleasure of obeying the Hive. Opposite, the other drone did the same.

“Crawl forward, C-014.” Again, with no thought, no effort, C-014 crawled forwards, on its hands and knees until it was told to “stop crawling. Kneel up.” The other drone was right in front of C-014 now.

“Activate pleasure routine 24-B, drones.” Both drones moved in tandem. Entwining their limbs, touching one another. As they did, a camera flash went off. In time with the flash of the camera, C-014 felt, rather than heard, the word Obey. And they felt more pleasure. This continued. More routines, more flashes of the camera, each time that word Obey, and pleasure. If they still had their mind, they’d realise how horny and needy they were. As it was, all that C-014 felt was pleasure for obeying the Hive, which fed more obedience into them.

Eventually, the drones were told to stand apart. Controller said something that C-014 couldn’t quite hear, and their awareness was gone.

* * *

You woke up, sitting in a chair of the hairdressers. You stood, a little shocked, as one of the assistants came over to you. “Sorry, you fell asleep, and, well, you looked cute like that, we couldn’t bring ourselves to wake you.”

“Oh, that- That’s okay. Did you want to do the photo session?” You caught sight of yourself in the mirror and marvelled at how good your hair looked for a second. They had done a fantastic job.

The assistant looked a little concerned at you. “How tired are you? Do you want to take a rest and nap here? You’ve already had your photo shoot. It looked great. Tell you what, go to the front desk, and they can give you a copy of the photo we’re going to use.”

Nodding and thanking them, you headed over. The receptionist smiles at you. “Oh, welcome back, I hear you had such a relaxing time that you fell asleep! That’s okay, it happens sometimes.” They slid a small polaroid photo across to you, which you picked up. It showed you, looking gorgeous, in front of a neutral background. Your face had a blank smile on it. On the back, in large black font, was the letters C-014. You looked up at the receptionist quizzically, holding it up.

“Oh! That’s just the identification number, in case you wanted to get in contact with us about modelling in the future. Just quote your identification number, okay?” That was fine. You said your goodbyes and headed out of the door.

* * *

It’s a cold Friday night in autumn. You have been going to the new hair salon, Hypno-cuts regularly, for about three months now. You keep dozing of when you go, it’s such a relaxing atmosphere, but they do your hair perfectly. Work was long, but the weekend beckons. Your phone buzzed. The screen indicated an incoming call, from something called “The Hive”. You’d normally have ignored it; you didn’t know who that was. But… Something stopped you. Hesitantly, you picked up.

“C-014, activate. Return to the Hive, at once. Obey.” As the phone hung up, C-014 quickly put on its drone suit under it’s clothes and headed out of the door.