Some people would call me an illusionist, but the title I prefer is enchantress. Mostly I can make people see what I want them to see: glamours are my specialty, after all. A glamour is a simple spell, but I take mine to devilish perfection. See, once an object has been glamoured its really no different than it was before, but anyone seeing that object, feeling it, smelling it, whatever-ing it, will experience more or less acutely what the glamour's caster desires them to experience.
Invisibility is as simple as ensuring that people always look near you, but never at you. Being silent is easy when people notice sounds other than your footsteps. And so forth. Anyone can be deceived by a glamour, but it takes a very clever mind to spot the oddities. I've yet to meet someone clever enough to figure out one of mine.
On my honor, I've spent almost my entire life using my magic purely academically, with the sole tiny exception of minor things to preserve my own dignity. Never once did I consider truly transgressing and abusing my powers. Until recently. See was so cute, I've never seen a woman like her. She had the body and face of an angel. I wanted her, I'm not afraid to admit. And I'm not a lesbian of any sort! Well, I wasn't before that night, at least. I'm not usually the one to hit on people at nightclubs, but I approached her that night... and she rejected me. Apparently she's not into "my type" and much preferred ogling the waiter's firm derriere.
I sulked away when I realized that I could be any "type" I pleased. Not without practice, of course. I couldn't maintain a glamour to appear to be a member of the opposite gender all night long, and if I had my way with her true then I'd need to maintain it under very very... hard... circumstances. I needed a trial run.
During the day I worked in an office, doing some make-work that was hardly ever checked. The pay wasn't great but I had plenty of free time in the day to design new glamours. And the other perk of the job were the bosses. I know most people hate their bosses but my little corner of the office had fantastic morale, and it was thanks to Mr. and Mrs. Hilden, our co-managers. I don't know who they had to bribe or blackmail to keep the same corporate assignment, and keep their proclivities off the radar, but their marriage was extremely open. Which is a nice little way of saying that literally everyone in the office had banged one of them, and new hires usually didn't go a week before their bones got jumped by a boss.
I'd had a good number of rounds with Mr. Hilden myself -- enough to know that he really liked being called "sir" in bed. It wasn't even uncommon to find one or the other of them having sex during work hours, although they usually made a half-hearted effort to keep things quiet. In fact, the only real rule was apparently that they were both completely straight and never experimented with their respective genders.
The next morning I called into work, pleading sickness. Mr. Hilden was very understanding, and when I said "I'll be sure to be in tomorrow morning bright and early, sir!" I heard a slight slapping sound and a groan. As I hung up I briefly wondered who had their lips around Mr. Hilden's cock this early in the day. I stood in front of the wide, full-length mirror I used for testing glamours and stripped naked before starting to weave enchantments around myself.
I started with visual changes, leaving tactile and auditory until I'd had the basic body fleshed out. My breasts (appeared to) shrink into my chest, starting at a C cup and ending with male-appearing pecs. My stance widened somewhat, my waist filling out a bit and my hips becoming less pronounced. My hair shortened from shoulder-length and straight to a long yet conservative cut and wavy. New hair grew from my arms and legs, not too much but some. My skin and features roughened, lost their beauty, and were replaced by moderately handsome male features. It wasn't too hard to make myself look like a man. Oh! And the finishing touch: the illusion of a male penis with matching testicles grew from my crotch. I decided to leave it at seven inches, but nice and fat, which is the way I liked them. Hopefully Mrs. Hilden would like it too.
When I was done, I was a strange crossway between handsome, cute, and beautiful, but I think I pulled it off well. In order to conceal my feminine presence, I had to distort people's perceptions of the space around me. If anyone went near my chest they'd have a slight sense of disorientation and end up convincing themselves they were a couple inches closer to me than they realized, rather than guess the truth that they were feeling breasts. I made my footsteps sound a touch heavier, as if I'd gained thirty pounds, and I modified how people would smell me from a feminine scent to a masculine musk. A unisex set of clothes were easily glamoured to appear to fit my new body (although I did keep a tight sports bra on underneath to minimize the chances of that glamour being tested), and the illusion was complete.
A man looked at me from the mirror. He moved like a man, walked like a man, talked like a -- oops, I forgot to change my voice the first time -- and talked like a man. It was my single most complex glamour to date, and I couldn't find any more flaws in it.
The first test was straightforward. I shopped. I watched the other male shoppers, copied their mannerisms. I started to act more curt with the employees, not being mean to them but not making any conversation. I walked in, bought a real set of male clothes, and walked out. Purchasing cologne went similarly.
I changed clothes in a bathroom stall (having made absolutely sure to enter the men's room and not the women's by habit) and applied the cologne before dropping my old clothes off in the car, letting that glamour lapse. Keeping this many glamours up at once was tiring, to say the least. Acquiring actual male clothing and some regular cologne was considerably easier than maintaining even more magic. Plus it was a convenient opportunity to learn how to act, and to test my glamours and acting. Nobody looked at me askance -- in fact, I seemed to be getting less attention than I got when I looked normal.
I knew the building I worked in, inside and out, and I knew my bosses well. So when a delivery boy showed up with a letter for Mrs. Hilden and Mrs. Hilden only, nobody questioned it. I'd spent enough time with her to know exactly how to act to turn her on. Her work persona was domineering, but she was actually quite submissive and liked for men to practically take her. I talked my way into the office and she stood to greet me. I told her that she had to sign for the letter. Sorry I didn't bring a clipboard, just fill out this form on your desk. She could have sat down in the chair but she chose to turn her back to me and bend over, giving a random delivery boy a fantastic chance to check out her ass through her suit's skirt. Of course, I didn't do all this to check out my female boss' ass. I closed the door to her office -- in violation of about a dozen official regulations we all ignored anyway -- and she pretended not to notice. I knew her well enough to realize she actually wanted this, wanted to be taken by this delivery boy. I must have done a really good job. Or she really was just that slutty, hard to tell.
I placed a hand on her shoulder and leaned over her, ostensibly checking where she was on the paperwork but honestly to pull her back into me, pushing our hips together. She spoke and I could hear the smile in her voice. "Are you always this frisky with your superious, Mr... I didn't catch your name, actually."
She wanted confidence, I knew it. "Only the ones hot enough for me to bang. Like you, for example." I ground my hips into hers and she thought she felt an erection growing between my legs. Judging by the was she tried to rub against it, I'd say my illusions were completely convincing her and -- was that a moan? She was actually moaning under me.
