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.
