Mademoiselle Du Pain checked her appearence one last time in the mirror of her wardrobe. Her full lips, glossed dark red, curled up into a grin as she admired herself.<em>"Tres chic" </em>she thought to herself and suppressed a giggle. She was dressed in a white silk blouse and tight black skirt, the silk blouse so thin that the dark circles of her areolea could be seen through the material and the hardened nipples were eyecatching. The skirt was slitted almost to her hip on one side and each time she took a step a glimpse of thigh was exposed revealing that the young Frenchwoman wore black stockings and suspenders. Stilletto heeled ankleboots rounded off her ensemble.<br/><br/>Paris picked up her briefcase containing her teaching aids. Inside was also a freshly cut birch rod, stripped of bark just this morning. She had wandered the campus grounds previously, locating birch and hazel trees suitable for harvesting switches. St Catherines was her first teaching assignment after graduating from the Sorbonne and after three years training as a submissive she was eager to put the knowledge she had acquired in the art to good use. The prospect of using her insight into submission in a more dominant role and particularly having the St Catherines girls bare their bottoms for corporal punishment as she had so often had to endure.<br/><br/>The French teacher strode down the corridor from the teachers accomodation, her heels clicking on the polished wooden floor. As she had been drilled in the Sorbonne she held herself straight, her hips swaying in an exagerated fashion that made her tight little ass wiggle enticingly beneath the glossy black skirt. Her perky little breasts, unconstrained by a bra bounced in time with her steps.<br/><br/>Reaching the staff room she repressed the urge to knock before entering, reminding herself that she no longer needed permission to enter teachers lounges and that the tingle of guilty anticipation was merely a hold over emotion from the time at the Universitie de Bondage when a summons to the teachers lounge invariably meant that she would soon be bent over with her bottom bared for punishment for some minor misdemenor.<br/><br/>Inside the lounge another teacher was already waiting, the man in his early thirties brewing coffee. Paris gave the man a wide smile and flicked her head to move her fringe of perfectly coiffed raven hair.<br/><br/>"Bonjour, mon amis." Paris greeted the man, her accent obvious despite her grasp of English. "I am Mademoiselle Du Pain. Call me Paris, sil vous plait."<br/><br/>She held out her hand to shake in greeting.