As soon as the door is closed, and the partition is raised, she begins to take her clothes off. He watches her, smiling, loving her, loving her boldness. There isn't much to take off, which is good, because it means she can put it back on in a hurry when they get there. But what little there is she takes off very, very well.

First the jacket: conservative, business-like, black, like her hair; and then the dress: all one piece, clingy, slid off the shoulder, shimmied out of gracefully, seductively, quickly. Naked. Just like that. All spread out on the seat in front of him with her hand between her legs, idly playing.

He is off the opposite seat, kneeling, crawling toward her, still in his tux with a determined lusty gleam in his eye.

She looks down at him and wants him utterly. Wants his tongue on her legs licking. Has that, and then not, as the limo rounds a turn and he pitches sideways, sprawling.

She laughs. He glares at her, grabs her legs, drags her down to the floor with him. She is under him, looking up, unfastening the pants of his tuxedo, freeing his cock to the air and her cunt, burying him inside her in one swift motion as the limo crawls through city traffic.

He can feel the street beneath them, feels a connection to the ground, to the earth, to the machinery of the limo, to the people walking the streets around them as her ass rises and falls beneath his pounding hips, rolling slightly from side to side with each swerve and turn, her incoherent moans joining the city noises that fall through the open skylight.

They are almost there, geographically, chronologically and orgasmically. She is gasping. He is tensing. The limo is turning with a certain finality. She is shaking. He comes deep inside her and the spasms of his spurting cock push her over the edge, clawing at him as the limo slows to a crawl.

Quickly he rolls off her, pulling the tux pants back up, hopping on to the seat, straightening himself as she shimmies the dress back over her head, finds her shoes and pulls on the jacket.

Together they sit on the seat, panting, collecting themselves, listening to the driver exit the vehicle, walk around, open the door for them.

As calm and as cool as they can, they step out in to the spotlight, on to the red carpet, waving their professional waves at their cheering adoring fans, walking arm and arm, poised and proper, in to the theater to watch themselves larger than life, captured forever, acting.