Your famous fake tits will be the pass-fail standard, Helena

"Your famous fake tits will be the new standard for pass or fail grades, Helena." She's thinking about it. "Anyone with tits nicer than yours will pass, and anyone below will fail. And since you're a slut of a pornstar and everyone has already seen your tits, it will help people understand how the grading should work."

She is starting to smile, wanting to be flattered at being so important to the whole fake tits grading process, but next to you is the young MILF Alex, her huge, soft titties swinging from side to side as she gets her skirt back on and stands up. Helena hefts her own globes and they barely move.

"That makes you a D then, doesn't it bitch?" Alex is rubbing it in. "And these are A plus titties right here!" Alex shakes her tits back and forth wildly, holding her little arms up beside her huge jugs and grinning like an idiot.

A pretty young waitress walks up to the table while Alex is doing her titswinging dance, and totally unfazed, the cute serving girl in all black with a little black apron and small, almost certainly real breasts under her black leotard says "another round anybody?" Helena snorts at it.

You stare at the pretty girl's chest, deciding finally that her bra is too thick for you to know anything about what her tits are like and that that really just means they're tiny, which also likely means they're real. You could ask, of course, but you don't really need this right now. She's seen you ogling her and she simply says, "or maybe you'd prefer to order at the bar?"

You look past the young lady and spy a busy, busty bartender, wearing the same all black with a little skirt and apron, but this one has spirally fake blonde curls, fake long black eyelashes, a cute but probably fake button nose, and so on, until her big round C cup cleavage, each tit ballooning into the other's space just enough to squish them both as they struggle against the low neckline of her too-small leotard. Each boob juts out just enough to the side of her slender body that her arms bump into them every time she lifts them. It almost makes you want to order a bottle of chardonnay just to see her pull the glasses down from the hanging rack.

The waitress murmurs "yeah I thought so," and just walks away. She may be pretty, but she's not for you and this bartender sure is. While you stare, the lovely fake blonde vigorously scrubs the inside of an aluminum shaker, her titty tops jiggling constantly. Having cleaned the fuck out of the shaker, she puts it down and turns to the shelf on the back wall. She rises up slowly onto her tiptoes reaching for a bottle just beyond the shiny tips of her long fake nails. You get a view of her ass, cute and round, nicely accentuated by the little skirt, just like the waitress'.

But those tits.

The bartender gives up on the bottle, it's too high up. She turns and in a show of frustration, pounds the bar top with gentle fists, sending a jiggle ripple across her juicy fake tits. Then, leaning over the bar, a dark one-tit-over-the-other cleavage line forming under her collar bone, she lifts her head up slowly and is suddenly looking across the pub right into your eyes.

Your dick stands you up and walks you across the room and you practically puke out the words, "three chardonnays!"

She smiles a knowing smile and says, "Call me Cici." She pulls down the wine glasses, bumping her tits with her arms and then bumping 'em on the way back down. She pulls down a couple more glasses and a couple more.

"Hey Cici I'm John."

"You still want that chardonnay, John?"

"No, just more glasses I guess." She pulls down two more, brushing her tits with her elbows and grinning.

"You think actually I could ask you a favor?"

It was going so well, but this is usually where you get a sob story explaining why you simply must give a girl high marks. Some debt or family in need or some dumb shit.

"You think you could help me reach one of these bottles right here?"

You feel about as sheepish as is possible for you, and then you vault over the bar. Cici puts your hands on her hips and looks up at the shelf where the vodka she reached for earlier sits just out of reach. "Squeeze tight, John, and just lift me up just a few little inches..."

You slide your nose right into her cleavage and you're about to pull her back down, when she says, "right there, that's it. Hold me steady. I almost got it."

The cool, slightly perspiring flesh of her titty tops jiggling all across your cheeks and eyelids is almost too much for you to think, but even your breast-addled brain knows it takes just one second to grab a bottle of vodka from a shelf. She wiggles in your arms and you hug her tight around the waist, burying your whole head deep into her beautiful fake titties.

Her leotard is pulled well out of normal placement, and when you set her on her feet at least half of each breast jiggles out over the edge of her neckline. It looks like she's about to adjust her clothes but then she reaches for the shaker instead and her tits are just squished in half by the elastic.

"Thanks, sugar. Hey if you don't wanna chardonnay, how bout a vodka martini, on the house?" You are pretty sure you are nodding but if you forgot to, she probably still knows you meant to say 'yes'.

She pours some ice in the shaker, vodka, vermouth, slaps the cap on it, all staring right into your eyes, and she slowly blinks her thick, heavy lashes and says, "shaken or stirred?"