You fall off.

Zoe has opened your fridge door rather too exuberantly, and you suddenly find yourself airborne.

You try to think the best of your sister. Perhaps it was the shopping list that was truly responsible, you consider calmly as the tile floor speeds toward you. Oh well.

You strike the floor and shatter, bits of your ceramic body scattering across the kitchen floor. You'd try to count the number of pieces, but are still too turned on to concentrate.

"Oh no! Mr. Banana Man!" you hear your sister cry from someplace distant. You don't care, as she's just trod on one of your fragment, breaking it into three more pieces, and the pleasure is exquisite.

This may be the end of you, but you're actually too blissed out to care. Your only real regret, as four of your pieces get an uninterrupted view up Zoe's short skirt, is that you are unable to reach full orgasm.

Something fibrous brushes up against some of your pieces and slides them across the floor. Other pieces feel the same thing. You get an odd sensation of unaccustomed parts of your body touching each other, and you realize you are being swept up. It's nice.

Then you are being lifted. Zoe's face looms over you, jumbled in a multitude of viewpoints. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Banana Man. Farewell!"

And you go into the trash bin.