A choo!

Hilda let out an explosive sneeze and scattered feathers everywhere. The chickens fluttered in the air in a panic, filling the air with frightened squawks. Hilda couldn't see through the blizzard of feathers getting stuck to her sopping wet hair. She tried to swat the chickens away as they flew every which way, only to find herself tripping over the fence behind her.

Hilda yelped as she fell ass-first into a trough of something slimey. She couldn't tell what it was, only that it splashed all over her skin and made her feel sticky and gross. To make matters worse, the chickens were still panicking, and their feathers piled on top of Hilda and layered her now very sticky skin. They had seemingly abandoned the prospect of food and were scattering back to the coop, sending everything on the ground flying in their haste. Including a very conspicuous bucket.

Hilda tried to wipe her hair off her face to see, only to have the water bucket plop back on her head with a THUNK! She reached up to try and pulle it off, but unfortunately it had stuck tight. She was in total darkness, and what's more, her butt was stuck tight in the trough. She wiggled with all her might to get back on her feet, but couldn't shake free of her butt's new home.

Were anyone to see the hapless maiden, covered in chicken feathers, head stuck in a bucket, and flailing around in a slop trough, they'd think it was some bizarre circus act gone wrong. Of course, Hilda would have no way of knowing who was watching her with her senses cut off inside the tin tomb. Nor had she any way of escaping her current predicament. Unless...

Hilda remembered her childhood days on the swing her father had built for her in their orchard. He'd taught her how to best get momentum from her swings by thrusting her arms back and forth rhythmically. Since then, it had been a very useful technique for arousing her husband and herself during their "special evenings" (which were actually quite common in their relationship, as were special mornings, afternoons, and witching hours), but perhaps it could also be useful here.

Hilda raised her legs and swung up and down, shaking the bin beneath her onto its edges. It took quite a few swings before it started to get off balance, by which point Hilda's boobs and belly were jiggling twice as hard. What made things even harder was that, because Hilda had mostly used this technique in bed, was thinking back on all those times and getting herself horny again. She blushed inside the bucket, hoping that no one could hear her moan inside it, and tried to convince herself that nothing unladylike was leaking from her most ladylike parts. But finally, after a final big push, the bin fell to the side and Hilda landed on her feet, the sticky fluid and mud making a loud SQUELCH sound as they met. If Hilda could see her body, she might have seen a little white trail sticking out between the feathers in between her legs, so perhaps it was fortunate that she could not.

Alright, back on my feet! Hilda congratulated herself, Now to find some way to get this sticky stuff off so I can get back to work.