Isabella gets rescued?

By the second day of the "festival", as some of the locals had come to call it, the crowd around her grew smaller, though never completely dissipating. She was fucked through the night, slipping in and out of consciousness, waking up each time a fresh cock was shoved into her mouth, ass, or pussy, often at the same time. Eventually, when her holes were thoroughly violated and all too loose to satisfy the men, and her tits and ass were too covered in cum to fuck, the men began fucking her knees, her armpits, her feet... Anything that might bring them any semblance of pleasure.

And when even that was exhausted, when the men no longer had any desire to put their cocks anywhere near the cum-stained, sweat-coated, filthy woman, they simply stood around and came in her face, on her hair, and on her skin. By the end, her long, beautiful, raven-colored locks were matted and sticky, covered in so much dried cum that they were now practically white. Her skin, once unblemished and beautiful, was now stained yellow from sweat and cum, and her body only smelled of the cocks that had been inside of her.

Finally, as night fell, the last of the crowd dispersed, leaving Isabella alone in the pillory, servicing the odd hobo who had little to lose by fucking a thoroughly used-up whore like herself.

Her body was a canvas of pain, every muscle aching, every nerve raw. She felt hollow, a shell of her former self, her spirit crushed under the weight of humiliation. The air was heavy with the stench of sex and sweat, a cloying odor that clung to her skin and hair. She could taste the bitter tang of semen on her tongue, a constant reminder of the ordeal she had endured.

She felt someone grip her head, lifting it up and thrusting a cock into her mouth. She sucked on it almost mindlessly, too worn and broken to do anything but let the man fuck her face, using her throat like a cock-sleeve, as so many had done so. But he did not do so, instead leaning in and whispering.

"Presidente," His voice, urgent and strained, cut through the haze of her exhaustion. "Please do not be alarmed. I am simply trying to avoid blowing my identity. Minister Valdes apologises for the delay. We lost contact with your bodyguards and had to track your location down manually."

Isabella lifted her head weakly, her vision blurred from dehydration and exhaustion, but relief washed over her, a spark of hope in the darkness that engulfed her.

"I am sent here to ensure it is really you. Say the word, and the rest of our men will storm the city, make sure no one who has witnessed this make it out alive."