Young runaways from the north of England arrive in London to be in the bright lights of the big city and to perhaps find fame and fortune there. Alone, confused and mostly without money, the girls are easy prey for wiley men who take full advantage of the easy pickings. One man in particular, Henton, a sadistically wicked man, seeks out these young runaways. He snares them and then uses them sexually to sate his perverted sexual needs, abusing them terribly in the process.
From street doorways he watches, singles out his prey, moves in and makes contact ,then - their fates are sealed. To his remote farmhouse he takes them and from there - there is no escape, nor too is there any avoiding his perverted lustings - as the girls themselves soon find out.
EXTRACT
She was stunned. Shocked to the core, store detectives, she had heard,
grabbed people on the streets and hustled them away to be handed over
to the police, not snared over a quiet cup of coffee.
“Jumper? What are you talking about?”
He looked up, unconvinced and sure of himself.
“The blue jumper you tucked under your arm in Vestige’s store
and walked out without paying for.”
Oh God, she groaned inwardly. Visions of her in the police
station, being fingerprinted and charged. Appearing in court and oh
God! Her parent’s informed, her father raving mad at having his
reputation…”
“Well?” the man asked directly.
“Uh?”
“You took the jumper didn’t you?”
Tears welled up in her eyes, her bottom lip quivered and then
the tears began to flow. Her shoulders shook with great heaving sobs
and she wiped at her nose with a tissue as she nodded her head in
regret.
“A runaway are you? From the North?”
She nodded again, was it all so obvious?
He sighed.
“A bad business. Prison is not a place a young girl like
you…”
“Prison?” she blurted in horror and looked up at him
piteously.
He nodded, his stare holding hers. “Things are done
differently down here in the south. Too many youngsters from the north
seeking fame and fortune… a real problem that the courts go heavily
on.”
Oh God,” she groaned and renewed her sobbing.
“I can help though,” he offered kindly. “I’m not police, nor
am I of the church; I help runaways like you, give them food and
shelter…”
“You do?” she asked, looking up at him with desperate hope in
her eyes. “You won’t report me then?”
He shook his head.
“Not if you agree to let me help you. I never report the ones
I help. If of course they won’t accept my help then…” He spun out the
pause to allow her to jump in - and she did.
“Help me,” she pleaded and reached across the table to cover
his hands with hers. “Please, please help me.”
The silly young slut was snared.
