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In the confines of his humble abode, a Nepali bhalu, his body a sculpture of lean muscles, engages in a private ritual. His kanda, engorged and pulsating, commands his attention, and he obliges, his strong hand gliding along its length. The room, filled with the scent of sandalwood and the faint hum of a distant temple bell, becomes his sanctuary. His imagination weaves tales of his puti, her curves, her desires, fueling his fervor. His strokes become more urgent, his body tensing, his breath coming in ragged gasps. With a final, powerful surge, he finds his release, his body shuddering, his essence coating his hand, a sacred offering to his intimate dance.