Department H Tokyo – The Weirdest, and Best, Fetish Party Ever!

We had already tried one fetish club during our Tokyo vacation (Deca Bar Z), and we thought we had seen the best oddball antics we would ever get to experience.

… We were so wrong.

Nothing was going to prepare us for the kooky and downright mystifying collection of experiences that would come next…


I was thrilled to get on the plane, but it was really my boyfriend’s dream destination. And, since I had about as much idea of what to do as a five-year-old flying a fighter jet, he ended up in charge of 99% of the research and planning.

This is how we ended up at Department H.

In our minds, it was just another monthly to-do where kinks gathered and had fun.


We somehow ignored the fact we were in Japan – home of maid cafes, raw horse meat, and Rabbit Island. We were like children at the Oscars – happy at the sparkly environment and high-energy vibes, but clueless as to what we were really taking part in.

Lots of crossdressers and drag queens.

The first thing we learned was that ticket prices were significantly cheaper if you wore appropriate clothing.

We ran to the 10-story sex shop we had found in Akihabara a couple of days earlier and bought a few cheap accessories to throw on top of my leather dress and tried to disguise my boyfriend’s dark street clothes. Then, we jumped in a taxi and kept our fingers crossed it would be easy to find while wearing platform heels.


The side street entrance was only easy to find because of the cue of the fabulously fashionable freaks (the location is seriously unassuming).

Credit: Google Maps – Kinema Club

There was tones of latex, a surprising amount of street clothes, and many large bags or backpacks stuffed with costumes.

The couple behind us was changing under their jackets while the drag queen hosts walked up and down the crowd to make sure people didn’t get preemptively nude(ish). The man and woman magically transformed – her into a mesh bodysuit, thong, and bright neon pink wig, he into a rubber butcher’s apron with combat boots.

NOTE: Remember this couple, we will see them again later.

Shortly after, a Japanese woman strutted down the street with her man dutifully following two steps behind. Both were dressed in what could only be described and white city chic.

She walked with an air of “I’m better than all of you, and you must worship me” (and oh god how she primped, preened, and constantly puffed her hair.

My boyfriend grinned and whispered to me, “I know what you want to do to her.”

He either saw my expression or read my mind. Or both.

Three words…

Her. Naked. Cage.


When go-time came, the line surged forward.

Tickets were checked … and so were passports.

We had (thankfully) read online that they were going to ask for them, but the butcher and neon-pink couple hadn’t. It took a decent amount of begging to gain entry elevator which hauled the gaggles of eager guests to the next room.

Upstairs, the greeters included:

  • A nearly naked man in a glass case
  • A drag queen in lizard-bird leg covers/stilts
  • Another drag queen that easily hit 7 feet with her heels and wig
  • A row of people with big anime heads and schoolgirl uniforms

Not a bad start to the night.

Unfortunately, my man got tagged with a full-priced ticket because his clothes weren’t up to par. Meh, we kind of expected it. When the formal taking of the tickets and stamping of hands was done, we were set free to explore the venue.

Holy shit, the place was huge – an entire theater, complete with an upper floor area/balcony,  scuffed-up stage, and sofa seating.

The decor had either been done 30 years ago, or a brocade monster threw up red, yellow, and brown over all the walls and upholstery then thought, “Hey, you know what would make this? Dingy marble and wood slate accents.

It was a visual assault on the eyes.

It was wonderful.

Tucked away in a corner was a place you could buy mixers – this is just one of the many things that makes this place unique…

It is completely (and encouraged) BYOB.

They can’t get licenses to sell liquor, so they just sell soft drinks and give out free ice to patrons. It’s not encouraged, however, to get blind drunk at any fetish event, even this one.

We grabbed seats at the front of the balcony and watched the others filter in. There was everything you could imagine…

Old Japanese men dressed in slapdash of women’s attire, furry animal costumes, slutty uniforms, things that looked like fast food mascots who stand on the sidewalk, people covered head to toe in latex or rubber, cosplay, ball gowns, spandex, unidentifiable interpretive costumes, and a truckload of thongs or spank pants.

It was quite literally “wear whatever the fuck you want”.

It was Halloween on steroids, and I felt utterly naked.

For all those times I had been the biggest BDSM dresser or costume enthusiast, I was now the novice being schooled by an entire hardcore crowd.


  • Down on the main floor, a timid, pudgy man stood to the side … apparently volunteering for communal use. Over the course of the night, patrons (mostly women) whipped him, spanked him, poured water on him, or made him crawl around the floor. Even the white dressed Queen Bee had her go at him.
  • After one bathroom visit, my boyfriend came back and said, “So, there’s this big, naked black guy over there wearing a wrestler’s mask. He’s getting an enormous dildo shoved up his ass by a tiny Japanese woman in her schoolgirl outfit.”
  • An older woman, who clearly had a growth inhibiting condition, had decided to throw every middle finger at her condition and walk around dressed in toddler’s clothing.

And this was just the guests.

We haven’t even got to the vendors yet.

  • One sold standard BDSM gear – things like ball gags and rope.
  • Another did the most beautiful bone and metal jewelry I had ever seen. One ring set was tiny metal vertebrates that fit together into one long spine across the finger.
  • A couple did piercings and other body alterations etc.
  • The strangest one by far was in the back corner – a guy barely out of his teens hunched beside a bright lamp, assembling anime mech models … and that’s all he did ALL night …  and he was content as hell.

If the visuals are too much for you, I understand.

I would suggest you turn back now because it’s only going to get weirder.


  • A drag queen fashion walk – my favorite was the Louis Vuitton themed dress.
  • A lesbian wrestling match – MC’d by a guy in a cape, surrounded by others in full-body costumes (and by the end of it, they were practically naked and humping each other).
  • A guy belting out tunes like a Barbra Streisand wannabe – It was okay for one or two numbers, but by the FIFTH, it was getting annoying.

And, the coup de gras…

A girl wrapped in medical gauze with symbols in one hand and a mic in the other – singing in a Japanese monotone (comparable to an 80-year history teacher reading tax law while on Xanax) while her backup dancers did something that could only be described as “a slow vogue mixed with Egyptian hieroglyphic poses”

And the crowd LOVED IT.

The entire front row was nothing but latex animals all dancing in sync … clearly, they had gone enough times to know the moves by heart and graduate to full-on groupie.

My boyfriend was utterly entranced. “Look at this. I’m actually seeing this. It’s amazing.” And, like some scientist on the verge of a great discovery, observed the scene with interest that could only be described as “two seconds away from joining the crowd.”

It wasn’t, however, enough to distract me.

To our right was something far more fascinating.

A Japanese Shibari master (rope tying) was stringing up girls one by one to the poles, railings, or floor. There was a line of volunteers nearly begging for a turn (even I was tempted, but way too shy to even ask). Also, only a handful could partake in the experience – mostly because the roping was so detailed and careful.

My personal favorite was one woman whose fingers were bound (imagine a praying position with your hands together, but fingers spread and three knots holding each pair of fingers together).

Boyfriend loved the one tied to the railing with her legs spread wide apart.


There was only one annoying, bullshit moment during the entire evening.

A couple of French guys came in (already on their way to being drunk) absolutely drooling over the scantily clad women surrounding them.

They were like a pair of pubescent boys who had stumbled on their mother’s Sears catalog, discovered the undergarment section, and found out what a pair of boobs looked like.

And for some reason, their horny and inebriated state made them think they could go around touching bodies however they wanted without asking or accepting  “no” as an answer.  

Remember the neon pink wig chick in the mesh body suit that was standing in line with us?


One of the guys started groping her. She yelled, backed away, and her butcher apron boyfriend immediately stepped in.

It was at that point the entire section of the top floor started watching things … carefully … which should have been a cue for the two to back off.

But nope.

The offender slurred, “If I see a boobie, I will touch a boobie. You are her boyfriend. It’s your job to protect her. Since you can’t, I can touch her how I like.”

Putting aside the fact he sounded like a moron saying “boobie” while trying to act tough, this is the cardinal rule you DO NOT break in any kind of these parties … hell, in any moment of life for that matter.

The friend that hadn’t done the touching must have been slightly more sober, because he noticed that everyone was watching like pissed off vultures, especially a ridiculously muscular black guy who gave a very clear look of “I’m ready to jump in and beat the shit out of these guys.”


Before any fights broke out, the drag queen staff had got wind of the ordeal and took control of the situation.

One of the few pictures I snapped that night.

See the guy on the right – black clothes and a blonde wig?

This might sound like the least threatening thing ever – “men in ball gowns and makeup coming to break up a fight” – but remember, one of them was built and six feet tall WITHOUT his spiked high heels and poofy wig.

The entire thing put him at seven feet … easy. Add the three-inch, talon nails, and you have an entire arsenal of weapons.

Do not piss off something with spikes on their fingers!

After some stern talking (and the guys backing off, but passively aggressive hanging out two feet from the couple they had been harassing, and then getting a final warning) the two were hauled off by some uber-serious bouncers.

Although, I would have loved to see the drag queens drag him out.


The tension took a solid thirty minutes to disappear and people to find a way back to their comfort zones. Even I didn’t really feel like getting freaky in any form after that. So, we sat back and watched our surroundings.

It only took 10 minutes for something else to happen…

One old Japanese man came up, smiled brightly, and (using body language) asked if he could smell my armpit.

After a couple of seconds of processing the request (and glancing at my boyfriend), I figured, “Hey, when in Rome…”. 

He took a long sniff and looked positively euphoric. I thought things were done, but after a minute, he scurried back up with a paper plate full of shaving cream and asked me to shove it in his face.

“Hey. Why not?” I thought.

It all ended with him quickly cleaning his face, proudly showing he had done a thorough job of it, then bowing and wandering away.

A night at Department H.

10/10 would go again.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

SIDE NOTE: Many of the image credits go to La Carmina. I was too busy gaping at everything and only remembered to snap a few photos.

Also, if you like Japanese-related articles, you might like these:

Have you ever been to a crazy fetish event? Share in the comments!

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