A glamorous boss commands the lens in “you go to my head by dave brubeck.” After hours, she locks her office door, hikes her pencil skirt, and records a ruthless performance of power and pleasure. Stockings rip, heels stay on, and her authoritative voice never wavers even when her fingers make her gasp. Every order she gives the invisible viewer becomes wetter, dirtier, until she comes with the city lights glittering behind her. “you go to my head by dave brubeck” is dominance wrapped in expensive lace.